Archive for June, 2011

Last Haircut

Tuesday, June 28th, 2011

The pressure dropped. The thunderheads rolled in and buckled against the city’s height, then cushioned there, they threatened. Nothing less than dangerous.

“I can’t wait to get outta the city,” you said.

It seemed everything was rusting.

“Give me a haircut,” you said.

The scissors were dull. Lightning flashed at the windows.

The ivy crept near. That red chair, scraping, scraping, until you could see just right in the china cabinet’s mirror (I didn’t want you to see what I was doing).  Thunder. The humidity and the roughly cut hairs made my nose itch. So much damn DAX in your hair, my fingers were shining. Smoothed the hair between my forefinger and middle finger, snip, snip. Here, there. No plan.

You complained: “Too long here.”

I always admitted I didn’t know what I was doing.

You liked it, after all. You preened. The storm had already ended.

After you had driven across the bridge toward the city, I realized you were gone. I dug a wad of your hair from the bathroom garbage. Rubbed it between my fingers. It produced no effect. I smelled it. Nothing. For a second I thought about stuffing it in my pocket. Instead, I stared at it until it was only hair, then I buried it in the trash can among the tissues and cardboard rolls, deep down, underneath everything.

Movies deliver up nice surprises

Friday, June 24th, 2011

One of life's nicest surprises is to become engrossed by a movie, charmed by the characters and drawn in by the plot ... then to find out as the credits roll, this amazing tale is based on a true story! This has happened thrice recently, thanks to Netflix and our love of the BBC and British humor.

I've read enough of Connie Willis to have an idea of what the London blitz was like. Or so I thought until I learned more of the Windmill at the West End in:

Mrs. Henderson Presents

With the inimitable Judi Dench, the story amused and touched me.


I thought I knew something about apartheid but quickly realized the opposite watching this amazing movie. As human beings, we can hold prejudices that fly in the face of we think we believe. Watch the credits!

Kinky Boots

This fun story examines what it takes to keep a business afloat in tough times, why people cross-dress, and gives a fabulous (albeit quick) clip of exactly how a shoe is put together. Fascinating, so be sure you watch the extra feature!

Netflix gives us the freedom of watching movies when WE want to watch them and WITHOUT commercial interruption. Furthermore, we can see the "indie" and foreign movies we find so much more interesting than those in the  mainstream. Often, the stories in the special features, which tell of the "making of the movie" speak to the creative in me. Hearing the book author, adaption and scriptwriter and others' stories of perseverance, belief in the project and passion for the subject simply light a fire in me.

Love You

Wednesday, June 22nd, 2011

With all the horror in the world, don't you think we could use a little more love? Perhaps we already have it and don't know it, or perceive it as we  should.  It is around us, evereywhere. It is an extention of your arm, which is, your cell phone.

You hear the words on the street, from your vehicle, through an open window and in a most  unlikely place, the restroom, where privacy should be at its utmost and used to be,when a voice from nowhere surfaces. 

You try to answer  it but they are not coversing with you. They are in a heated talk with someone else. But, as you will note, all of these instances have one thing in common.  Most of the time they end with "Love ya. or I love you."

Creating Childhood Memories

Sunday, June 19th, 2011

My three grandkids (ages 11, 12, & 13) are staying with me for ten days while their mom is out of town. I live in an apartment with units both below and above me, so keeping noise to a minimum is essential.

We have been playing lots of games. After a while, we began to expand of some of their favorites. When drawing the features on the Cootie, we started adding personalities. Through the addition of clothing, hair, and other accessories we created such appealing characters as Callie Cootie, Curt Cootie, Junior Cootie, Clowny Cootie, and Mousey Cootie. We have a happy Cootie Family for the kids to share with their mom when she returns.

My granddaughter loves to play Casino with me. This is a good game for two people as you only deal out four cards at a time, so you cannot figure out what the other person has. It is also a good game for developing math and observation skills. Kayleen wins at least half of the time.

At one point in time the kids were all in different rooms – the quietest of times. Karl was watching TV, Richie was playing a game on the computer, and Kayleen was pouting on the couch in the living room (due to not being on the computer). I picked up the deck of cards and dealt out old fashioned Solitare. I had barely gotten started with the game when Kayleen came over. She was fascinated. She didn’t know you could play the game with real cards. She thought it was just a computer game! We played several games together and then she was occupied playing on her own for another 30 to 40 minutes.

Other games that we all like to play together include Bingo, Skip-Bo, and Yahtzee. I sometimes put out small prizes for the winners to choose, such as wrapped candies, colorful pencils, and other trinkets.

We have also gone to movies: Kung Fu Panda 2 and Star Wars 5. I have taken them swimming in the apartment pool and at the Chilson Recreation Center, and we have gone shopping (their favorite activity) several times.

All in all, I think my major goal is being accomplished. I want them to have happy childhood memories.

Come to Visit!

Wednesday, June 15th, 2011

Flash here. On the advice of our agent, Cindy has let me start my very own blog. It's called I post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I hope to see you there. A cat like me can't have too many friends!


Friday, June 10th, 2011

My recent change of residence has created a phobia within me…fear of cardboard boxes. Strange? Perhaps. But as I am living it, I can tell you, it’s my truth.

The definition of a phobia says it’s a strong, irrational fear of something that poses little or no actual danger to the person owning it, where panic, rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, trembling, desire to get away are common symptoms.

The overflow of unpacked moving boxes hidden in my closet is driving me crazy.

I tiptoe past the door, but still hear their contents calling to me, begging for freedom

I’m filled with empathy.  But are they planning a coup?

A strange trembling overtakes me. I struggle to breathe yet feel the heart palpitations increase. I feel the fear and panic.  There’s only one solution…

I must flee, leave the house…run, run, run...go have fun!

Okay, I may be gone for the day, but who knows what will develop while I’m gone.

Is there a chance the shoemaker’s elf friends will take piety on me, drop by, unpack ‘all that stuff’ and find just the right place for each item?


I’m just going to have to confront my phobia head on if I want to conquer its hold on me.

OKAY! I can do this…but tomorrow


Monday, June 6th, 2011

I threw something away I want back – a green-colored, droopy-eyed, dog-shaped piggy bank my grandma gave me. I had noticed that the slot for coins had a cracked triangle in the back.

As I was sorting through the boxes of my childhood things – my mother had said you need to get this stuff out of the attic – I figured it was a useless thing with that hole.

But I’ve held onto my memory of it, even stopped at antique shops, looking for its replacement. It’s like I’ve become stuck on this one thing I can’t have, a regression into an almost guilt.

I got rid of something from my late grandma that represents animals, which, at one time, I considered to be my best friends. Their soft ears could listen without button eyes judging or sewed-on mouths laughing and throwing out taunts.

I was a tidy, neat little girl who kept her coins in the doggy piggy bank, saving for toys my mom or dad wouldn’t buy or candy I eyed or gifts for birthdays and Christmas.

As an adult, I don’t know why I keep thinking about something I chose to drop into the bin. It’s like I, too, got a hole somewhere, a broken piece that I can’t let go.

I can’t just hold on, my fingers straining white, keeping it when it’s like a note in the air – a sound that lifts, drops and then folds away, leaving an impression of something beautiful that had been there and now is gone.