What Can You Be the Best at in the World?

Daughter, Find Your Purpose: A short story.

I haven't written much this past month or so, but I've always found a writing challenge to be a good motivator to get me back in the writing habit. The "Ask Yourself Empowering Questions" writer's challenge has done just that, and I have been working through the list of ten prompts. 

Rather than explore and write about my own “best gift,” I answered prompt #7 “What can you be the best at in the world?” with a short piece of fiction.

The main character's talent fits well with the theme of this blog, making the most of every moment, so I've decided to share this story here. Enjoy ... 

Image by author, Susan Foster

Daughter, Find Your Purpose

The king stared hard at his daughter. She was 14 and floundering. It seemed she had no purpose. Life as a royal had made her soft. When he was her age, a commoner not yet married to the queen, he had worked hard to survive. He chopped wood, hunted, fished, and foraged for his family. He cared for his younger siblings and often counseled his widowed mother. All of these responsibilities taught him decision-making and leadership. He knew those traits made him a good leader. But, what was his eldest daughter even good at? It was time, he decided, for her to find out.

“Daughter, I am giving you a task. You have one week to figure out what you can be the best at in the world. Once you do, I want you to tell me about it. Together, we will decide how this will affect your future. It is time you found your purpose.”

His daughter, Maribeth, gazed at him with love in her eyes. “Yes, father. I would like to do that. Can you tell me how?”

“No, dear daughter, discovering your gifts is something you must do by yourself. Now, off you go, and find your skill.”

Deep in thought, Maribeth wandered towards her chambers. Her path to her room was not a direct one, however, as was so often the case. In the hallway just down from her bedroom, she encountered Jane, her lady-in-waiting, struggling to carry a heavy load of bed linens. Kindly, Maribeth took part of the burden and carried the sheets to the laundry tub for the maid. On the way back, she stopped to steady a ladder while the lamplighter replaced a high candle.

Once finally in her room, Maribeth sat with quill in hand at her desk, staring at a piece of parchment upon which she had written 

Things I am best at:

#1. …

Maribeth was stuck. She couldn’t think of even one thing to add to her list. 

As she sat there, her thoughts were interrupted by a tapping sound. Following the whispery noise, she realized a moth had become trapped behind the heavy drapery over her window. Carefully she lifted it and released the poor creature into the open air.

Sighing, she thought perhaps a ride would inspire her. Maribeth changed into her riding habit and walked down to the stables. It took a while, because en-route, she retrieved a ball that had been kicked by two small children over a wall; played fetch with one of the dogs that guarded the castle; helped the gardener weed a patch of the flower garden; and directed a merchant the kitchen door so he could sell his basket of produce to the cook.

Upon arrival to the stables, Maribeth realized the grooms were frantically busy getting ready for the upcoming hunt. She told them not to worry, she could curry and saddle her own horse. Before doing so, she grabbed a pitchfork and cleaned the stall, so they would have one less task to do. 

Towards the end of her ride, Maribeth came upon one of the castle’s barn cats, with a badly injured paw. It appeared to have caught its foot in something, perhaps a snare, and the cat had injured it pulling loose. Gently, she scooped the cat into her skirt, climbed back into her saddle, and rode home cradling it in her lap, soothing it with her voice. Once there, she cleaned and bandaged the wound and brought the cat to her bedroom for surveillance and further care. The feral cat seemed to know she was helping it and didn’t try to scratch or bite her, even though it was clearly in pain.

Throughout the week Maribeth’s days continued much the same. She added writing, cooking, needlepoint, playing piano, painting, and singing to her list, but then crossed off each one. Although she was competent in all these skills, she knew she was far from the best in the world at any of them. In addition to English, she could speak French and German, but neither as fluently as her sister. Maribeth was good at her lessons but didn’t know enough science or arithmetic to consider herself a scholar. She began to wonder if she even had a gift or a purpose.

Just before the two weeks were up, Maribeth’s lady-in-waiting found her in the garden, crying. “My lady, whatever is the matter.”

“Oh, Jane. Remember I told you father tasked me with discovering what I am best at in the world, and gave me one week to do so? Well, this afternoon I must report to him, and I can’t think of anything I am best at. How can I be so worthless?”

“Worthless,” Jane scoffed. “You are the least worthless royal I have encountered in all of my days. “Worthless -pffishh. No, my dear lady, what you are, actually, is worth your weight in gold. You are a gem.”

“WHaaaat? What do you mean?” Maribeth sniffed and rubbed her tears on her sleeve.

“My lady, your gift is your heart. You show others compassion and caring every chance you get. No creature, be it butterfly or maid, is unworthy of your attention. You make life easier for everyone around you, every single day. You have a healing touch and a compassionate soul. Your gift, dearest m’lady Maribeth, is the gift of love.”

Maribeth stared at her, wide-eyed. “But, Jane, surely others are no different from me. I need to find something I am the best at in the world. The things you have mentioned are so easy to do, anyone could do those things.”

“Anyone could, my lady, but not everyone does. Go tell your father I said these things, and he will recognize them in you, too. Your father is a good king because he has good leadership skills. As queen, one day, you will be an equally good leader because you are so well-loved.”

Maribeth gave Jane a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her for her insight. With her head held high, her heart bursting with humble pride, she went to find her father.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you now probably realize, Maribeth finds joy in making the most of everyone else's moments. Do you think her father will consider this a worthy talent?

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If you are needing some writing inspiration or want a place to publish your own work, I highly recommend checking out the website Medium and the thought-provoking “Ask Yourself Empowering Questions” writer’s challenge. See details here.

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Links to some of my other writing challenge responses:

Prompt #1: What Does it Mean to Be Human? Why are we all suspended on the side of a spinning ball in a vast universe?

Prompt #2: What experience do I want to create now? Is a Bountiful Harvest Still Within Reach?

Prompt #3: What is your worst flaw and why are you keeping it? Why Would Anyone Refuse to Give Up Their Worst Flaw? 

Delight in the Moment: Focus on the Positive

Wow - it's been over a month since I've published here. I've been beating myself up about neglecting this blog again, but some sad, happy, and time-consuming events sidelined my writing.

Here's some of what's been going on:

• Our 18-year-old kitty became very ill and required quite a bit of care and attention in his last days. Grief over the loss of him has been real and catches me at unexpected moments. 

• My son graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in mechanical engineering. Fortunately, we were all fully vaccinated and COVID restrictions had eased up, so my husband, daughter, and I (with our dog!) drove to Oregon. We spent the weekend of my son's virtual commencement ceremony celebrating graduation with him and a few of his friends and their parents.

• Our "6-week" home renovation project (now in its 8th month) finally finished up enough that, upon returning from Oregon, we were able to move our belongings back upstairs. I'm enjoying having a kitchen to cook in once again!

• The third week of May, Mother Nature gifted us with somewhere between a foot and 18 inches of snow. After a few days, it all melted and temperatures warmed up. Suddenly all the outdoor spring/summer tasks were screaming for attention! 

A blow to my self-esteem

For Mother's Day, my husband gave me the book The Woman With the Blue Star, by Pam Jenoff. She also wrote The Lost Girls of Paris, which he knew I enjoyed. I learned from her author bio on the book cover that, despite being a mother of three children and a law professor, she still has managed to publish eleven novels, including several best sellers. 

This was a bit of a blow to my ego – if she could manage all that, why do I let life events prevent me from writing and spending time at my computer?

A poetry prompt made me feel better

I'm always vowing to set up and adhere to better writing routines, but I came across a poetry prompt that gave me a bit of a different perspective. It reminded me of the value of delighting in the current moment. Instead of just berating ourselves for what we haven't done, it is important to celebrate our accomplishments. 

I wrote a few lines that describe my experience at the time when I read the prompt:

Delight in the Moment  

For the first time in a few days, the breeze is chill.
I’m warmed by a cup of coffee and sunbeams from the east.
I watch my dog as she stares up the hill,
ears at attention, her eyes riveted on a bunny.
A word from me holds her in place
but she does not break her focus.

Her thoughts are only of the rabbit.
Her ball and her bone both are momentarily abandoned and forgotten.
I wonder if I should adopt this habit,
of simply concentrating on only one thing until it is complete.
Once the bunny moves on, it will be forgotten and
the dog will entertain herself a different way.

Prior to this moment, I was in a fret.
I’m overwhelmed by all I need to accomplish and my long to-do list.
I’m frustrated by self-expectations recently not met,
but I try to remind myself of all I have been doing.
Can I exchange my disappointment and my angst
for my dog’s single-minded attentiveness?

I contemplate the promise of the rising sun.
I resolve to adjust my mindset and give myself the grace I would give others.
Rather than worry about all that’s left undone,
I will enjoy and celebrate every achievement of the day.
My dog as my mentor, I will try to remember to 
embrace the present and delight in the moment.

Focus on the positive

I hope that if you (like me) have been irritated with yourself for anything you have not accomplished, my attempt at free-form poetry will remind you to celebrate your achievements and delight in the present.

Happy summer everyone!

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A Onomatopoetic Conversation (A Word Prompt Fiction Story)

 I'm trying again. I posted this story here last week and two hours after I published it, it disappeared! I have no idea if the cause was something I did or something Google did. I wonder if perhaps the previous title I created (using some of the word prompt words) sounded a little smutty (not intentionally!) and perhaps Blogger flagged the post as inappropriate content (it's not!) and took it down. I've contacted them but have had no response.

Moral of this story, ALWAYS keep a copy of your work!

Anyway, I rewrote it as best I could and I am sharing it again today, using a different title. Hopefully, this time it will stay up long enough for you to read it!

I wrote this piece of fiction using word prompts. See below for more details.

An Onomatopoetic Conversation

“Sooo.” My mom crooned, in a soft persuasive murmur, “Are you going to help me?”

“Mmmmm.” This sound came out of my full mouth garbled and non-committal–I uttered it both as a platitude and a moan of pleasure. The piece of steak I was chewing was so rare I almost heard it moo before I put it in my mouth, just the way I like it. 

My mother was not placated. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” Her tone rose to a shriek. “Egad. Were you even listening to me? Did you even hear a word I said?”

Still working on my steak, I took a big schlurppp of my wine and swallowed. I tried hard, but I couldn’t suppress the impulse to giggle at her expletives, and I let out a big guffaw.

“Hmph.” My mom’s state of annoyance came surging through the phone line. You know my car is in the shop this week. I need you to run some errands before we all congregate tomorrow.”

I asked, “Hm… What do you need me to do again?"

“Grrrphhhh. Grrr.” No one can growl quite the way my mother can. The sound of it made me jump. I accidentally dropped my fork, and it landed on the steak with a SPLAT and splattered the bloody juice all over my shirt.

“Just a minute, mom!” After listening for the barely audible clink, indicating I had switched the phone to mute, I then set it down. I walked over to where the light was coming in through the window over the kitchen sink and examined the stain on my shirt. I squirted a little dish soap on it and tried to rub it out. The friction of the fabric sounded like the whoosh of a bird’s wings when it takes off in flight.

Before unmuting my phone, I nostalgically said to myself, “onomato-PEE-AHHHHH.” Many years ago my brother and I had created this word, to describe the way our mother often used onomapeia when she spoke. Suddenly, I was looking forward to the dinner, when I would congregate with my siblings and reminisce about our childhood.

Eager to avoid the hazard of my mother’s wrath, I apologized for my lapse in listening to her earlier in the call.

I said, “Yoikes! I’m sorry I wasn’t paying proper attention to you earlier. Please tell me exactly what you need.”

“As I said, I’d like you to go to the market and pick the groceries for our family dinner. I’d also like for you to buy me a peasant skirt.”

"A peasant skirt," I squawked. "Why on earth do you need a peasant skirt?" 

Mom explained, “My women’s club meets this weekend, and we will discuss the painting Return from Market by Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin and a poem Eavan Boland wrote about it. I plan to go in costume and imitate the woman in the painting. It seems like a good way to add some zing to a meeting that could otherwise be sort of boring.

“Oh, Mom,” I said. “Where would I even find a peasant skirt? Are they even in style anymore?”

“Don’t worry, honey. I called around, and the boutique on 5th Street has just the skirt I want. You can just pay for it and pick it up.”

“Ka-ching!” I rolled my eyes at such a frivolous purchase and then immediately felt glad we weren’t on a video chat. Eye rolls always angered Mom! 

“Mom, everything in that store costs a fortune. But if you want me to, I will buy the skirt for you.”

I then told her about the bloody steak stain on my shirt, and (of course) she offered to get it out. She said I could drop the shirt off to her upon my return from the market when I delivered her the groceries. Although she was originally very irritated with me, before we hung up Mom told me to be prepared — she planned on giving me a hug and a great big smooch.

---

Two separate challenges supplied the prompts. 

To write this story, I used the prompts from both the 4/28/21 Words for Wednesday Challenge and a challenge from writer, Micheal Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg).

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The First Challenge

The Words for Wednesday weekly writing challenge prompts were provided this month by Wisewebwoman on her blog. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

The prompts she supplied this week:
~ An image of a painting and two lists of words taken from a poem about the painting, written by Eavan Boland:

• Congregate, Impulse, Market, Peasant
• Wine, Surging, Light, Hazard
• “Back from Market” a painting by Chardin.

~~**~~

The second challenge: 

Michael Burg provided a list of prompts in his post, A Fun Onomatopoetic Prompt. He solicited the favorite “sounds” of other writers, then complied those in a list and challenged his readers to write a story using all of them. 

Here is his list of words:
(Spellcheck complained a lot about these! 😉)

hmph, sooo, clink, Hm…, Grrr (growl), SPLAT, Mmmmm, whoosh, 
Ka-ching!,onomato-PEE-AHHHHH, murmur, egad, Guffaw, Schlurpppp, Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!, Moo, Yoikes!, Giggle, Grrrrphhhh, zing

~~**~~

Just for fun

I added a few onomatopoeic words of my own. Did you spot them?

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Do Other Writers Have These Thoughts?

When my insecurities woke me up one night, I wrote them down.

Image by Susan Foster.

A Writer's Doubts.

Are the hours I sit in my chair in front of my computer time well spent?
Should I be doing something else instead?

Hours go by, and all I do is write.
Is this a worthwhile effort? 
Should I be doing something else?

Do other writers feel the way I do?
Do they have feelings of uncertainty and doubt,
as they write the minutes of their lives away?

Are the words that spray out from my pen ever any good?
Are the thoughts I share just commonplace or are they brilliant news?
Do people read my work because it draws them in?
Or do they read only out of loyalty to me or, worse yet, obligation?

Have other writers found my work because it’s too good not to read, 
or simply because I left a comment on one of their own stories
and they want to return the favor?

What would I be doing if I wasn’t writing?
Should I be spending such vast quantities of time on this?

Perhaps these questions are of a futile type.
I’m not sure there’s anything I can do but write.

I’m not sure there’s any way I cannot write.

Do other writers have thoughts like this?
Or are these concerns and doubts uniquely mine?

Do you ever get up and record your own thoughts at night? If you do, are you then able to go back to sleep?

Life is like a Box of Chocolates–and a Bowl of Pistachios

Shelling pistachios taught me a lesson about life's challenges.

Forrest Gump’s insight on life was a little incomplete.

Tom Hanks, while acting as Forrest Gump, was right when he said, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” But he would probably agree that dealing with the challenges we face is a lot like shelling a bowl of pistachios.

I thought of this as I was snacking on a bowl of unshelled pistachios. I kept picking up and putting down the ones with the shells that were the toughest ones to crack. After eating all the easily shelled nuts, I turned my attention to trying to crack the rest. It occurred to me that we tend to deal with life’s tough problems in quite a similar way.

We usually crack the easy nuts first - but should we?

I think it’s human nature to tackle our easy tasks and problems first. We often procrastinate and put the harder chores aside, to work on after other ones are complete. Time management advisors frown on doing this; they say you should tackle tough issues early in the day when you have the most time for them. In her article, How to Stop Procrastinating And Start Accomplishing, Caroline Castrillion points out, 

“The more challenging the tasks are, the more energy and concentration we need to complete them.”

Sometimes it’s ok to leave the tough nuts until last 

Do the hard stuff first is good advice… but, think about that bowl of nuts. Would you methodically pick out all the barely open pistachios and work at cracking all of them open before you enjoy the others? Of course you wouldn’t, unless someone offered you a challenge or told you that was what you had to do.

What this says to me, is that we can choose to do the hard things first, but it takes a lot of discipline. I’m not saying the experts are wrong, just pointing out that their advice can be hard to follow. Their way might be the best way, but it’s good to keep in mind that it's not the only way.

Trying to shell tough nuts (or complete tough tasks) can become less frustrating and less daunting once you’ve already had success with the rest.

Shelling a tough nut may seem more impossible than it is 

A pistachio nut may initially seem impossible to open, but after practicing on the easy ones, you may have learned patience and some new techniques. You mastered the skill of twisting the shell open but learned your fingernails are not strong enough to pry some nuts apart. 

If you use a knife blade as a fulcrum, from your experience with the easily shelled nuts, you’ll know just where to insert the point and how to twist to open this one. 

 One advantage to doing easier tasks first is they may show you difficult ones are not as hard as you first thought, because you’ve figured out a different way to do them.

Not all nuts can be cracked

Most importantly, I think, my bowl of pistachios taught me that not all nuts can be cracked. In a bag of pistachios, you will encounter a few nuts that have no discernable seam down the middle. Short of bashing them to pieces with a hammer, there is no way you can open them. 

Some tasks in life are like that too. Sometimes we have to just give up and leave them in the bowl … or find someone better trained or skilled (to act as a hammer) to do the task for us.

Life is full of surprises and challenges

As Forrest Gump said, life is just like a box of chocolates and always full of surprises. We never know just what will happen next. 

It is also full of challenges of varying difficulty. It is good to remember that, like a bowl of pistachios, sometimes we have to find different ways to deal with them, but almost all our challenges can be successfully dealt with, even if we sometimes have to get some help.

Type or Write "Coleslaw" a Few Times, and You'll Wonder If It's Even the Right Word! It is - and here's why...

Do you ever write or type a word a couple of times, and then it begins to look really strange to you? This happens to me a lot. I start to wonder if I've spelled a word correctly, or if I'm even using the right word at all. 

I had thoughts like this a few weeks ago, as I was publishing a recipe for coleslaw. COLESLAW. The more I typed the word, I wondered, "Is this really right? Am I spelling it wrong?"

Then, I got to thinking, "Why is this grated cabbage and carrot salad called 'coleslaw' anyway?" I'd never before questioned this, but it is an unusual word.

So, of course, I googled it.

According to the website, Culinary Lore, this dish, originally called Koolsla, found its way to America from Holland in the late seventeenth or early eighteeth century. Kool in Dutch means cabbage and Americans eventually changed it to cole. Sla comes from the Dutch abbreviation of the word salad. (Salad in Dutch is salade.)

Some people used to think the name was not coleslaw but "coldslaw," as it is usually served cold, however that is incorrect. In fact, as the article on Culinary Lore points out, a slaw (versus a coleslaw) is now considered to be "any type of dressed salad with shredded vegetables. Slaws may be sweet or savory, chilled or warm."

There does seem to be a discrepancy as to whether slaw must include cabbage as an ingredient. Culinary Lore says most slaws "tend to contain some type of cabbage." An article on Chowhound claims, "Slaw without the cole can feature any crunchy veggie in place of cabbage, including chopped or shredded broccoli, carrots, snow peas, jicama, and more."

I have a favorite coleslaw recipe. I'll share the recipe below, but if you want to know more about why I like it so much, you can read all about it here.

Coleslaw with Mustard and Caraway Seeds

(2 to 4 servings)

Ingredients:

For the dressing:

¼ cup Miracle Whip

¼ cup plain Greek yogurt

1 ½ tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon stone ground dijon mustard

½ tablespoon mustard seeds

1 teaspoon caraway seeds

¾ teaspoon granulated sugar

freshly ground salt and pepper to taste.

For slaw:

½ of a small head of cabbage (~2½ cups, shredded)

3 large carrots

Method:

1. In a small skillet (with no butter or oil), toast mustard seeds and caraway seeds for a few minutes over medium heat. Shake or stir occasionally, and remove the pan from the heat as soon as the seeds are fragrant and lightly toasted so they do not burn. Pour them into a dish to prevent them from cooking any further.
2. Peel and grate carrots and shred cabbage into a large bowl. Stir to combine.
3. Combine miracle whip, yogurt, mustard, sugar, and vinegar in a small bowl or measuring cup. Add cooled seeds, mix well, and add salt and pepper to taste.
4. Add part of the prepared dressing to the ingredients in the large bowl. Stir well to incorporate the dressing completely into the slaw; keep adding more dressing until the cabbage/ carrot mixture is well coated. You will probably need all the dressing, but it is safest to add it slowly to avoid making the slaw too saucy.
5. While you could serve this coleslaw immediately, it is best refrigerated for at least 15 minutes (or even overnight) as the flavors will intensify.
6. Refrigerate leftover coleslaw (if there is any!)

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy! 😷 

This post contains affiliate links. The opinions expressed, however, are entirely my own.

He Wasn't Standing Where He Was Supposed To Be

Word Prompt Flash Fiction.

Image by author, Susan Foster.

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

He Wasn't Standing Where He Was Supposed To Be

I rushed to the door and darted out from beneath the shop canopy into the street. Behind me, in hot pursuit, was the cashier. Despite his age, he was almost as fast as me, thanks to my gimpy gait. Minutes earlier, he watched me sneak a chocolate bar from the sweets aisle into my pocket. 

Like a well-oiled machine, this was all working out just as I'd planned. Earlier this morning, I stomped down hard on a rose stem from my mother's garden, making sure a thorn punctured the ball of my foot. This made me limp, causing soreness with every step. It was so important that I be viewed as a bit of a charity case. Nothing, not even pain, was too much to endure for the end result.

The cashier caught up to me, grabbed my arm, and shouted, "Show me what's in your pocket. I saw you take that chocolate bar. You can't steal stuff and expect to get away with it."

I hopped two steps and leaned against the wall of a nearby building, holding my injured foot pitifully off the ground. It throbbed intensely after running on it, so my grimace was sincere. Opening my eyes wide, I gave him a mournful look. 

"I'm sorry, Mister.  I started thinking about all that candy and it seemed like a good way to help me forget how much my foot hurts," I said. "I was just daydreaming about the taste of this chocolate bar, and I pocketed it without thinking." 

I sobbed for a minute to emphasize my point, and then continued,  "I knew right away you saw me do it and that you probably thought I was stealing, so I  - I ran. Or hobbled, anyway." I gave a loud sniff. " I don't want to go to pp-prison."

 

Just as expected, the cranky old man's expression softened.

Convinced that I had drawn things out long enough, I seized the moment. I reached into my pockets and pulled out the chocolate bar from one and a few dollars from the other. I offered it all to the cashier. 

"Here," I said, "I really did mean to pay for it. You can have my money, and I'll give you the candy bar back, too."

 

"Oh, that's all right," said the cashier. "This one's on me. But, be more careful from here on out. This sort of mistake doesn't often work out so well."

"No, sir, It certainly doesn't." 

I grinned inwardly and pictured my friend and shoplifting partner, Billy. By now, he'd be waiting for me in the back alley with bags full of candy and other stuff for each of us, stolen while I'd lured the unsuspecting cashier out of the otherwise unattended shop. 

We were so good at this.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Word prompt writing sometimes practically writes itself!

I used all of the words provided to write this story but decided not to include the image. However, after I finished writing, I realized I had been inspired subconsciously by the photo, which then helped to write my title! 

By the way, despite having concocted a rather elaborate shoplifting plan, I have never (ever) stolen anything! I'm a little nonplussed by how easily I came up with such a devious plot.

Words for Wednesday Word Prompts for the week of 4/4/21

This story was written in response to the Words for Wednesday Challenge on 4/4/21. The prompts are provided this month by Wisewebwoman on her blog. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

This week, there were two lists of words and an image with a caption, all of which were taken from The Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen. Here are the prompts: 

Canopy, Thorn, Machine, Charity and/or Limp, Aisle, Nothing, Sneak

and/or 

a photo of art by Leonard Cohen (shown here), described in this book review as "A very loose self-portrait sketch is accompanied by the words, "I believe that you are standing in the place where I am supposed to be standing."

Do you see how (although completely unintentionally) the image influenced my story?

A strange coincidence

I am currently reading a book with a nearly identical title but a very different genre called The Book of Longings written by Sue Monk Kidd. So far, I am really enjoying it.

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy. 

A personal update

I was lucky enough to be vaccinated on Tuesday, and although I was pretty under the weather with flu symptoms for about 24 hours after the shot, I agree with the protagonist in my story that some discomforts are worth enduring for the end result. 

A few hours of a fever (and the embarrassment of my newsletter publishing itself without me remembering yesterday to update it from last week) is definitely better than getting COVID! Stay healthy, everyone!

I Thought He Was a Goner

Anyone who's been reading this blog for a while knows that we have a cat. A very old cat.

On March 24th, I wrote about it being his 18th birthday. Last week, I truly thought his worsening kidney failure had reached a point where he would slip away. 

He has been steadily losing weight for several years, down from 13 pounds to about seven. On Easter Sunday, he appeared more emaciated than ever: his gait was unsteady, and several times he simply just fell over. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be in pain.

I spoke with our vet, and we were in agreement. Doing more tests and treatments will only delay the inevitable and a visit to the clinic would cause this old, old kitty undue stress.  Yet, as the vet put it, death from renal failure can be ugly. We agreed not to interfere unless my kitty needs help getting comfortable, and in that event, we will take whatever measures will be best for him.

I mentioned that other than his arthritic hips, he didn't currently seem to have any sort of pain. The vet suggested I try giving him another steroid shot to help with that. I drove to the clinic (without the cat) and picked up the prefilled syringe.

Every day since I administered the shot of cortisone last week, our little kitty has shown increasing signs of improvement. Today, I can barely serve him enough food to satisfy his (previously non-existent) appetite. He is roaming the house and seems to have a lot more energy. 

I know the day will not be too far off, but thankfully, it's not yet time to say goodbye.

I apologize for it being a week since I have published here. I've been busy giving my cat some extra cuddle time!

Flash Fiction: A Wily Decision

 A wife takes a cue from a dog and initiates a big change.

(Image by author, Susan Foster).

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

A Wily Decision

The tenth of every month was the day Mr. and Mrs.Wily picked up their allotment of wine from the vineyard. They had been members of the wine club there for over ten years, and although they sometimes opened a bottle on special occasions, they had built up an impressive collection of wine in what Mr. Wily called the “wine cellar” in the basement. Really, it was just wooden shelves lining the walls, but she knew Mr. Wily liked the way it made him feel when he referred to it that way. Like they were rich, or something.

Their drive home followed an ice-covered brook. Mr. Wily rolled down the car window, letting in the chilly late afternoon air as he puffed on his cigar. Mrs. Wily felt irritated; she had told him many times the cigar smoke gave her a headache. Why couldn’t he wait to smoke it in the backyard?

Last month, when they picked up their wine, these fields were full of wheat and glistened with an ochre hue, as far as she could see. Now they were just full of stubs and brown dirt. “Not pretty at all,” she mused, in a distracted sort of way. Her main thoughts were focusing on the upcoming task of making dinner. It was Saturday, their day to eat salmon. And broccoli, a baked potato, and pudding, of course, for dessert.

The promenade just blocks from their house was lined with trees. A watchful dog sat on a porch, sniffing the air. As the car drew close, Mrs. Wily saw it leap down the steps to chase a squirrel, who was searching for nuts along the roadside. At first, the squirrel didn’t see the dog approach, and its laggard attempt to get away was almost its demise. Fortunately, it had the wisdom to know the dog couldn’t climb a tree. As soon as the squirrel reached a tree trunk, it climbed high in the branches, quick as a lightning strike.

Mrs. Wily heard the dog bark as it circled around and around the tree. She was reminded of a nursery rhyme circle game she used to teach nursery school children to play.

Here we go round the mulberry bush,
the mulbery bush, the mulberry bush,
here we go round the mulberry bush
on a cold and frosty morning.

The song was meant to teach morning routines to the wee ones, she remembered. Instead of “Here we go round the mulberry bush, the next verse would change to, “this is the way we wash our face.” Then “comb our hair, brush our teeth, put on our clothes” would be inserted in the remaining verses, ending with a final verse of Here we go round the mulberry bush.

The little ones had already learned to play the Ring Around the Rosey game, which ended with, “We all fall down.” Inevitably, while dancing in a circle to the mulberry song, some of the children would forget during which song they were supposed to fall and would drag the others down, all of them landing in a heap. Some cried, and others giggled.

“My life has been going in circles,” Mrs. Wily thought. “Just like the nursery rhyme, Mr. Wily and I have followed the same boring routine every day and every week for years. If things don’t change soon, this marriage is ready to fall down and I’ll be the one crying. I need to be more like that dog, and chase after what I want.”

“Maybe that song is the key to finally being heard,” she thought. “Lord knows, just talking and complaining hasn’t gotten me anywhere. It’s time I become as wily as my last name. I’ll borrow verses from the song and modify them.”

Thinking quickly, she began singing with her pretty soprano voice, raising it loud enough to be sure her husband heard her.

This is the way you make your wife sick, 
make your wife sick,
make your wife sick,
this is the way you make your wife sick,
ignore her and smoke in the car.

Mr. Wily glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, and snuffed out the cigar in the ashtray.

“Oh my heavens, Mr. Wily listened to me!” Then, she thought, “No! Not 'Mr. Wily.' My name is Angie and his name is Bill. No more of this silly Mr. and Mrs. Wily stuff! How did we ever end up calling each other that, anyway?” 

She kept making up verses and singing them.

This is the way we die of boredom,
die of boredom, die of boredom, 
this is the way we die of boredom,
Never doing anything new…

Isn’t it time for new hobbies, 
new hobbies, new hobbies,
isn’t it time for new hobbies
and to start using our first names?

Bill pulled into the driveway and yanked on the emergency brake. 

“Angie,” he murmured, “I never knew you felt like this. I thought I was the only one unhappy with our life.” 

He smiled ruefully and in his off-key baritone and not at all rhythmically, he sang:

Let’s stop going round the mulberry bush, 
the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush,
It’s time we listened and show love to each other,
and we need to make our lives a lot better.

They both smiled and Angie let out a small giggle. They exited the car and she held open the front door while Bill carried in the carton of wine, like always. Except for this time, he bent down and kissed her cheek as he passed her. 

She suggested he leave a bottle of chardonnay in the kitchen, so they could open it to drink with dinner.

---

Word Prompt Fiction

This story was written in response to the Words for Wednesday Challenge on 3/31/21. The prompts were provided by Hilary Melton-Butcher but posted on the website Elephant’s Child. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

I used this entire list of word prompts to create this story:

Watchful, Laggard, Pudding, Mulberry, Bark,
and/or
Promenade, Vineyard, Allotment, Wisdom, Tenth, 
and/or
Life, Borrow, Wily, Ochre, Brook

Where would these words have taken your imagination?

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy!

Taking Time to Stitch a Tapestry (Word Prompt Fiction)

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

Taking Time to Stitch a Tapestry

The world outside was silent, blanketed by a thick layer of snow. Martha sat by the window, taking advantage of the last of the evening light. Her needle darted in and out, weaving the embroidery thread into the stiff fabric, while the peppermint aroma of her tea faded as it grew cold. She had been stitching longer than she realized. Her thoughts had wandered pleasantly while embroidering this summer scene, which centered on a sweet brown hare darting behind a flowering hedge.

Earlier, along the side of the house, she had seen a similarly sized rabbit, wearing his winter coat of white. Perhaps, she mused, when she finished this one she should embroider the same picture again, but change it to show a winter season instead of summer. Maybe she could even create a set of four tapestries with this same view and rabbit, showing all the seasons. It wouldn’t be hard to do and would add one more dimension to her catalogue of items for the sale.

"If professional artists can present some of their work as a series, why shouldn't I?" she thought. 

The hard scrunch of her husband’s footsteps through the newly fallen snow on the path beyond the window interrupted her thoughts. When the men clear-cut that swatch right up to the house she had disapproved, because she hated to see such beautiful old trees cut down. However, she now appreciated how much easier it was to get to the house from the end of the road, and how the layer of rocks (or snow) warned her when anyone approached.

With a sign, she pushed aside the tapestry and rose from her chair. It was time to get supper started. Her dream of being able to make her sewing a priority over mundane household chores would have to wait.

"Someday," Martha vowed, "I will become a full-time, self-reliant artist and leave this place."

~~~~~*~~~~~

Delores of Under the Porch Light used to offer a weekly writing prompt called Words for Wednesday, and encouraged others to use it to write something creative.  Unfortunately, Delores began to have computer issues, and could no longer provide the weekly prompts. Elephant’s Child took over for a while, and then she organized volunteers to share the responsibility.

The prompts for this week were provided by Hilary Melton-Butcher but posted on the website Elephant’s Child. (They were posted last Wednesday, but it has taken me this long to get around to writing this!) I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted. 

I used the entire list of word prompts to create this story: Silent, Tea, Summer, Scrunch, Tapestry and/or Hare, House, Catalogue, Clear-cut, Path.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Where would these words have taken your imagination?

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy!

This post contains affiliate links. The opinions expressed, however, are entirely my own.

Why Are Social Media and Technology So Challenging?

Do you ever struggle like I do?

Yesterday's mistake.

If you subscribe to the emails from this blog, you probably wondered why the subject line of the email I sent out yesterday (March 24) said "Happy St Patrick's Day." In fact, I bet you thought it was old news and never even opened it.

Ugh. 

I know I'm out of practice, but social media and technology seem more difficult now than they ever did to me. I make mistakes while using my phone, sending emails, and posting content on social media.

I make mistakes when I send texts

Have you ever composed a text and then sent it to the wrong person? I've done this, more times than I'd like to admit. Autocorrect has assisted me in many not-so-helpful ways.

I make mistakes on social media

I've made a bunch of mistakes while trying to acknowledge or comment on other people's posts. Spelling errors, double comments, neglecting to acknowledge the posts of my dear friends  ... you name it, I have done it.

Just yesterday, I somehow managed to add the same post to Instagram not once, but THREE times. How on earth did I do that? The first two times the content just didn't seem to load, so I kept trying. And then, later, all three appeared. Before I noticed this, people had liked and added comments on all three posts. Now, I have no idea what to do. Delete two of them, or leave my mistakes for all to see?

I make mistakes when I send blast emails (See yesterday's for proof!)

I work hard to craft an interesting weekly newsletter for my blog subscribers. I came up with the idea to change the subject title line every week, to make these emails look more interesting when they appear in the subscriber's inbox.

On March 17th, my email had the subject title, "Happy St. Patrick's Day." I thought I'd changed that wording to "Happy Wednesday" before my email went out on March 24, but for some reason that edit didn't stick. The subject line of the email remained, "Happy St. Patrick's Day." 

Of course, I didn't notice until the email was already sent. How many of my followers do you think, would have clicked an email when it referred to a holiday that occurred the week before?

Do you make mistakes like this, too?

How to stop making these mistakes

They Say Cats Have Nine Lives

I’m (gratefully) convinced our cat has many more than nine.

Today is our cat's 18th birthday and his age is catching up with him.

His skeleton feels bony when I pet him. Sometimes he just sits and stares into place, or lets out pitiful yowls for no apparent reason. His whiskers are often coated with particles of food and his backside with who-knows-what. When he uses his litter box, more often than not anymore, he misses it and body waste and fluids flow down the side. He swings his back hips strangely when he walks, and his gait has become timid from arthritis. He has a funky smell and his fur is rough and patchy.

This feline member of our family has always been ornery and destructive. The veterinarian's office attached a label on his chart, warning all their employees that our cat is “very fractious.” He’s unfriendly (actually quite ferocious) to everyone except my family, and he is a lot of work. 

BUT ––He loves me unconditionally, possibly more than any living creature ever has. I can't imagine life without him.

Our beloved cat turned 18 today, and he’s been a member of our family since he was just 6-weeks old. We adopted him to satisfy my daughter's intense longing for a cat, but it was he and I who formed the strongest bond. Perhaps that's because he became ours on Mother's day. The amount of days and months and years this cat has lived in our house now equals or exceeds that of either of our now-grown children. 

I worry it will soon be time to say goodbye. Will he tell me when he’s ready to go, or will he just slip silently away? 

In the past year or two, I’ve said farewell to this treasured cat multitude of times. I’ve held him and I’ve cried, convinced he wouldn’t make it through the night. On each of those occasions, he proved to me the saying that cats all have nine lives. In his case, we could probably adjust that number upwards to 15, or so.

For years, our kitty’s been on a slew of meds for irritable bowel syndrome and decreased renal function. So far, the prescription food, pills, gels, and injections have been working. We’ve had a few diabetic scares, only to find out diabetes did not cause his problems; instead he suffered from severe urinary tract infections which cleared up with antibiotics. 

Eighteen years seems like a long life for a cat, but it doesn’t feel like enough time to spend with this one. This sentiment seems mutual; though old and frail, our cranky cat still appears to be enjoying life with us. Just when I’m convinced his arthritis badly threatens his mobility, I spy him nimbly getting onto a kitchen counter or teasing our big dog. He seems as happy as he’s ever been, especially when he’s nestled in my lap or stretched out in a ray of sunshine, puddling on the floor.

Our elderly cat’s end-of-life is probably not too far away. But today he’ll get some happy birthday treats as we reminisce and celebrate his life. 

Who knows, if we are lucky enough, perhaps this time next year we’ll be celebrating his birthday when he turns 19. That would be so nice.

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy! 😷 This post contains affiliate links. The opinions expressed, however, are entirely my own.