Star of Wonder

I’ve been contemplating presents lately. How much I’m not really into the whole frenzy of gifts and wrapping and shopping. Even on-line. And how I think it’s rather interesting how a tradition that began in days of old had nothing to do with gift exchange between friends and family, but rather the act of bringing precious items of worth to the feet of one who might not seem to even understand their worth. A baby. The baby Jesus.  And I’ve been thinking about how this child came into the world to tell us a story. His story and ours. Wrapped up in a gift too huge for any Fedex box and yet simple enough to tell year after year, every Christmas. A story that many continue to write songs about. A moment significant enough to divide history into the letters of B.C. and A.D.

I sat in Friendly’s, across from my five-year old Sunday afternoon, and while she spooned frigid spoonful after spoonful of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles into her numbing mouth, I told her the story. Because, the funny thing is, she doesn’t know it. When you’re a parent of multiple children, I think you easily forget that the last, often coined “the baby” far beyond her diaper years, is often overlooked when it comes to details. I joke about how she’s raised by a house of four moms. Because her older sisters really dive in and help her with just about everything. And that really helps this tired mommy out. :) Continue reading

Once Upon a Sorta, Kinda, Not really Fairy Tale

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Fiction Friday Again! Can you believe it’s been a month, and the stories keep on coming! Enjoy this short little intro, possible prologue, to a love story that’s brewing in my head. And heart. 

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Growing up, Dad always read us bedtime stories when Mom worked nights. “Only two books.” Dad laid down the law. He was tired from playing cops and robbers all day. He’s a cop.I stared at my collection of Curious George books, and the grueling choice of choosing only one yellow binder aged me. I’m sure of it. Continue reading

Thanks for Nothing

Fiction Friday This Thanksgiving! Enjoy & Happy Thanksgivings ALL!!

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Sometimes the person you owe the most thanks to is the person who refused you what you asked for. Because deep down, you know what you asked for could have killed you. Metaphorically speaking. The moment that nearly wiped me out and left me broken-hearted happened a year ago this weekend. And that’s why I remember it so well.
As I begin my jog on this fall morning, I imagine the trees are whispering about the near tragedy as they push the blood-red leaves off to their demise. “Remember that night? There she is. The girl who almost said yes. But said no. Just in the nick of time.” Red branches talks about me like I can’t hear her.
Then the yellow painted tree chimes in. “Are you sure that’s her? Definitely looks like her. But there’s something different about her.”
Crimson Woody ponders the question before answering. “You’re right. Same girl. Different eyes. They used to see us. Now they see past us. Like she’s looking for something beyond her reach.”
Sunshine Branches sways her branches in agreement. “Like she’s not sure about yesterday. And even more unsure about tomorrow.”
“Seen that look a million times.” Red leans over to Yellow to lower her voice. “That’s what a woman looks like right before she jumps.”

Yellow gasps.

“Not like that kind of jump.” Yellow exhales a sigh of relief, so Red continues. “The jump into today. Because tomorrow is too far away and unclear. And yesterday too painful to revisit. So she’s fighting herself to grasp onto today with all she has. It’s the best kind of jump. But…”

Yellow: “Something told me there would be a but…”
Continue reading

Vegas, Baby.

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Wondering if it’s about time, I started a tradition on my blog. Since traditions are meant to be started and not necessarily kept, I thought I could at least attempt one. And it’s not even New Year’s Day. *Insert shocked look*

So every Friday, I will attempt [key word “attempt”] to write a short fictional piece. It might be a short story, an excerpt, a dream I had last night [they’re mostly make-belief!] or flash fiction. Every once in a while, I might even take a jab at writing a poem. I know, crazy, right! But I just want to mix it up a little. Because, I know this might come as a shock to you [it did to me :) ] not everyone wants to read about my life and the madness of it all. Although, I have to admit, strange things began to happen to me the moment I came out of my tree house [my house seriously has no closets!] to tell the world I’m a writer. Well, to be completely upfront, [cuz that’s how I roll,] odd things happen to me all the time. And after the dust of ‘Oh Shnap!’ settles, I tuck my pen behind my ear and start tapping, because no one writes down things with a pen anymore, do they? And I look back at the random incident that happened and think, “Dang, that might make a good story!”  Continue reading