tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61401773294254879852024-02-21T07:00:19.411-05:00#amwritingA place for me to focus on creative writing, using prompts I love but not related to my larger work in progress. Any prompts from outside sources are linked in the post in which they are used.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.comBlogger661125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-82514272704047421192017-07-26T16:08:00.000-04:002017-07-26T16:08:17.328-04:00The lunch meeting<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZbwcljcxSVShLIAy-E7cAsOMXdX2igsMVLzC51HxBdbFipsgNspVpKuXo_OLDEDQ6BP65qNosDHi6_U7LVD4GcDIsg_j9gXakHvOER1VYaeIfOBkHSRSIbCIb_tYdpJTABhhZsXOMZk/s1600/jason-briscoe-152943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZbwcljcxSVShLIAy-E7cAsOMXdX2igsMVLzC51HxBdbFipsgNspVpKuXo_OLDEDQ6BP65qNosDHi6_U7LVD4GcDIsg_j9gXakHvOER1VYaeIfOBkHSRSIbCIb_tYdpJTABhhZsXOMZk/s320/jason-briscoe-152943.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="http://unsplash.com/photos/fugfJRW18jM?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: #f2f2f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration-skip: ink; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Jason Briscoe</a><span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #111111; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: #f2f2f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration-skip: ink; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
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Catherine sipped her coffee as she watched the younger woman enter the restaurant. She definitely was his type - younger, long dark hair, fair skin, stylish. He did enjoy his arm candy. Catherine empathized with the woman. She had no idea what she had gotten herself into. At last the woman reached the table. "Ms Barton?" she asked. Catherine heard the small quake in her voice. Poor girl was nervous.<br />
<br />
Catherine gave her a cool smile. "Join me, please. Nicole, right? And do call me Catherine. After all, you are sleeping with my husband. We're past formalities."<br />
Nicole paled. Catherine had to give her some credit, though. She still sat down at the table. So many young women would flee, or try to deny it, or make excuses. Nicole just sat, silently, waiting for Catherine to make the next move.<br />
<br />
"Let's order, shall we? My treat, of course. Although I suppose we could say it's Frank's treat since it's his company funding our bank account." Catherine chuckled to herself, enjoying this too much. Nicole was still not sure what was going on, and remained silent.<br />
<br />
Catherine snapped her menu shut, startling Nicole. She laid her menu to the side and nodded at the waiter, hovering at a discreet distance. "Order what you wish, dear. I won't tell Frank if it doesn't fit in The Plan. I remember his expectations all too well. Then, we should get to know each other."<br />
<br />
After placing their orders, Nicole finally gathered some courage. "Why am I here?"<br />
<br />
"I just told you, we should get to know each other.<a href="https://thefakeredhead.com/2017/03/24/tfrs-writing-prompts-no-86-90/" target="_blank"> It's not your fault I married a cheating bastard</a>," Catherine said, nonchalantly.<br />
<br />
"But I'm your husband's mistress."<br />
<br />
"So?" Catherine paused to thank the waiter, who was placing their food on the table. "Listen, Nicole. I like you. You are polite, you have backbone to show up at my invitation and even more to actually sit and eat with me. Even better, you are keeping Frank happy. I realized a long time ago that marrying him was a mistake. You see, I used to be in your shoes."<br />
<br />
Nicole was still processing this information. Catherine was okay with this? "I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused. What do you mean?"<br />
<br />
Again Catherine laughed to herself. "You actually remind me of myself when I first met Frank. There was no current Mrs. Anderson at the time, though. He'd been briefly married but divorced a year before we met. And yes, I checked to make sure. Public records are easy to search." She paused to sip her water. "I let him sweep me off my feet. He was so charming, so attentive. So preoccupied with image, but charming me into going along with his demands. Eat the correct foods, wear the correct clothes, stay the correct weight. The jewelry he gave me as gifts were subtle demands to wear the correct jewels, a walking billboard of his net worth. I was so caught up in the fantasy that I married him."<br />
<br />
"But you kept your last name?" interrupted Nicole. "I didn't know who you were when I got your invitation. I thought this was an interview."<br />
<br />
"In a way, it is," said Catherine. "I wanted to get to know you for myself. And yes, I kept my last name. I was carried away, not completely lost. I never felt the need to change my name like I was his property, even though he began to treat me as if I was."<br />
<br />
"Why are you telling me all this?" asked Nicole. "By all accounts, you should be screaming at me or trying to run me off. It's what I would do if I met the woman sleeping with my husband."<br />
<br />
"Oh, Nicole. You see, I like you. You've got a spark. And I don't like Frank so much any more, but divorce is too messy and too complicated. You keep him satisfied, and I don't have to worry about him. Also, you are a huge improvement over his other mistresses. The intern, the secretary, the stripper who thought he would save her... " Catherine shuddered at the memories. "I know how he met you; I actually made sure it would happen. But he can't know that I know about you. If he finds out, he will end this affair and try to romance me and I just cannot bear the thought of that. So I will help you keep him as long as this is our little secret. Has he taken you to the apartment yet?"<br />
<br />
"No, he hasn't," Nicole said.<br />
<br />
"Oh, he will," Catherine replied. "I want you to live in it full time. Not with him, of course. I still need him to come home to keep up appearances in public. But you can have entertain him there all you want, and have the occasional sleepover. However, we have to make him think it's his idea. Your living situation is difficult right now, correct?"<br />
<br />
"My roommate just moved out and I'm trying to find a new one, but how did you know?"<br />
<br />
"I have many sources, Nicole. It takes a team to manage the secret life of Frank Anderson. He'll likely take you there soon. Don't ask if you can move in, but plant seeds. Tell him you're worried about losing your apartment, that you're struggling to make it, but refuse any money he will offer you. I predict within a month you'll be moved into the apartment permanently."<br />
<br />
Nicole was quiet as they finished their meals and Catherine signed the bill. Catherine stood up to leave, then paused beside Nicole. "I know this is a lot to take in. But trust me, this is the perfect solution for both of us. Enjoy yourself, dear."<br />
<br />
With that, Catherine walked out the door.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-19242507869538823672017-01-20T16:59:00.002-05:002017-01-20T16:59:44.982-05:00Jill & Sam, Part 2Hi. I'm Sam.<br />
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I'm not exactly sure why I'm here. I just needed to see her, I guess. This past few years have been crazy. I'm in a band, and we were doing the normal thing, traveling around to bars and smaller venues, putting in our time, and developing a following. We dreamed of making it big but half the time that was all it was - a dream. Then one day we wake up and one of our songs was on YouTube and had gone viral - we were everywhere. I couldn't check Facebook without seeing our video a dozen times. All of us were covered up in "friend" requests, our families were getting them too. Crazy. Soon a legit record deal happened, and we've been going strong ever since then.<br />
<br />
It was almost easier when we had the smaller shows. We could hang out with fans, just chill, and do normal things without being harassed. I remember this one time when we had just finished a gig in the city my parents live in - they moved there after I'd moved out, to take care of my grandma, so I didn't grow up there - anyway, we were <i>starving </i>and so sick of road food. These girls had been chilling out with us. Nothing was going on, don't think we were having some orgy or anything. We were wiped out from a string of shows and there were a bunch of people around. Anyway, one quiet girl suggested a local place, volunteered to show us where it was. So she and a few others rode along with us.<br />
<br />
After that video, man, things were crazy. For a time I even dated a former Disney Channel star! That was surreal. It didn't last too long, I think she just wanted to dirty up her image. Not much dirt here, though, so she moved on.<br />
<br />
More people started coming to our shows. Especially more girls. I felt bad that I couldn't give them all what they wanted and our manager wanted me to play up the "sex symbol" thing. Ha, yeah, laughing was my reaction to that. But he was serious. So I started mixing it up. If the girl was a brunette, I'd wink. Blonde, and I'd touch her arm. Redheads I'd prolong eye contact. That seemed to work and the girls ate it up.<br />
<br />
A year ago I decided to put down roots. There wasn't much left in the town I'd grown up in, so I decided to buy a house close to my parents. Not so close I'm on their doorstep but I can get some of mom's meatloaf when I need it. It's weird, though. Even when I was there alone I was almost sure someone else was there. Things would be moved. My favorite shirt disappeared off my bed. I was almost convinced the house was haunted. But nothing happened whenever I had friends over so I decided I was just tired. It's strange, sometimes I'd dream I was sleeping with a girl in my arms and it felt so real. I never brought anyone to my house, though. Not until my girlfriend. We met at the grocery store of all places. Started talking and couldn't stop. We started going out, and eventually the press got wind so we went public. She'd go to events with me, we were photographed together often. I still felt weird, though, like I was being watched all the time. I never noticed anyone, though.<br />
<br />
Until tonight. Sasha and I were out to dinner. I was proposing tonight. Had it all set up. But right as I was getting down on one knee, this tiny girl with brown hair ran up to us and grabbed Sasha. I'd never been so scared in my life. I'd rather sing naked on live TV in front of the UN than see that terror on Sasha's face again. This girl - she looked familiar but I have no idea who she is- kept yelling that she was saving me, that she loved me and was protecting me from the crazy stalker, pointing at Sasha. Thank goodness a waiter grabbed her from behind and the maitre d called 911. Turns out the waiter was a soldier helping out at the family business on a night when they were short staffed. I learned the girl's name was Jill.<br />
<br />
Sasha wasn't hurt seriously. The paramedics checked her out and let me take her home. An officer took our statements. And the best part is she still said yes. I can't imagine if I'd lost her. I guess I'm here to talk to Jill, to find out why she did what she did. It turns out she was in my house. She followed me to the store and on dates. She had tickets for every show I've done within a hundred miles of here. It also turns out she was that quiet girl who'd told us about the diner way back when. I hope if I talk to her once, she'll get some help. The girl has problems.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-61804492972103344712017-01-19T10:12:00.001-05:002017-01-19T10:12:19.699-05:00Jill & Sam, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Jill</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I first met my boyfriend Sam three years ago, backstage at one of his concerts. My roommate Jen had an extra ticket and backstage pass to his show since her friend had cancelled at the last minute. The show was amazing, and once we were backstage it was practically love at first sight. There was an instant connection. I even felt the romance-novel spark when he took my program to sign and our fingers touched. He asked my name, and told me it was beautiful, like me. We talked for a bit, hanging out with his band. Finally Jen had to leave. Sam gave me a look and a wink. I told Jen I'd find another way home. The guys were talking about food, where to go eat. It was late and they were starving after the show. We had dinner together at the only all-night diner in town.<br />
<br />
After that, I'd go visit Sam whenever I could. If he was performing within driving distance, I was there. We had to keep our relationship secret, though. He didn't want me to be exposed to the paparazzi and be harassed. His studio even made him carry out a fake relationship in the media to throw them off. I trusted him, though. I knew I was his only love. Every time I'd go to his show, I'd pretend to be just another fan and ask for an autograph. He'd sign while giving me a sexy wink. After we'd always go out. Dinner, dancing, whatever.<br />
<br />
Not being able to tell my friends and family was hard. Finally I broke down and told my sister Shayla but I don't think she believed me. But really, who would have thought that I, Jilly Malone, would be dating a rock star?<br />
<br />
Finally, after almost two years, Sam bought a house in my city. I was so excited. Finally, we could have more time together! I had a key, and the alarm code. I'd check on his house when he was out of town and if I was really feeling lonely I'd sleep in his bed in my favorite shirt he'd given me. Sometimes when he was home and we hand't seen each other in a while I'd sneak in just to surprise him. Although if he was sleeping I didn't have the heart to wake him. He needed his rest, he worked so hard. So I'd crawl in bed next to him. I'm an early riser anyway, so I didn't need to worry about an alarm waking him up. I'd be up and off to work hours before he'd wake up.<br />
<br />
It was so nice when he was home from touring. We'd go to dinner, see a movie, shop, or just hang out at his house. I also loved to send him cute little love letters, to let him know I was thinking about him. It's the little things, you know, that keep a relationship going.<br />
<br />
Then, someone started stalking him. She was always there, at all his concerts and appearances. No matter where he went, she was close by. She'd harass him at the grocery store. We'd go to the movies and she'd be there, in the same theater. She even followed us to visit his family! I knew I had to do something. The police never listened. So I decided to talk to her myself, to try to make her understand that she couldn't interfere in our relationship, to help her realize that he was in love with me, not her. But something went wrong, very wrong.<br />
<br />
<i>To be continued</i>Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-71184143776143702092017-01-17T14:21:00.000-05:002017-01-17T14:21:08.571-05:00What does sunshine taste like?<i>Prompt found <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055519797839/" target="_blank">here</a></i><br />
<br />
Ice cold lemonade on a hot day<br />
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Salty sweat<br />
Cool, creamy ice cream<br />
Food fresh from the grill<br />
Sweet, juicy strawberries<br />
Plump blueberries, dark blue and about to burst<br />
Blackberries, still warm from the vine<br />
Dust swirling everywhere, coating your tongue<br />
Faintly plastic water from the hose<br />
Watermelon practically dissolving in your mouth<br />
Icees in every fruit flavor imaginable<br />
Barbecue and cole slaw<br />
HoneysuckleChristinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-49665486031017268382016-12-08T16:36:00.002-05:002016-12-08T16:36:37.703-05:00AnnieThe <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/ASMkMp0ye208emoJGD01jlAt-vbdEYX8zjZlnYJf8bSEGFLfuSYFeUg/" target="_blank">guys were unusually well behaved</a> this evening. I walked out of the bedroom, dressed and ready to go, and the place was quiet. No video games blasting, no brotherly arguing, no wrestling around, nothing. It was weird.<br />
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"Knox? Nash?" I called out, wandering around the house.<br />
"In here, Sweets," Knox answered. I found them in Nash's room, looking a little <i>too </i>casual and not-up-to-anything to really be not up to anything. I'm not really dating twins, it just feels like it. Knox and I have been together for a few years now and living together for almost a year. Nash moved into our spare bedroom a while back after his brief mistake of a marriage ended. They're a package deal, anyway.<br />
<br />
"What are you guys up to?" I asked. Nash's ears turned pink, a dead giveaway that they were hiding something. Knox gave him one of their Telepathy Twins looks and grabbed my hand, effectively pulling me out of the room.<br />
<br />
"Nothing, Sweets, just work stuff. Are you ready? Let me grab my jacket and we'll go." Something was definitely up. "We have to get going if we're going to make our reservation."<br />
<br />
"Bye, Nash. Don't have any wild parties while we're out," I said as we went out the door. Knox rolled his eyes at me. Nash was the calm, quieter twin. Knox wasn't exactly wild, but he was definitely more outgoing.<br />
<br />
At the restaurant Knox couldn't stop fidgeting. He placed his napkin in his lap, then to the side, then back in his lap. His fork and knife were moved countless times. I finally had to grab his hand to stop his fingers from tapping against his water glass. "What is going on, Knox?" He straightened himself in his chair and clasped his hands together. "Nothing, Sweets. Everything is perfect." Just then our waiter appeared to take our orders.<br />
<br />
After we ordered our meals, I took Knox's hand again. "Babe, something is going on. First you and Nash were acting strange at home, and now you're all fidgety and jumpy. It's not like you. Is something wrong? Are you sick?" All of a sudden I had an awful feeling in my stomach. "Oh god, do you have cancer? It's cancer, isn't it?"<br />
<br />
Knox started laughing and shushed me. "No, Sweets, it's not cancer! Everyone at the surrounding tables will think it is now, though." I smacked his arm.<br />
"Not funny, Knox! But something is seriously going on and you not telling me is freaking me out!"<br />
<br />
He laced his fingers together behind his head and sat back in his chair. Now he was enjoying my discomfort. Asshole. I was reassured by this, though. He wouldn't do that if something was seriously wrong. I can play that game, though. I just won't react any more at all.<br />
<br />
"Fine, you win. Nothing is wrong, everything is perfect, you don't have cancer, pass the pepper. No, really, pass the pepper please. It's on your side of the table." We ate our dinner, talking about our jobs, mutual friends, Nash and his latest dating disaster, and everything else that wasn't what was obviously on his mind. Soon the waiter came to clear our plates.<br />
<br />
"Will you be having dessert tonight? We have some fantastic choices tonight."<br />
<br />
As I was declining, Knox interrupted. "We'd love to hear the dessert options, thank you." I gave him a look but he ignored me, keeping his attention on the waiter.<br />
<br />
The waiter handed me a dessert menu. "We have tiramisu, chocolate cheesecake, creme brulee, and a lovely strawberry sorbet with a fresh mint syrup swirl," he said.<br />
<br />
"Or me," said Knox.<br />
<br />
Startled, I looked over at him to see he'd gotten out of his chair and knelt next to me while I was looking at the menu. He held the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen. My breath caught as I looked in his eyes. This explained the fidgeting, for sure.<br />
<br />
"Annie. Sweets. I can't imagine not having you in my life. You're as necessary to me as breathing and I promise to love you and treasure you forever. Will you marry me?"<br />
<br />
Somehow I was kneeling on the floor with him. I had no memory of how I'd gotten there but I was. I threw my arms around his neck. "Of course I will, you idiot. I love you too!"Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-59963023011474588952016-10-07T09:40:00.000-04:002016-10-07T09:40:15.063-04:00Flashback Friday<i>I originally wrote this several years ago for Skirt! Magazine's website. Eventually I'll do something more with this.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-23686620967787811232016-08-18T13:19:00.002-04:002016-08-18T13:19:46.508-04:00The Mixed-up Ballerina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s4.favim.com/orig/50/amazing-ballet-beauty-blonde-cute-Favim.com-447167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://s4.favim.com/orig/50/amazing-ballet-beauty-blonde-cute-Favim.com-447167.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
Saturday morning, 6 a.m. My alarm is blaring on my nightstand and I'd love to turn it off and sleep a few more hours. I'm too excited, though, because it's a big day today. I'm finally fulfilling my childhood dream. Today is my first ballet class!<br />
<br />
At 20, I'm definitely older than most beginners, even if I'm still short as a child. My sister says I'm adorably petite, but she's as small so she's biased. I saw a flyer at the gym earlier this week advertising an adult beginner class at Ballet Academy. I was so excited. I typed the number in my phone and called on my way home to enroll. After getting directions to the facility, I went shopping for all the essentials - leotards, tights, ballet shoes, and of course a cute bag for carrying everything.<br />
<br />
I turn off my alarm and jump in the shower. The class begins at 8 and I want to leave early to make sure I find it. I'm not familiar with the part of town where it's located. I am too excited to eat, but force down a banana and a yogurt. I'll need my strength for sure. Finally, I get dressed, twist my long blonde hair into a "ballerina bun" and head out, dance bag in hand.<br />
<br />
I'm glad I left early, as there was an accident on the highway causing a bad traffic jam. I arrive at 7:56 and run inside the building, not even looking at the outside. I stop at the front desk. "I'm here for the adult beginner class." The receptionist confirms my name and takes my payment, and tells me the instructor was caught up in the traffic also so class hasn't yet started. "Is there somewhere I can change into my leotard?" I ask, at the same time she's asking me if I have my own handgun or if I need to rent one. We both look at each other, shocked.<br />
<br />
"Leotard?" she asks.<br />
"Handgun?" I squeak out. "I'm here for the adult beginner ballet class. I saw a flyer at the gym." She hold up a familiar light blue paper.<br />
"This flyer?" I nod my head yes ."This is for our adult beginner shooting class, dear. This is a Bullet Academy franchise shooting range."<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe it. My dream is crushed, because I misread the flyer. I was so excited that I didn't read the entire thing. Looking at it now it's clearly for shooting. There's even a line about handgun rentals. Mortified and crushed, I give the flyer back and ask about a refund. When I get back to my car, I pull out my phone and do what I should have done a long time ago. I look up local dance studios and start calling, asking each about classes for adults. I'm going to make this happen.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-70250073881371040702016-08-14T15:00:00.002-04:002016-08-14T15:00:43.841-04:00The Box<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVcmfXoSGd8eYY3nU446BohJuiSeSeEhOquc7Vi3lwThyphenhyphenXVO6CN2hXj1NOxh-gaG2BXdt6phQkkYjln3o9T_NT2dHsVNFgCflK-pq4-dC_YdoiXRxwxIKFIXqRNLNKexTqS91Y6ZB3L8/s1600/ID-10023546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVcmfXoSGd8eYY3nU446BohJuiSeSeEhOquc7Vi3lwThyphenhyphenXVO6CN2hXj1NOxh-gaG2BXdt6phQkkYjln3o9T_NT2dHsVNFgCflK-pq4-dC_YdoiXRxwxIKFIXqRNLNKexTqS91Y6ZB3L8/s320/ID-10023546.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Image courtesy of nuttakit at FreeDigitalPhotos.net</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"It's time," she thought to herself. The <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/ATHrvIXe35GtWlGiY07dJ_j2c7lvnQqrgbvKZALFzhWNiwy5mNymJSQ/" target="_blank">suitcase </a>had been sitting in the corner for weeks now. With a sudden determination, she hefted it onto their bed. <br />
<br />
At first the small luggage padlock thwarted her, until she realized she had a key to the lock in her vanity drawer. Retrieving the key, she raised the lid. She didn't realize his scent would still be present. The sudden rush of memories and emotion nearly knocked her over. Holding onto the tall post of the bed, she spotted the side chair in the corner. He had always left his ties draped over the back of the chair. She teased him about it, and eventually he would put them away. Now, there were no ties. She pulled the chair up to the bedside and sat down to begin unpacking.<br />
<br />
She lifted out a stack of shirts and gently laid them on the bedspread. Next was the socks and underwear, rolled tightly and tucked in the middle. Then she started to lift the stack of pants, when she felt something unusual. A small red box was hidden between the layers. At first she thought it was one last gift for her, but it was months until Christmas, her birthday had already passed, and their anniversary was three months ago. Then she realized that he couldn't have been bringing it home to her, since he never reached his destination. It couldn't be a forgotten gift from another trip, as it was too carefully hidden between his clothes. Was he taking it to someone else?<br />
<br />
She pulled the lid off the box cautiously. Inside was a smaller hinged box, the kind you get a ring or earrings in from the jeweler. The box was navy blue, and there were no markings on the outside to indicate where it came from. She paused. Did she really want to see what was inside? Why was her husband taking jewelry with him on his business trip? Was he having an affair with a coworker? Finally she raised the lid.<br />
<br />
Instead of answers, she had even more questions now and no way to get answers. The box was empty.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrcFVBU5E7P_RK-50V3NJKu894SdzbgF2rGa7mK4h5hOw0tBlVewk6jG5IxIyvu0mbDpZ9StP_eH7WvRbtiBaa2-DZyO2Xi8A0QDOwDdD21qabmUSWG-7xVyHPtDB_6m-wqrIP5leOnU/s1600/file000819636090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-57265304181065350492016-08-07T12:20:00.003-04:002016-08-07T23:01:31.789-04:00Larry, part 1(Today's prompt found <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Writers-Toolbox-Creative-Exercises-Inspiring/dp/0811854299/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1470584883&sr=8-2&keywords=the+writer%27s+toolbox" target="_blank">here</a>)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAL-8SgNQoZetCN9nnwuHuSOBczJvQwdAw02DyWuN7IHTrpjcI8PhwMG5PUMSFvn8Nob6UH6rYdjNKwTjf_JOWkpCwClDt-JPCDAAwER9-jVNnC038EMluAJEjNmPn7EUQe6QnPrVpBc/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAL-8SgNQoZetCN9nnwuHuSOBczJvQwdAw02DyWuN7IHTrpjcI8PhwMG5PUMSFvn8Nob6UH6rYdjNKwTjf_JOWkpCwClDt-JPCDAAwER9-jVNnC038EMluAJEjNmPn7EUQe6QnPrVpBc/s320/015.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
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<br />
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There were 17 cats living in Larry’s basement. When we
arrived at his house for dinner, I was not expecting that. One or two wouldn’t
have raised an eyebrow. But 17? That’s the kind of thing that gets you on those
can’t-look-away shows on TLC or something. At least they were in the basement,
and not upstairs in the main living area. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we were passing dishes at the table and filing our plates,
someone in the group, I didn’t remember her name, asked Larry about his feline
companions. “Well, it’s a funny story,” he began. “I started out fostering shelter
cats a few years ago, keeping them off of a literal death row until they could
be placed in permanent homes. The cute, cuddly ones always go pretty easily.
People have this idea of what they want in a cat, the typical cute small animal
that snuggles on your lap and bats at feathers and meows at appropriate times.”
The girl who had asked, Angela? Amanda?, was nodding. Apparently she was one of
the cute-cat owners. “But I realized that some of the cats who weren’t as cute
were getting left behind,” Larry continued. “They were the ones at the shelter
in danger of euthanasia simply because they had been there the longest. Or they
had the normal behavior issues that come with adjusting to a new home but their
new owners didn’t give them the chances the cutesy cats were given. One “mistake”
and they were back at the shelter. Being returned put them on the fast track to
getting put down.” Antonia, that was her name I finally remembered, was nearly
in tears. Larry went on. “I started taking the “less-than” cats on purpose, to
give them more of a chance. Now all 17 have some kind of perceived flaw. I look
for special people to adopt these special cats.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whole time he was talking, I couldn’t help but think
about one thing, though. I finally had to ask. “Aren’t there laws that limit
how many animals you can have in a residence though? How do you get around
that?” A couple people chuckled and I also heard some murmurs of agreement.
Antonia shot me a death glare. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I had to get a permit from the city,” Larry explained. “I
also invited them to come inspect the basement and see where the cats would be
living. They were quite impressed, if I do say so myself.”</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-24192999795570169852016-07-30T23:14:00.000-04:002016-07-30T23:14:48.725-04:00Polly, part 3<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/Aa7eC0PXhovCL-DZ1cr2GQZh3sW2_AWn58Ckdszedwy9iaQ1wolE_kE/" target="_blank">She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands. "One last time," she whispered to herself. "One. Last. Time</a>."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMXbhDRuz4XL9sE9h5ZeVYqsagPEZmLOujJXV1CwH4epRXvbMoQ3trwn6idrMuotuv1dWIqacOBlRPyQJQ4p4IHBXGneze_wQMbjtKfrngJQny44GQN00-gjbMmQu0hOln9SodVZL4L8/s1600/black-and-white-person-woman-girl-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMXbhDRuz4XL9sE9h5ZeVYqsagPEZmLOujJXV1CwH4epRXvbMoQ3trwn6idrMuotuv1dWIqacOBlRPyQJQ4p4IHBXGneze_wQMbjtKfrngJQny44GQN00-gjbMmQu0hOln9SodVZL4L8/s320/black-and-white-person-woman-girl-large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Polly finished washing her hands and dried them off. The restroom door opened and her lawyer, Ms Pennington, poked her head inside.<br />
<br />
"It's time, Polly."<br />
<br />
Taking a deep breath, Polly steeled her nerves. "I'm ready. Let's do this." The day she had both dreaded and looked forward to had finally arrived. Her husband's court date, where she would testify against him. The final step in breaking free.<br />
<br />
After they were seated in the courtroom, her husband was brought in. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. He was in handcuffs, but wearing a suit. He had pasted a sad, remorseful expression on his face. Polly was terrified that despite the accounts from their neighbor and the police who responded, she wouldn't be believed. Ms Pennington noticed the look on Polly's face and squeezed her hand.<br />
<br />
"Stop worrying. We've got this. He can't hurt you any more." Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-13953429373531129602016-07-14T17:53:00.000-04:002016-07-14T17:53:41.648-04:00Cooper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUm6k2iqRMgdja15CLxa-ZpUE5Rx3ViwWXqN_M22fd5cnahudrwCBb8NrC0MlyoqcnAcctL5gkRhrwymLqFZIyB-LgatvCZ_Zjgb-bF92zDLCwmxvCbQwf_6P7t-rdUzITf3U8CtlIGws/s1600/landscape-nature-man-person-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUm6k2iqRMgdja15CLxa-ZpUE5Rx3ViwWXqN_M22fd5cnahudrwCBb8NrC0MlyoqcnAcctL5gkRhrwymLqFZIyB-LgatvCZ_Zjgb-bF92zDLCwmxvCbQwf_6P7t-rdUzITf3U8CtlIGws/s320/landscape-nature-man-person-large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AewCVvsDRL0ze4WnW0sV_81Uo4mo5qMsFnPKjyNPBtmUOFK8k8vRxS0/" target="_blank">She smelled amazing, like cinnamon. Man, I wish I'd remembered I was allergic to cinnamon</a>. Might have been a warning sign to me."<br />
<br />
"What happened?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Same old story. Boy meets girl and falls in love. She was amazing. Tall, long dark hair, big eyes, killer laugh. Loved to dance. I'd play and she'd dance."<br />
<br />
"Did you play publicly?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Nah, that was just my hobby. I'd play at home. Not even many of my friends knew I could do it. I dreamed of being a rock star, playing on stage. I know I couldn't handle it, though. I was a suit. I worked 8-6 or longer Monday through Friday, in my big corner office buying and selling. I made a buttload of money and spent it freely on Lila. We moved in together after dating for six months. I bought a house and a ring. Held on to the ring for a long time, though. I was planning on proposing on our anniversary. That never happened."<br />
<br />
"Why not?" Now I was curious.<br />
<br />
"Turns out she wasn't who she said she was. Corporate spy, of all things. She was using me to get insider information for her real employer, a competitor of my company. I came home from work one Friday and she was just gone. Her clothes and things, too. But she left behind almost everything I'd bought for her. Her key was on the dinner table with a note saying sorry. On Monday I went into work and walked into a shitstorm. Half the employees were let go, me included. She'd done her job too well."<br />
<br />
"What happened then?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"I sold the house. Sold the ring I'd been carrying around and used it to buy a new guitar. Of course I couldn't give up on my old one, though. I use the new one for performing. I sold almost everything, actually. I didn't need all that, just bought it for her. Put nearly every penny in the bank and started traveling, playing wherever would let me. And honestly? I'm much happier now."<br />
<br />
"Did you ever hear from Lila again?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, once. After about a year she came into a bar where I was playing with some friends. When I took a break she came up to me and wanted to talk. I didn't want to talk to her, though. It still hurt too much. She said she was sorry and that she wished she hadn't hurt me, it was just business. I think she was doing the same thing again, though. She seemed out of place with the friends. Something didn't fit. Not my problem, though. No more attachment for me."Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-73090645220165656372016-07-13T17:17:00.001-04:002016-07-13T17:17:42.479-04:00Jill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMgiys-aQqf2aLaOJlOkpRlEWPlcMDXDbDHOpZqYlK8XvkUhUaH7IbA4ZDrdBe6-NtV-H2CVC-MW6uFtVr0VXaQYLQRwGBA3y50aTIXAeGRkUR9rfMlTTU_QZ9pxlmdGtHiDEt75QeKA/s1600/startup-photos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMgiys-aQqf2aLaOJlOkpRlEWPlcMDXDbDHOpZqYlK8XvkUhUaH7IbA4ZDrdBe6-NtV-H2CVC-MW6uFtVr0VXaQYLQRwGBA3y50aTIXAeGRkUR9rfMlTTU_QZ9pxlmdGtHiDEt75QeKA/s320/startup-photos.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"Jill, we have a crisis!" I hear Annie, my assistant editor, call out from her office next to mine.<br />
<br />
"<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055518641908/" target="_blank">We can't have a crisis. My schedule is already too full</a>," I yell back to her. She walks into my office as I continue. "It's 10 am. I have meetings at noon, 1:30, and 4. Abbie has karate practice at 5:30 and Ben has dance class at 6. Paul is out of town until tomorrow and Nancy is sick." Paul is my husband and Nancy is his mother. She helps out with the kids' schedules whenever she can, but she has the flu and there is no way she can feed and chauffeur our 9 and 7 year old kids to their various activities. Not today.<br />
<br />
"Well the Andersons called, and they don't like something Chad said in their last meeting and want to pull all their ads for the rest of the year."<br />
<br />
Shit. She was right. That <i>is </i>a crisis. Harry and Marlowe Anderson own several businesses in the area, and are the largest advertisers by far in our regional magazine. Losing their ad business basically equates to losing the salary of one of our employees. "Okay. First, have Chad in my office in five minutes. Second, have Janie try to reschedule one of my meetings. If she can't, I will need you to cover for me at one of them. Or more. This might actually take a visit to them, not a phone call. We absolutely cannot afford to lose their business."<br />
<br />
Twelve hours later, with the offence worked out with the Andersons, Chad severely reamed and on probation, and the other clients handled and ruffled feathers smoothed, I called Paul for our nightly chat.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Babe, how was your day?" His face filled the screen of my iPad. I couldn't help but smile at him. I could tell he was with other people, though.<br />
<br />
"I had the worst day," I began. I wanted nothing more than to simply talk to my husband about my rotten day. After getting the work crisis taken care of, I was late leaving work which meant I was late picking up the kids, who were each late for their activities. The day ended with a hungry, cranky, overtired mutiny. After a late dinner of takeout pizza they went straight to bed. I was having a hard time talking to Paul, though, since he kept getting interrupted by others in his group, or he'd interrupt me to add a comment to whatever conversation was going on around him. I found myself growing more frustrated.<br />
<br />
Finally I just couldn't take any more. "Listen, Paul. I'm exhausted and you're busy. I'll see you when you get home tomorrow night and we can catch up then." He distractedly said goodbye and we ended our call.<br />
<br />
I got ready for bed, but couldn't go to sleep easily. My mind just wouldn't stop replaying all of the headaches of the day. I was already feeling out of sorts and the disjointed call with Paul didn't help any. I felt like such an afterthought in my own life. At work I was the boss,which made me the fixer of problems. I didn't have many opportunities to find the joy in my work like in the past. At home, I was "mom" - I kept the schedules, made sure everyone was fed and clothed, and kept the house clean. But who was taking care of me anymore? Who was I supposed to go to when I needed to talk, when I needed support? I knew I wasn't sleeping for a long time anyway so I brought up a book on my iPad and started reading. That always helped distract my mind so I could fall asleep.<br />
<br />
About an hour later my phone vibrated. I picked it up and had a text from Paul. <i>I'm sorry things were so crazy here tonight. I want nothing more than to be home with you to help you unwind after today. I'm sure you're asleep and won't see this until morning, but know I love you and can't wait to see you again. You're a kick-ass wife, mom, and editor. I am in awe of you.</i><br />
<br />
And just like that, all my doubt and tension vanished. There is my support. I put my iPad away and settled into bed. Tomorrow would be a better day.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-46666148186223826052016-07-08T14:43:00.002-04:002016-07-13T20:49:00.869-04:00Aggie<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055517362308/" target="_blank">She showed up at my door soaking wet, bruised, and covered in glitter</a>. I of course burst out laughing. As she stood there, dripping and sparkling in the porch light, glaring at me, I finally composed myself enough to ask what had happened.<br />
<br />
"What do you think, genius? I broke into a snow globe factory. No, I was attacked by a Twilight vampire. Or maybe I was assaulted by drag queens." She pushed past meand stomped down the hall to the bathroom. "Please tell me you've done laundry and have some clean towels. And I know I left some clothes here last week."<br />
<br />
"Augusta..." I begin, when she turns around and gives me that cold glare again.<br />
<br />
"Do <i>not </i>call me that, Aldous!" She turns back to her task of digging in my hall closet. If she'd asked, I would have told her that of course I'd done laundry (I was the tidy twin, after all) and there was a stack of fresh towels in the bathroom. I decided to make her work for it, though.<br />
<br />
"So, Aggie, are you going to tell me what happened? Did you piss off Tinkerbell or something?" I finally took pity on her and pointed her to the bathroom. As she dried off I opened the drawer I'd learned long ago to keep for her belongings and took out a change of clothes for her. She is as chaotic and disorganized as I am organized and neat. Or anal and stodgy, she calls me. We were twins, and similar in looks and build, but very different in our personalities.<br />
<br />
She thanked me as I handed her the clean clothes. "Actually, pissing off Tinkerbell is a pretty accurate description," she said with a wry smile. "Piper had two friends over to play today, Fallon and Finley. Also twins, but not fun ones like us. Identical little seven year old devils. Tiny blonde, yet deceptively strong, little demons. The girls wanted to go to the pool but Piper's mom had said no, so I wouldn't take them. I caught the little darlings filling up the parents' huge bathtub with water. The faucets weren't doing the job quickly enough, so they also brought the garden hose in through the bathroom window. Water was of course everywhere, and I slipped and fell as I was trying to get them all to turn off the water. I don't even know where the glitter came from. One of them made a glitter bomb, I'm sure of it."<br />
<br />
I couldn't help laughing at the thought of a wet, glittery Aggie chasing three little girls around. "What did the parents say?" Aggie works as Piper's nanny and I was concerned about her job at this point.<br />
<br />
"Oh, they did what they usually do. Laughed at how precocious little Piper and the evil twins are, and called their maid to come clean up. I wanted to stay to help her clean since she was the last person who should be doing it, but Mr and Mrs Pollifax were having guests over and strongly hinted I should make myself scarce before I dripped water or glitter in the rest of the house. Since getting to my quarters would mean going through the rest of the house I just came here."<br />
<br />
"Well, thanks for that, since you've been more entertaining than anything else I was going to do tonight." My sister seemed to attract the more interesting types of people. But whenever I said that to her, she'd just roll her eyes at me and say "Hudson, crazy loves me. I don't know why but maybe it's in the genetics." And yes, I go by my middle name of Hudson. Augusta Hazel and Aldous Hudson, those are our names. And no, our parents insist they don't hate us. We've asked. Old family names or something like that, although I suspect mom and dad were chemically impaired while naming us. Of course they'll never tell.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u1LDqw7SI0eniMLGO-yHVVnMptnR6c4-YACfBnTcNOh_FHcqI7JAUWA0An31Ai9X0WFYGwgunvJo_uDbepuois4LaEevHPNitBmCy_9L_-XZH5CvZ0Xn2qootVyJJjPi5jxEgM20MZg/s1600/sunglasses-love-woman-flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u1LDqw7SI0eniMLGO-yHVVnMptnR6c4-YACfBnTcNOh_FHcqI7JAUWA0An31Ai9X0WFYGwgunvJo_uDbepuois4LaEevHPNitBmCy_9L_-XZH5CvZ0Xn2qootVyJJjPi5jxEgM20MZg/s320/sunglasses-love-woman-flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a>"So what <i>are </i>you doing tonight, then? Want to go out? We haven't been to Jonzey's in a while, or we could go to a dance club." Jonzey's is the neighborhood pub. Good food, good people, and close enough to walk home if we drink too much. Which seemed to happen when we drank together. Sibling competition I am sure.<br />
<br />
"Fine, let's go out. I have class in the morning, though, so no drinking. Lets just go dancing. Want to call up Billie or Margot?" Billie and Margot are two of her friends from uni that live near me.<br />
<br />
"Nah, we'll stay out too late if they go too. I have to work tomorrow too, you know," Aggie said, sticking her tongue out at me.<br />
<br />
"So mature, Aggs. Are you sure you're the nanny and not Piper?" I laughed as she flipped me off as she walked out the door. I locked it behind us and we started off down the street.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-20447360042294837392016-07-07T22:21:00.002-04:002016-07-07T22:36:25.793-04:00Polly, part 2<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055514775853/" target="_blank">She wasn't supposed to be here</a>. She was supposed to be happily married still. She never expected to <br />
wake up one day and realize her husband was not who she had thought he was. They had been happy, back when they were dating, after she'd finished college. They were both 27 when they married. A year later they'd saved enough to put a nice down payment on their dream house. Both of them had good jobs; he was an engineer and she was a graphic artist. At 30, they'd agreed it was time to start a family and that's when things started changing. He pressured her into giving up her job, since they were planning for her to stay home with their baby for the first several years. She couldn't even pinpoint a specific time when he became abusive. He was too subtle for that. When a baby never came, he began to verbally attack her. Never physically, though, and she always brushed it off. Stress from work. Financial pressure. A bad day at the office. The anxiety of trying to conceive. She always shouldered at least part of the blame.<br />
<br />
But then, it happened. She still isn't sure what set him off. She woke up and he was acting strangely. He kept asking her questions, almost like he was interrogating her for some reason but she couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong. As her confusion grew, so did his anger. Before she knew it, she was flying up against the dining room wall. A picture frame broke and cut her arm, badly enough for her to need stitches later. She could feel her eye swelling. He started kicking her in the ribs, yelling incoherently. She couldn't remember but she apparently was screaming. Thankfully a neighbor heard and called 911. Police arrived while he was still beating her, and they pulled him off of her and called for an ambulance.<br />
<br />
She'd never forget the look on his face when he realized what he'd done to her, and how much trouble he was in. He started begging for her to forgive him, telling her he loved her and he didn't mean to hurt her. As he was yelling from the back of the police car and officer was asking if she wanted to press charges. She looked into the eyes of the stranger who had once been the most important person in her world, and without hesitation answered. "Yes, I would like to press charges. And also get a restraining order." The officer turned her over to the paramedics, who transported her to the hospital.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6XLJZf2tkkrzA63taRgrOGrlnbgRmcf-OLhuLp5LX1aeI4smb-fkoIFXVcT77drD6Yh0XDrcWrzPACVS5SW448g03aMrEJyYp5say6SmNlek_SxuzhvbF0fXvx3BM17vo8Dhwb3-y3A/s1600/IMG_0248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6XLJZf2tkkrzA63taRgrOGrlnbgRmcf-OLhuLp5LX1aeI4smb-fkoIFXVcT77drD6Yh0XDrcWrzPACVS5SW448g03aMrEJyYp5say6SmNlek_SxuzhvbF0fXvx3BM17vo8Dhwb3-y3A/s320/IMG_0248.JPG" width="320" /></a>Shaking her head as if to clear out the memory of that morning, Polly cleaned up her dinner dishes and went to run a hot bath. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken the time to relax in the tub. As the water filled the bathtub, she looked in the drawers at what toiletries she had available. She could always use some body wash or shampoo for bubbles. Just then, she noticed a small purple bottle in the back of the drawer. It was a bottle of her favorite lavender bubble bath, a very difficult to find brand. Her grandmother had first bought it for her when she was a preteen and it was always her special go-to relaxation method for most of her life. Such a small thing to find, but the joy she felt in finding one of her old comfort items brought her to tears. It felt like a blessing from her grandmother, that she was doing the right thing. Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-41676621284787171662016-07-06T15:58:00.002-04:002016-07-06T16:04:58.893-04:00Polly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYmI4YshfSXQd7Vqt9N_Ua6Z0-pPDRkl19C79e0xPL1SkXrKikYSao8p71Q7OWvcSXH2YuUT6JySNlhjQzLv0DkT4HhfGPLCRVJuEl4xl2A_uTSF2Qgdnbx_BqIEJz3jJk0ZwREZykJY/s1600/girl-954377_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYmI4YshfSXQd7Vqt9N_Ua6Z0-pPDRkl19C79e0xPL1SkXrKikYSao8p71Q7OWvcSXH2YuUT6JySNlhjQzLv0DkT4HhfGPLCRVJuEl4xl2A_uTSF2Qgdnbx_BqIEJz3jJk0ZwREZykJY/s320/girl-954377_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Polly carefully placed the cardboard box on the small table. "<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055516096750/" target="_blank">So this is it. This is home</a> for the next however long." She looked around the small boxy apartment. The front door opened into a small hallway with a kitchenette on the left and a living room on the right. At the end of the hall was a bedroom and a bathroom. One small, plain square. A tiny two-person table was in the kitchen for dining. The decor wasn't fancy, but at least the apartment was clean.<br />
<br />
Miss Cora showed her around. "There are some basics in the cupboards and I left a casserole in the fridge. Just heat it in the oven for half an hour or so and you'll have dinner tonight." Polly followed the older woman down the hall. "There are towels and a change of sheets in the hall closet. There are a few toiletries in the bathroom, soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and the like. I wasn't sure what you'd need. Anything you don't want just set aside and I'll save it for another woman." Entering the bedroom, Polly was taken aback by the cheerfulness of the room, although she noticed the lack of window. The bed was made up with a sunny yellow comforter and there was a big vase of flowers on the dresser. Miss Cora was still talking. "No windows in any of the bedrooms, I asked my Joe to cover them up years ago. Made the women feel safer, and they can sleep better at night. Nothing to make them feel like someone could be watching them." As she heard the words, Polly realized that is what she had been feeling the past few nights. She couldn't relax enough to get a good night's sleep because she was afraid someone could be at the window. Watching, waiting. Planning.<br />
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"I'll leave you to settle in now. Anything you need, just let me know. All the phones in the building are programmed. There are two speed dial buttons. The red one is 911. The green one calls the shelter line. Not the official one, the one just for residents. One of us will be happy to help you." Cora gave Polly a smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder and let herself out. Polly sat on the nondescript couch in the living room. She had a small television set, and end table with the phone, and a side chair. A few magazines graced the coffee table and a floral print hung on the wall. The curtains were opened a little and she noticed the glass had an odd look to it. Smiling, she remembered Miss Cora saying something about a privacy coating on the windows. She could see out, but no one outside could see inside. Even though she was two floors above the ground level, that helped her feel more secure.<br />
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It was nearly dinner time, so Polly put the casserole in the oven and found dishes in the cabinets. She filled a glass with water from the sink and set it on the table along with a prescription bottle from the hospital emergency room. It was almost time for another pain pill, also, and her antibiotic. She slowly unpacked the meager contents of her box. She hoped she had everything. It broke her heart to leave so many of her possessions, but that's all they were. Possessions. She could replace most everything eventually. She did manage to take her grandmother's rings. As she entered the bathroom to put away the few items she'd grabbed hastily off the counter at home, she was startled to see her reflection in the mirror. Her blond hair was in a stringy ponytail. Her face was makeup free and ashy, with a large purple bruise on one cheek and under her eye. She carried herself carefully, favoring the taped ribs. Luckily she no longer needed the sling for her arm.<br />
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Finally, the casserole was done. She removed it from the oven and served herself some on a plate. It smelled delicious and she was not surprised that Miss Cora could cook so well also. From the time she met the older woman in the ER Polly was in awe of her. She was thankful the social worker that was on duty happened to be one who worked with Miss Cora's underground network to help abused women escape their partners. One week ago, Polly would have laughed at the idea of her husband becoming violent and hurting her so badly. Looking back now, though, after talking with Miss Cora, another counselor, and a couple other women there, she could see the warning signs over the years. But for tonight, she was going to eat a good meal, get a good night's sleep, and in the morning go downstairs to the shelter. All the women could stay in the apartments rent free for as long as they needed, but in return they helped out in the running of the place. Tomorrow she'd be assigned a job to do and meet other survivors.<br />
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For the first time in a long time, Polly was looking forward to tomorrow.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-31584813641096261672016-03-10T15:32:00.002-05:002016-03-10T15:32:43.140-05:005 ways to win my heart (not that it's available)Prompts found <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/92/54/af/9254afffcb128a0a25f0ae1d5b6f079c.jpg" target="_blank">here</a><br />
<br />
My heart was spoken for long ago (this fall will be our 19th anniversary!) but this was the first prompt in the nifty list I found. So here is how you could win my heart, if it was not already taken.<br />
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1. Trust me. Trust me to know what I want, what I need, and to know what I'm talking about. I hate it when I have legitimate knowledge of something, or experience, and get brushed off like I couldn't possibly know. Trust that I know what I'm doing, even if it seems like I don't.<br />
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2. Accept my crazy, laugh with me, but never ever ever laugh at me. My thoughts don't always flow logically and I can reach the wrong conclusion the first time, but a simple redirection can help me get on the correct path. I seem random, saying things that appear to be out of nowhere, but if you ask I could actually take you on the concrete path I followed from point A to point Q.<br />
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3. Give me time to decompress. I love being around people. I can be quite social. But I also need time to be quiet, to read, to write, or to just do nothing. My brain gets overwhelmed and my body just shuts down. When I get there, everything I look at becomes "I can't even." Quiet time recharges me.<br />
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4. Surprise me with a flower, a sweet text, by making dinner, by cleaning up. Kiss me on the forehead, give me a long hug.<br />
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5. Support me. I don't care if you don't agree with me on big topics like politics, religion, equal rights. I may question it, but I don't begrudge your right to believe however you want. But support my right to believe how I believe without telling me how wrong I am.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-40827745858251789732015-10-15T11:26:00.000-04:002015-10-15T11:26:44.536-04:00What do we have wrong?I'm skipping ahead on <a href="http://brwnidgrljenn.blogspot.com/2012/06/30-day-blog-challenge-day-1.html" target="_blank">the list</a> today. So many seemed so "meh" to me and this one really stood out.<br />
"What popular notion do you think the world has most wrong?"<br />
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That's easy: That someone is always right.<br />
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For SO many countless issues, there is no right or wrong answer. Or right side in a fight. No one has all the information. People's backgrounds, experiences, and personalities influence their decisions and viewpoints. Take, for example, gun control. Person A survived a mass shooting. He is an advocate for stricter gun laws. Person B had his life saved by a "good guy" with a gun who stopped Person B's assaulter. He is an advocate for everyone owning guns. Both have strong, valid viewpoints and both think theirs is the correct answer.<br />
<br />
Basically every issue in every debate is the same. Also for wars. Each country involved believes firmly they are fighting on the correct side. No one goes to war believing that they're wrong.<br />
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So what IS the answer? There is no easy solution. People are so firmly entrenched in their beliefs that most refuse to even consider the other side. Until that happens, I fear we are doomed to a society of hatred and conflict.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-22834921748464157522015-10-10T08:00:00.000-04:002015-10-10T08:00:06.457-04:00The future was wide open(I can hear that song line in my head but can't remember what song it's from)<br />
<br />
Back to the <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/8585055516508720/" target="_blank">30 day writing prompts</a>... oops.<br />
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What is my dream job?<br />
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Well. That sounds like an easy question, right? Like the old question "What would you do for work if money was not an issue?" I can never decide, though.<br />
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I really want to be a writer full time. Like, feel-it-in-my-bones kind of want. The problem is, I can't write when other people are around, at all. I'm too easily distracted. So that would be pretty hard to accomplish with a family, unless by some miracle money really wasn't an issue and I could stay home and write while the girls were at school.<br />
<br />
Also, I'd love to own my own book shop. I even have a <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/christine918/future-dreams/" target="_blank">Pinterest board dedicated to that</a>. I want it in an old building with character. I want a fireplace, book club meetings, children's events.<br />
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I think I want the first one more, though. The book shop would be more of a fun side project. My biggest dream is just to move past the self-doubt and fear that has built up a brick wall and just WRITE.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-8200340734818088812015-10-09T10:58:00.000-04:002015-10-09T11:04:13.295-04:00Feels like Flashback FridaySo I'm registered for <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">Nanowrimo</a>, and volunteering with Girl Scouts so my daughter can participate. What year is it again?<br />
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Five years ago I attempted Nano. Not easy with a busy 12 year old and an infant in the house. I wrote more on one project that ever before, though! I didn't finish, but I was proud of how much I did accomplish. Now that those girls are 17 and 5, and I'm not quite as frantic, I'm trying again. I'm actually excited about it, although nervous. I'm not going to pressure myself, though. This is good motivation for me to actually finish what I started then, and actually do something with it. I'm tired of thinking "what if."<br />
<br />
And then there's Girl Scouts. Sophie has wanted to join since she was 3. Our teenager was a Brownie and a Junior, and I was her leader for the Junior years. It was overwhelming and exhausting, and she was an only child. The troop dissolved when I had pregnancy complications when Sophie was coming along, so it's been six years since I've done this. We had a great time, but the overwhelmed feeling is my primary memory of those years. I was glad to register Sophie, but told myself I wasn't going to be a leader this time around.<br />
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But now, the GS rules are different. Two committed adults are required to form a troop now. I had originally said I'd be a parental support, but only one other parent had volunteered to be one of the leaders. So the person running the meeting said "Ok, no troop formed today, I'll put you all down as interested and we'll see where we can go from there." Okay fine. I'll do it. It will be easier with two of us, and several parents have also said they'd help out. I'm anxious to get this started, which makes me impatient. I'd love to fast-forward through the training and set up and just DO it! But then again, I know nothing at all about Daisies so the training will be quite helpful. And, it has been six years. I'm sure I've forgotten a lot of things and others have changed.<br />
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I know it will all be worth it.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-36443643018197464142015-07-27T16:12:00.002-04:002015-07-27T16:12:55.304-04:00Stop defending them.I was five the first time it happened to me. The same age as my youngest daughter. I was with my parents at someone's house, family friends I guess you could call them. The adults were downstairs visiting, I was upstairs with their kids playing. All I remember is one of the boys (the kids were all several years older than I was) made me get in his bed under the blanket to see a "snake" and touch it. I didn't even know what it was. I knew it wasn't a real snake, but I could't even imagine what it might be.<br />
<br />
Then came the classroom. In elementary school, one boy sat behind me and would hit me, hard, in the back of my head every single day. I told my parents. I told my teacher. I was told "Hit him back, he'll stop." One day I did hit him back. I got in trouble, not him.<br />
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Another year, another class, same boy - he would sit behind me in class. He didn't hit me. He grabbed my breasts. In class, while the teacher was talking. He intimidated me so that I was afraid to say anything. It had already been reinforced to me over the years that telling someone didn't do any good. It wouldn't make him stop.<br />
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I can hear it now - grownups saying "Oh boys only are mean to the girls they like." Every time I'd try to talk about various boys who would touch me, hurt me, mock me, harass me - "he's just doing it because he likes you." I'd get the good-natured teasing "Christine has a little boyfriend!" More reinforcement: Your discomfort doesn't matter as much as the boys' pleasure.<br />
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In college, I had several guy friends. Suddenly, there were more. Guys from my classes would call me in my dorm. I'd chat with them, sometimes go on dates with different guys. Many times I'd go with a group of people and we'd go out dancing. Then I found out there was a rumor going around that if a guy was nice to me I'd sleep with him. I was floored. Finally I was confident, I was happy, I was enjoying myself, but since many of my friends were guys that meant I was a whore? I wasn't even sleeping with them, but that's beside the point. I broke down crying at home and the first thing said to me was "Have you done anything to cause people to think that?"<br />
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This is why I'm sickened by so many people's reaction to the whole Bill Cosby thing. Yes, we grew up loving Cosby Show and Jello Pudding Pops, and his comedy albums, and the specials. Yes, he was America's favourite dad. But that was a character, not the real person. These allegations have been whispered about for years. But finally, someone listened to one of the women. And that gave others courage to speak up also. Because I am damn sure those women were also shut down when they first tried to tell someone. "Bill COSBY did this to you? Are you sure? Didn't you maybe have too much to drink? Maybe you just led him on." And on and on it goes. More and more women came forward, and I had the displeasure at hearing a male in my life say out loud "I bet they're all making it up, their stories are too similar." Or maybe his MO was that consistent?<br />
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Yes, I'm sad that such a hero of our culture turned out to be such a villain instead. But I'm even more disturbed, saddened, and absolutely disgusted by the defense he's still getting.<br />
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Quit perpetrating the message, however subliminal, that girls and women aren't good enough to not be assaulted. Quit implying that because a man is powerful, respected, funny, well-liked, he couldn't possibly have done anything to them and they must have brought it on themselves. Quit teaching our daughters that if they are ever harassed or sexually assaulted, that it's their own fault.<br />
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It isn't our fault.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-49953928876586983792015-07-21T13:08:00.001-04:002015-07-21T13:08:31.652-04:00Happiness<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8MzDuTEFsCcl6UCRrm55D2mNcMg_PHkqeLHgK7p3si5s-WVR-_Rk7Rg5tTzjaCvRNiTaNGnNWAchvvAYIcjw6Lg_oi8mlK65uyTXgHiCFN0hMRyGc-4sqABwM-T3s7dgf96SWNEJTUs/s1600/7969e4032d478ff28fbfe7f1101e4fc3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8MzDuTEFsCcl6UCRrm55D2mNcMg_PHkqeLHgK7p3si5s-WVR-_Rk7Rg5tTzjaCvRNiTaNGnNWAchvvAYIcjw6Lg_oi8mlK65uyTXgHiCFN0hMRyGc-4sqABwM-T3s7dgf96SWNEJTUs/s320/7969e4032d478ff28fbfe7f1101e4fc3.jpg" width="240" /></a>Today's prompt asks what five things make me happy right now.<br />
I like thinking of happy things!<br />
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1. When our girls are snuggled up together, playing and giggling.<br />
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2. Unsolicited hugs.<br />
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3. Time together as a family.<br />
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4. Words. Reading them, writing them.<br />
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5. Laughing together<br />
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-52720991057196122562015-07-20T23:00:00.001-04:002015-07-20T23:00:23.075-04:00Talking to myselfToday's prompt asks the question what 10 things would I say to my 16 year old self, if I could.<br />
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1. It gets better. The bullying and harassment will stop soon. Just keep going.<br />
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2. You won't be this close with these friends forever. But you will keep in touch with a lot of them thanks to social media. However, in just a couple years you'll be in college and you'll make new friends, who will be the best friends you could ask for.<br />
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3. You'll make some questionable choices, but that's okay. You'll learn and become a stronger person from them.<br />
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4. It's okay to ask hard questions.<br />
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5. It's okay to take care of yourself.<br />
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6. It's okay to say no.<br />
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7. Treasure the time with your friends, since some won't make it far into adulthood.<br />
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8. In 3 short years, you're going to grow up very quickly.<br />
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9. You're going to be okay.<br />
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10. Don't stop dreaming. Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-48700765851597800412015-07-07T07:00:00.000-04:002015-07-07T07:00:03.118-04:00Fears<i>(Again, blog challenge found <a href="http://brwnidgrljenn.blogspot.com/2012/06/30-day-blog-challenge-day-1.html" target="_blank">here</a>)</i><br />
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Day 2 of this challenge is about fears. Describe 3 legitimate fears I have and explain how they came about. Sounds easy enough, right?<br />
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1. I'm afraid of ducks and cows. Not pictures, toys, or anything like that, but being around them in person. Exposed. No walls or fence to protect me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74X-_9C4B1bva2BHRkApLjd97fKuoMO0JPAxE1aniGriVxIbO_O9Ww4BJdlWCrAQsHlE_6Qwfjfn3DAD0CixqTWvex5noqNA3gLQFWpdHIBAVF2OZDXwJfPBegNvcXB7ZkLRKdIqa2vQ/s1600/8687536532_8f4009f60c_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74X-_9C4B1bva2BHRkApLjd97fKuoMO0JPAxE1aniGriVxIbO_O9Ww4BJdlWCrAQsHlE_6Qwfjfn3DAD0CixqTWvex5noqNA3gLQFWpdHIBAVF2OZDXwJfPBegNvcXB7ZkLRKdIqa2vQ/s320/8687536532_8f4009f60c_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from flickr.com</td></tr>
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<br />
I'll wait for you to stop laughing.<br />
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No really, stop.<br />
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Why am I afraid of ducks and cows? It's simple, really - they started it!<br />
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When I was little, we used to go to a duck pond and feed the ducks. These big, ugly black ducks with red bills.<br />
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These: <br />
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These ducks are mean. They chased me and bit me. Evil things.<br />
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As for the cows? That one is simple. I was near one, and something startled it, and it reared up at me like a horse does! Cows are huge, and I knew that was bad. I haven't been able to get close to one since.<br />
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2. Like every parent, I'm terrified of something happening to either of my daughters. This fear is bestowed at birth, I'm sure, and is pretty self-explanatory. Both girls tested this within their first couple days of life but thankfully both are healthy and full of life.<br />
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3. Heights. I'm fine on planes, but can't stand being near the edge of balconies and decks. Observation towers? Aerial trams? Nope and nope. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYfbWJmsF6RECx5PlK-3R6sPsoCh491J1lLlNzPPA5syJlZTcZfYv0bdZvySUX6MWQmJohB_e8QY3eKCeXVfbQfLeOSk-vZoURrjp4fMm8JRhCO_yNR7WCnBH0qSXJxYrwHuKwbBjklw/s1600/Ober-Gatlinburg-Tram-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYfbWJmsF6RECx5PlK-3R6sPsoCh491J1lLlNzPPA5syJlZTcZfYv0bdZvySUX6MWQmJohB_e8QY3eKCeXVfbQfLeOSk-vZoURrjp4fMm8JRhCO_yNR7WCnBH0qSXJxYrwHuKwbBjklw/s320/Ober-Gatlinburg-Tram-1024x768.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've ridden this before. It's horrifying.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-83429431167409311892015-07-06T16:54:00.001-04:002015-07-06T16:54:57.956-04:00That's so randomLast night I found a few 30 day blog challenges - how exciting! Roughly half a year of ideas, hooray! (<a href="http://brwnidgrljenn.blogspot.com/2012/06/30-day-blog-challenge-day-1.html" target="_blank">Here is the link</a> if you want to join in.) Today's topic? List 20 random things about myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3b9K_lXinbQR93vDQvim4E2eYSmglvPZymYQ_zMAa606ZhA2cwEdEFdYJ0xkd26n_yFNP3Z2iFkwub-J2bSULvNhHMfFWgGQjx12FGmwbWtK6Ytb-Ie4g6EN9cpLOdHeaOM4J2n8l2s/s1600/f8f3b6766f86f779ce57cef3898092fa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3b9K_lXinbQR93vDQvim4E2eYSmglvPZymYQ_zMAa606ZhA2cwEdEFdYJ0xkd26n_yFNP3Z2iFkwub-J2bSULvNhHMfFWgGQjx12FGmwbWtK6Ytb-Ie4g6EN9cpLOdHeaOM4J2n8l2s/s320/f8f3b6766f86f779ce57cef3898092fa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
1. I have red hair and blue eyes, which is the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/emmakelly/redhead-facts_b_4781153.html" target="_blank">rarest hair/eye color combination</a> in the world. And my daughters are the same.<br />
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2. The Myers-Briggs personality test classifies me as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INFP" target="_blank">INFP</a>, accurately. <br />
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3. I read a lot. On <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/10637323-christine-c" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>, I set my yearly challenge as reading 100 books this calendar year. As of today I'm at 136 finished and counting.<br />
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4. I google everything. Seriously, everything. If I don't know something, I just look it up. Honestly I can't comprehend why everyone doesn't! What else was that actor in? How do you make a certain dish? Is that political story going around Facebook true or not? I can tell you in seconds.<br />
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5. I think bacon is a bit overrated.<br />
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6. I'm guilty of this:<br />
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7. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by responsibilities that I just shut down for a day or two. I read book after book after book and try to forget for a while. Then I can move on and deal.<br />
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8. Cold temperatures make me break out in hives, starting on my fingers and traveling up my arms if I don't warm up.<br />
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9. I often have a hard time sleeping because my brain just will not shut off. So I'll read to distract my brain, which leads to a whole other insomnia issue.<br />
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10. I'm 5'11" and still wear heels. And I won't apologize for that, either.<br />
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11. Red is my favourite color.<br />
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12. Grumpy Cat annoys me greatly.<br />
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13. I've had a terrible case of poison ivy for nearly 2 weeks now. Today is day 12 of oral steroids for it. I wish I could stay on them forever! I've been pain free in my back and feet for the first time in a year.<br />
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14. I used to paint with watercolors and oils but it's been almost 10 years since I've done it. I have no confidence in my abilities at all and talk myself out of it every time.<br />
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15. I do this a lot, too:<br />
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16. My favourite movies are <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0190138/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank">The Whole Nine Yards</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0294870/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank">Rent</a>.<br />
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17. My favourite TV show is <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1475582/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank">Sherlock</a>.<br />
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18. I love big dogs. We have a Pointer (small at 45 lbs) and a German Shepherd (not small at 90ish lbs).<br />
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19. This October will be our 18th wedding anniversary. In 2016, I'll have been married for half my life already!<br />
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20. I don't mind my job, but I haaaaaate commuting to work. I get so freaking bored in traffic. Even when there's not much traffic I just want to get there already and be done with it. The long drive just kills me.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140177329425487985.post-75978077892133847492015-06-16T13:25:00.002-04:002015-06-16T13:25:51.026-04:00A change of perspective<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZt2KXYisKMrRupiUT8TKlZHdRkW9Mteo2VvjAh2h5sx5t_EiuTzYplyxbtiRkii__rXC2gv8JXMFN_OOyLrnPrLjtl_mTrbHHquBE2HEAL8akIUyMnwWkB0npvP8Ljy31D2aF2wYIc2M/s1600/25356_786006085435_2443749_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZt2KXYisKMrRupiUT8TKlZHdRkW9Mteo2VvjAh2h5sx5t_EiuTzYplyxbtiRkii__rXC2gv8JXMFN_OOyLrnPrLjtl_mTrbHHquBE2HEAL8akIUyMnwWkB0npvP8Ljy31D2aF2wYIc2M/s320/25356_786006085435_2443749_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
When Sophie, our five year old, was two days old, she started having seizures. The first one caught my attention as "This is odd. I wonder what it is." But they happened every hour, like clockwork, and progressively worsened. We took her to the pediatrician, where she had another seizure. Before we knew it, I was riding in the back of an ambulance with our newborn in her car seat strapped to a stretcher, on our way to the ER at Children's Hospital. This tiny baby was put through so many medical tests and interventions. The giant doses of IV medications to stop her last, longest, seizure did the job, but kept her asleep for the next two days.<br />
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I cried a lot during the week we spent in the hospital (as a nursing mother I was admitted with her). I missed my husband and oldest daughter. My husband had been staying at the hospital at first and our oldest was staying with a friend, but then she became sick and had to go home. I missed my home, our dogs, and a normal life. I felt cheated out of the happy new-baby-at-home time we'd been expecting. I was scared, lonely, and hormonal.<br />
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Finally, she was deemed healthy. The seizures were the result of bleeding on her brain, trauma from her quick delivery. The bleeding had stopped and the blood reabsorbed itself into her tiny body. But the neurologist wasn't the admitting doctor, and that doctor wanted to be safe. She wouldn't discharge us until every single test came back. However, she was able to be disconnected from all the monitors that kept her confined to a six-foot radius of her bassinet. I was able to walk with her up and down the halls, and see something other than the four walls of our room and the various procedure rooms.<br />
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While we were walking around, though, I realized that no matter how scary and horrible that week was, we were one of the lucky ones. Our child was going to be fine. We were taking her home. Too many kids there have serious illnesses, or terminal diseases. Too many families don't get to take their kids home, or are in the hospital for long periods of time. For too many, my nightmare is their normal. I took Sophie back to our room, and cried again. Out of relief, and heartbreak for all the other children on our floor.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14179273634809557825noreply@blogger.com0