To Michaela’s Disliking

“Mommy, I don’t like this,” four-year-old Micheala whimpered, reaching for her mother. “It hurts.”
“I know, darling.” Her mother gently patted the frightened child. “It only hurts for a minute, though, and we’ll get ice cream after we leave.”
“It hurts bad, though.”
“I know, but it’s good for you.”
“You’re mean!” Micheala changed her tactics.
“Yes, I suppose I am, but we are still going to do this. It’s good for you.”
“Why?”
“So you can stay healthy and live longer.”
“Nice Mommies don’t do this to their little girls.”
“Yes, they do, all the time.” Tiffany held back a chuckle. “Besides, good mommies do this.”
“All good mommies?”
“Well, most of the good mommies make their children do this. It’s good for them, but some unfortunate children are allergic.”
“I’m ‘lergic, then.” Michaela proudly announced.
“No, Sweetheart, you aren’t. You would have had a reaction before this.”
“What if I get a raction this time?”
“RE action, Darling, and you won’t.”

After the ordeal was finished, Tiffany buckled a wailing Michaela into her car seat. “It’s okay, Sweetie, you are going to be fine.”
“That really hurt, Mommy! You are mean.”
“If I am so mean, why am I taking you to your favorite place to eat?”
Michaela stared out the window. “It still hurt.”
“Quit thinking about it, and it will stop hurting. It’s been long enough.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it, my leg really hurts.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what – I’m going to take you someplace, show you something, and maybe you’ll understand why we have to do this. When we get there, I’ll take a look at your leg; make sure you aren’t having a reaction.”
“Where we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No, it takes a few minutes; eat your fries.”
“They’re too hot. Are we there yet?”
“Not yet. Why don’t you close your eyes?”
“Can’t see out the window with my eyes closed.”

“Where are we?” Michaela asked as she clamored out of the back seat of the car.
“It’s called a cemetery. C’mon, I want to show you something, give me your hand.”
“What are these things, Mommy?”
“They’re called headstones; they mark where dead people are buried.”
“Dead people? You brung me to a place where dead people live?”
Brought me to a place where dead people live. And dead people don’t live, that’s just Hollywood.”
“I don’t like this, Mommy. It’s creepy.”
“Look over there, all those headstones?”
“I see lots of headstones, which ones you mean?”
“Come here, look.”
“Don’t let go of my hand, it’s creepy here.”
“I won’t let go of you, not ever. See these six graves? See how their last names are all the same?”
Michaela nodded silently. “Yeah?”
“Well, my precious little one,” Tiffany explained, lifting her child from the ground. “Your Grandpa’s Grandma had to bury six children, all within a year. These are her children, whom she loved as much as I love you.”
“Why did they all die at once?”
“Because they didn’t have the medicine like what was in your shot today. All six of these children died during a diphtheria outbreak. You get vaccines so you don’t get sick. I would be so very sad if something ever happened to you. Do you understand now?”
“Yeah, I guess, but can’t they make shots that don’t hurt so much?”
“Someday, maybe they will, but your now, you are just going to have to be brave and get your shots. I love you too much to let anything happen to you.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” Michaela rested her head on Tiffany’s shoulder. “But I still don’t like it.”

November 28, 2014

Thanksgiving is over, and the Christmas Holiday shopping season is in full bloom. On Thanksgiving, I headed out early in the morning to get a newspaper, and boy was it full of ads! I am not going shopping on Black Friday for several reasons (my bank account is telling me not to, for one), but that’s okay. I’m fairly sure what I am going to buy everyone, and not one thing that I had in mind is on sale — anywhere! Luck of the Irish, I guess.

I had a great time yesterday, spent the day with my son, grandson, daughter in law, and her family. I did miss my daughter, who lives in Florida, and her family. Maybe next year.

I also have some catching up to do around here. The weekend is going to be crazy busy, so I really need to make the most of my last day off for a while. I have so much to do, that I might just look forward to going back to work! Yeah, right, who am I kidding.

I doubt if I make the total 50,000 word count for NaNoWriMo by Sunday, but I don’t feel bad. I thought I would, but I’m not disappointed at all. I had a great idea for a novel, and the more words I pounded out on the keyboard, the more I noticed that the book was going to be a series. It was amazing to me how the piece of fiction took on a life of its own. I have written stories where scenes come to life, but this was completely different. I am committed to continue to write, but set the goal just a little more realistic for my life. I know I won’t have, say, 100,000 words by the end of December, but by March, I am pretty confident that I can have the first of the series on E-Reader. I edit as I go, so it takes me a little longer to get the first draft, but I’ve learned from experience that is what works for me.

I am thrilled that I have kept up writing in this blog everyday. I will post something at least twice a week from now on. Judging from past experience, it will mostly be poetry, which is fine. I am working on a book of non-traditional Haiku even as we speak.

Have a great rest of the day, whenever you are reading this, and wherever you are. If you venture out to shop today, keep safe and warm.

November 25, 2014

Whew! We are nearing the end of this month, with NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. I’ve done a very good job at keeping up with my blogs, not so much with my novel-writing exercise. I did really, really good for the first few chapters, then the ideas just sort of disappeared.  I have three days off in a row at the end of this week (Thanks to Thanksgiving!), so I am planning on writing like a demon. I’m not so far behind that I can’t make it to the finish line, but, boy is it going to be tight!

It’s been a wonderful learning experience for me, and I don’t regret taking the challenge one bit. I love to write, I always have. When I was a little girl, I used to write little stories about my dog, Major.

Poetry got me through my teenage years. I always felt that poetry was God’s way of helping me out, that it was His gift to me. I write poems all the time, most of them will never, ever be published in my lifetime. They are just too personal.

I enjoy the freedom of writing, especially at a computer screen. You can pour all your emotions out, never having to worry if it makes sense. The ‘delete’ key is my best friend at times! It’s very cathartic to let the words flow, as if they had their own lives.

Five more days, and I am already planning on how often I will post on this blog after December 1st.

Til tomorrow!

November 23, 2014

AS MUCH AS I PRETENDED TO LOVE YOU

I think about our life together
so many years ago, and I try to
remember a happy time, some years
in there that we were in love with each other.
I can’t seem to remember any length
of time that I loved you – or that you loved me.
I do not long for the past, I do not miss you
and I do not want you back.
But I do hope that someday I find
someone I can love as much
as I pretended to love you.

 

November 22, 2014

Aside

THE WORST INTERVIEW IN HISTORY

 Sadly, this is only a slight exaggeration of an actual event:

She arrived to the interview forty-five minutes early, and it was too cold to wait in the car long enough to appear to arrive at the mandatory fifteen-minutes early time. She had a very bad head cold, and her eyes were leaking faster than a water main break, so she thought she would enter the building, find the ladies’ room, to freshen her make-up. The restroom door was locked, so she found the proper suite, thinking that it would be full of candidates. Sadly, this was not to be. In the room were only two women, one of whom was waiting for her. She politely explained the situation, and asked for the combination of the lock on the ladies’ room door.

Once inside the restroom, she dropped her mascara down the little hole in the sink, and it was impossible to retrieve. Her eyes were watering so badly from the head cold the mascara probably would have just slid down her cheeks, anyway. She shrugged that off, knowing that things could be much, much worse. She smacked her head on the door as she exited, creating an instant bruise.

Back at the room where the interview was to be held, she was led down a narrow hall. She tripped on the hem of her slacks, knocking a framed print off the wall.

Inside the small office, she started to sit in a chair, whose legs apparently had not been screwed on properly, promptly landing on the floor. She apologized profusely as she gathered her wounded ego, along with parts of the broken chair, and sat in the other seat (after checking it for safety, of course). Since she was sneezing, coughing, and leaking gross fluids everywhere, she whipped her hand sanitizer from her purse, opened the tightly closed container, and proceeded to dump the contents on the desk belonging to the woman doing the interview.

She began sneezing uncontrollably as the interviewer was asking her questions. The only response that she could come up with was, “What?” since she really had not heard anything. Her ears were clogged.

The interview lasted less than five minutes, and she was pretty sure she would not be hearing back from this company.  The interviewer informed her that the company would notify the two final candidates within a few hours.

She picked her purse up from the floor, and hurled it across her shoulder, slapping the interviewer in the head with the overstuffed shoulder bag.

She never checked her voice mail for the interviewer’s call back.