Monday, December 31, 2007
"Pardon me!" he bellowed indignantly to the blond girl. She was gazing off into the distance, mindlessly vacuuming behind the Large Brown Pot. His Large Brown Pot. His home.
"Excuse me!" he yelled, raising his tone. He clutched tighter to his webs, gritting his teeth as the suction from the vacuum wavered slightly, than pulled him harder. The blond girl was in a daze, mindlessly moving the attachment back and forth. The spider was exhausted from trying to hold on.
"Look here!" the spider yelled as loudly as he could. "I'm trying to enjoy my lunch, and you've rudely come in here and vacated me from my home. I've been living here for months without any problems. I find this quite annoying and rude!"
The blond girl looked down and gasped. "Ew!" she cried. "A spider!" She moved the vacuum attachment closer to the spider. The spider grunted and shot out for more spider webs, holding on for dear life.
"I'm-not-moving!" he bellowed. "I just want to eat! What would you do if I just sucked up your food? You'd be furious! Well, I'm MAD!"
"Ew ew ew ew ew!" the girl squeaked, holding the vacuum to the spider's head. The spider was jerked into the vacuum, the webs torn from his fingers. Cursing her name, he was sucked down into a dark tube and into a paper prison. He could barely see. Scuttling about, all he could see in the dim light was dust and dirt.
"God, how much hair is in here?" he grunted, picking a long blond hair that had wrapped around his leg. He flung it to the side and crawled away, grumbling to himself. "Stupid girl sucked up my lunch. I'll never find it in here."
The spider crawled along the fuzzy graveyard, grimacing at all the dead insects. He sniffed at a few, than withdrew. They were no good to him. Strands of blond and black hair hung from the bag like old party streamers. Every step he took sent a puff of dust and lint floating in the air. The spider peered off into the distance. Was that.... Could it be? He hurried forward. It was! It was his lunch! The spider sat happily and finished his lunch, listening to the dull roar of the vacuum around him.
Another insect came flying down the tube and landed a few feet from the spider. He sat dazed for a moment, than sat up.
"Excuse me?" the insect asked politely. "Have you seen my lunch?"
The spider swallowed the rest of his and shook his head. "Nope," he answered. "I'm sure it'll turn up. I eventually found mine."
The other insect nodded and looked around. "So I guess we're stuck here, huh?" he said gloomily. "That sucks."
"Literally," the spider joked. The insect laughed. He and the spider looked at each other and smiled. They wondered off into the fuzzy distance, looking for other bugs to eat. After all, if you have to be stuck in a vacuum bag, at least you should have a friend, the spider reasoned.
And if all else fails, he thought to himself, there's always lunch.
Friday, December 28, 2007
"What's wrong with you?" she asked cheerfully.
"I'm bored," the girl with the white ringlets sulked. She pushed away the papers in front of her and folded her arms. "This is all stupid."
"Why don't you do something else?" the dark-haired girl asked.
"I have to do this," the blond girl said. She stuck out her lower lip and narrowed her eyes at the computer.
"Want to take a nap with me?" the dark-haired girl asked, perching cheerfully on her desk.
"Want to go to the front and look at the papers?"
"No," the blond girl's eyes had narrowed to annoyed slits.
"Want to go outside?"
Looking thoughtful, the blond girl tapped her chin and nodded. "Yes."
Grabbing their coats, they scampered outside. In the bright sunshine and cool wind, the little blond girl's frown melted away. They chased dancing leaves, they stomped broken highlighters and they played soccer in the street with pebbles. The little dark-haired girl's cheeks were pink with joy and the chilly weather. The blond girl beamed as she skipped happily, dragging her friend behind her.
"You know what?" she sang cheerfully.
"What?" the dark-haired girl asked, yawning. She'd love a nap.
"I'm glad we went outside," the girl with white ringlets beamed, twirling in the pale winter sunlight. "It's much nicer out here. And I'm not bored anymore."
The dark-haired girl beamed. "I thought so." She lead her friend around the building, where they pranced through the leaves. Plucking a acorn from the wisps framing her face, the blond girl hugged her friend.
"I'm glad to be back again," she said cheerfully.
"And I'm glad you're back," the dark-haired girl replied in a serious tone. With that settled, they set off to track down the puppy hidden in the building, their giggles echoing off the walls.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
"HELLO!!" a familiar voice bellowed. "Did you miss me?" Ben stared angrily at the beaming GLUG on his windshield.
"What are you doing here?" Ben snapped. "Don't you live in San Antonio? Why'd you follow me to Shreveport?"
"Who says it's all about you?" the GLUG said airily. Ben looked at him wryly.
"Well, fine, it's about you," the GLUG admitted. "You see, I'm here to make sure you have a good Christmas."
"I'd have a much better one if you would go away,"Ben muttered. "I'm hungry. You're holding up my breakfast."
"See, that's your problem," the GLUG said. He wandered down to the windshield wipers and plucked some pine needles out of them. Shoving them into his mouth, he pointed to his cheeks and bellowed, "These are really good!"
"I'm glad to hear it," Ben sighed. "So what's my problem?"
"Your problem--," the GLUG bellowed through a mouth full, pounding the window with his leg. "--is that you have no Christmas spirit!"
"I have plenty of Christmas spirit!" Ben snapped. "Ho ho ho!"
"See," the GLUG chided, plucking leaves from the mirror. "That's it right there. That's what's wrong with you."
"And how are you supposed to fix it?" Ben asked. The GLUG poofed out his chest proudly and beamed, pine needle fragments sticking out from his tiny green mouth. "Because," he shouted proudly. "I'm the Christmas Spirit Bug!"
"Oh God," Ben muttered, smacking his head to his forehead. The GLUG slammed his face against the window and bellowed, "And I'm here to make sure you have a good Christmas!"
"How are you going to do that?" Ben cradled his head in his hands. The GLUG danced excitedly on the windshield. "By following you around and singing Christmas carols of course! Now roll down that window!"
Ben's eyes widened in fear. He threw his car in reverse and shrieked down the driveway. Tearing down the street, he rushed to his dad's restaurant. The GLUG wound his arms around the windshield wipers and sang in a off-key voice, "Deck the halls with boughs of hallway, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!"
As soon as Ben got out of the car, the GLUG attached himself to his sleeve. "HARK the herald, angels sing, glory to the new born KING!"
The GLUG continued to serenade Ben through breakfast and the ride home. As Ben continued about his day, the GLUG hoarsely screeched into his ear, "SILEEEEENNNNTTT NIGGHHHTTTT! HOOOLLLLLYYY NIIIGGGGHHHTT!"
At first, Ben was pretty irratated, as he should have been. But after hours of off-key singing from a beaming GLUG, he began to feel a bit of Christmas cheer. He visited with old friends, hung out with his family and spoiled Ace the Dog rotten. After awhile, he realized the GLUG was no longer singing in his ear. In fact, the GLUG was nowhere to be seen at all. Ben rushed out to his windshield, where the GLUG was lying across the windshield. He wearily lifted a leaf to his lips, chewing slowly.
"You stopped singing,"Ben said. The GLUG squeaked in reply. "I didn't need to anymore. Besides, I lost my voice."
Ben beamed down at the obnoxious green bug on his windshield. "Thanks, GLUG. I appreciate you trying. You really made me feel the Christmas spirit."
"But of course," the GLUG said arrogantly, sitting up straight. "After all, I'm the GLUG! The Ginourmous Unusual Lime-Green Gnat!" And with that, he flew into the night sky. Ben just smiled, humming to himself as the GLUG continued to screech his favorite song from the starry sky.
"Silent, night, holy night...."
Saturday, December 22, 2007
The Blonde Duck: It's hot in here.
Ben: Roll down the window.
The Blonde Duck: (Rolls down the window and leans her head against it, trying to cool down.) I feel kinda nauseous. I think I'm car sick.
Ben: Look! (points to window, grinning widely) Look, cows!
The Blonde Duck: Cows! (dutifully admires the cows.) You know, I thought it was going to be a lot colder.
Ben: Look, more cows! Aren't they cute? Cows!
The Blonde Duck: (dutifully looks at the cows.) Cows!!!
Ben: ( a few moments later, points out the window again.) Cows!! Cows!!!!
The Blonde Duck: Cows! (whirls around to see Ben grinning maniacally. His fingers are leaving the air conditioning control.) Why are you grinning like that? Are you messing with my air conditioning? Don't put the heat on your feet again! It's hot in here!
Ben: Cows! I'm grinning because of the cows!
The Blonde Duck: What were you doing to the AC?
Ben: Nothing! I wasn't doing anything! I swear!
The Blonde Duck: (eyes him suspiciously and turns back to the window)
Ben: ( a few moments later) Cows! Cows!
The Blonde Duck: (admires the cows, then gazes out the windshield. Her eyes pass over the butt warmer clicker. It's set to 4. She whirls around to see a cackling Ben.) You jerk! That's why I was hot! You set the butt warmers on! That's not cool!
Ben: (cackles wildly and grins)
The Blonde Duck: You distracted me with the cows! I knew you were up to something! You had that goofy grin!
Ben: (howls playfully) Coooowwwwwsss!
Friday, December 21, 2007
Nubby shakes his shoulders, drums up some confidence and throws his tail over his frail body so it envelops him like a blanket. Stealthily, he darts forward and steals the nut, returning quickly to his branch. The black bird squawks in confusion, blinking rapidly.
"Who stole my nut?" he bellowed, looking around in confusion. "That was my nut! Who took it?"
Nubby giggled silently under his tail. He quietly ate his nut, savoring the rich flavor.
"What is that?" the black bird croaked, his eye popping out slightly as he looked around.
Nubby crunched his nut louder, trying not to laugh. The black bird began to hop around indignantly.
"Whose eating my nut?" he bellowed angrily. "Someone's eating my nut!"
Nubby continued to munch on the nut.
"When I find out who you are," the black bird threatened, looking around with narrowed eyes, "I'm going to report you to the Forest King! He doesn't take lightly to thieves! Especially during the winter!"
Nubby giggled and happily popped the last bit of the nut in his mouth. The bird squawked and flew away. From the window, Beverly watched the squirrel prance around triumphantly on the tree branch.
"Dear, that's so sad," she said. "That squirrel doesn't have a tail!"
Her husband narrowed his eyes and peered through the window. "Doesn't seem to bother him," he grunted. "He's still twitching it and acting as though it was there."
They watched Nubby swing from limb to limb without a problem.
"What a remarkable squirrel," Beverley said.
"He's pretty cool, isn't he?" her husband grinned.
"I still feel sorry for him," Beverley pouted, wondering how hard it would be to take the squirrel home. "It must be horrible not to have a tail."
But, it's even more wonderful to have an invisible tail, Nubby thought, listening to their conversation. Wonderful, indeed.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
- A catapult placed in front of my house so when people walk on the sidewalk, they're flung further down the street where I can't see them. It's exhausting to bark all day at them.
- Several new birds and squirrels to chase when I'm let outside in the yard to do my business.
- A time-freezing device that would let me chase squirrels for hours and Mama K would be none the wiser.
- Steak every night.
- New "babies" to chew on.
- For the family to finally realize I dominate and control the Koerner household.
- A trampoline. I'm not sure what it does, but it looks quite tasty.
Thank you so much, and Merry Christmas! I look forward to receiving all my requests. (After all, why wouldn't I?)
Ace the Dog
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
My work buddies and me. (Doesn't Libby look fabulous?)
After stuffing ourselves on chips and Mexican food, we dragged ourselves back for the office. Three hours later, we were dining on Libby's delicious peanut pie, cookies and homemade eggrolls. (I'm so special, Libby made Ben and me our own peanut butter mini-pies. Mine were non-chocolate, since I'm allergic.)
I've eaten so much sugar I'm probaly diabetic after this weekend.
After eating more sugar than any person should in one day, I drug my bloated self home and attended our neighbor's graduation party. Then I went on a cleaning and dancing spree around the house before passing out. The next morning, we woke up around 5 a.m. and drove to my parent's house for an early Christmas celebration. We opened presents, attended a performance of the nutcracker and played rook. I got some wonderful gifts, and was thrilled to see my family liked everything we got them. My mom cooked an awesome dinner, and I stuffed myself with Swiss chicken, stuffing, corn, rolls and pecan and apple pie. Eventually, Ben drug my dazed happy little butt home.
It was a wonderful weekend. Ben wants to tell ya'll Merry Christmas too.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Novice writers are always told that the most important aspect of writing is to be a storyteller. No matter how good your prose is, how extravagant your vocabulary or how important the point you want to drive across is, no one will pay attention to it if it's not told well.
I've never paid much attention to the process of writing. I don't bother myself with identifying "story layers," conflict points, character charts or identifying which character does what aspect to the story. I don't try to create hidden meanings or obsess over grammar. All I do is write. I tell stories.
When someone first called me a good storyteller, I beamed. While I ignored every other label about writing, the only thing I cared about was being a good storyteller. Once someone bestowed that label on me, I was ecstatic. Ever the realist, I convinced myself it was just a fluke. Until another person called me a good story teller. Then my husband told a crowd of people I was a storyteller in a speech. Then another mentioned it. And another. Soon, my pride was about to burst out of my fingertips and shine all over everyone and everything. I was a storyteller!
My pride swelled again today when a buddy of mine at work called me a storyteller. I was blabbering on about my high-school best friends dogs and how Libby resembled them perfectly, recounting their habits and waving my arms about in enthusiasm.
At first she burst into giggles and I grinned, pleased someone besides me thought I was funny. Then she exclaimed, "You're such a good storyteller! I love how you tell stories! You say all these words like they clicked along and nom-nom-nom and I know exactly what you meant! It's so funny!" She and Libby burst into hysterics as my face turned bright red. I laughed along with them, realizing that if I probably ever stopped to listen to myself, I'd think I was a moron. I'm just glad they found me funny.
Exhilarated and beaming sunbeams, I drove to The Old Pond to review a store for work. After I finished, I picked up a sandwich for Mrs. McGill and popped over to her house. She carefully arranged the sandwiches on the plates as if they were an elegant meal prepared by the finest chef and gestured for me to sit down.
"Now," she said brightly, clapping her withered hands on her pants. "Did I ever tell you the story about my ex-sister-in-law?"
Enthralled, I listened eagerly for over and hour as she told me story after story, pausing only to take a bite of my sandwich.
After all--the best storytellers know that other people always have the best stories. And she did. She did indeed.
Monday, December 10, 2007
It's Libby's fault.
It's all her fault.
Since I work in media, we often get animal shelters sending us clips and photos of puppies and kitties who need to be adopted. I avoid looking at these because I know I'll try to rescue the dogs. And everytime I try to rescue the dogs, Ben gets mad, I get depressed, I eat too much ice cream, Ben takes me to the puppy store, I try to steal a dog and talk my way out of jail....it's just best if we avoid it entirely.
However, Libby saw a English bulldog that stole her heart.
"I have to have this!" she squealed to me.
"Get him!" I replied enthusiastically. "Call Mike and see if you can see him today!" I was already plotting ways of playing with her dog in my head. She popped by my desk later with a pitiful expression.
"He can't go," she pouted, her lower lip quivering. "Maybe I shouldn't get the dog after all. Maybe it's not meant to be...."
"That's ridiculous!" I scoffed, desperate for someone to have a puppy. "I'll go with you. We'll see him during lunch."
Libby's eyes lit up and she began to hop around excitedly. "You'll go with me?"
"Sure!" I said cheerfully. "After I eat," I added a moment later. "I have to eat. I need food."
Libby squirmed and wiggled until we finally took off for the animal rescue, which was conveniently right by work. After a brief detour, we found the place and hurried to the cages. Libby squinted into the distance as we walked up to the kennels.
"Is that Fred?" she asked uncertainly. "From advertising?"
"I can't see that far," I replied, trying to stare at the blue blob in the foggy distance. The blob began to wave. "Guess so."
Fred greeted us warmly and asked what we were doing. When we replied we were there to look at the English bulldog, his face contorted into a snarl. So was he. Shoving Libby toward the cage, we hurried toward the bulldog's kennel. I was prepared to fight to the death if Libby wanted this dog. I wasn't scared of Fred the ad person.
While Libby and Fred cooed competitively at the bulldog, I talked to the other dogs.
"How are you doing?" I asked one with pleading eyes.
"How's it going?" I asked a frenzied mutt.
"Oh hell, I don't know what to do with you," I muttered, staring into a set of forlorn brown eyes.
The English Bulldog, who must have been stupid, snarled and lunged at both Libby and Fred. Libby fled to visit friendlier dogs, while Fred led a snarling dog out of the kennel. The dog tried to attack the other dogs at every cage out the door.
"Look at this one!" Libby squealed. "Isn't he cute!" I looked at the bloodhound in the cage who mournfully looked up at me.
"Sure," I replied, ready to save any dog at this point. "Let's walk him!" As we walked the bloodhound, who was more interested in peeing on all the trees than us, I watched all the other dogs. They flung themselves up on the fences and barked frantically as we passed. Some eyes begged, others pleaded, some warned and a few were hopeless.
One dog in particular broke my heart. We went to see the smaller dogs, watching their tiny tails wag as they hopped up to the fences hopefully. Their eager snouts poked through fences, desperate for a whiff of our scent or a brief brush of our hand. I ignored the signs that bellowed, "Don't put hands near the cage!" and let my fingers linger in front of the metal mesh. Small tongues licked my hands in desperation and I scratched their noses lightly, forcing myself to continue on.
Then, she saw me. A small two-year old terrier who had recently given birth, her teats still dangling as she threw herself against the fence. Her eyes met mine and she whimpered shrilly.
"Please," she begged, whining as she pawed the fence that separated us. "Please, please take me."
I watched the dog, unable to tear myself apart from her as Libby scratched and petted the dog next door.
"I'm sorry," I whispered over and over. "I'm sorry." I watched the hope slide from her eyes as she gently sat on the cold pavement. Looking up at me, she continued to whimper. Each time, her cries grew softer and shorter.
As we drove back in the car, I giggled and laughed with Libby. But every time I looked out the window, I saw the dog on the sidewalk looking at me. And I could hear her whimpering in my mind.
One of these days, Ben and I will start our own rescue shelter. Then when a dog whimpers, I know I can help.
Until then, all I can do is hope that the dogs at the rescue shelter don't lose hope.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
"Let's get a table," Ben said. We wove through the event and finally found a few spots. Our friends went to get their food, and Ben and I decided to take pictures. I love pictures. While I was disturbed at the idea of not eating, I was too excited about my little black dress to care much.
Little black dress, little black dress....
Friday, December 07, 2007
"I read!" one of the ducks protested from the Spa.
"You're dumb if you don't read!" the second duck jeered.
"Perhaps you should try a different genre?" the third duck suggested kindly.
Hairy waited until the seals had carried their book over and Cookies had settled down. "Thank you for coming to the Book Club," he announced formally. "I hope everyone has brought their book."
Everyone nodded. The ducks quacked from the bathtub.
"I thought we'd start out by everyone showing what book they brought," Hairy beamed. He did love reading. He was so excited they had agreed to have a book club. "Who wants to start?"
Everyone stared at him blankly. "Ok, I'll start," Hairy said brightly, picking up his book. "I began reading The Golden Compass."
"You just did that because of the movie," Cookies sneered. "That's not a real book."
"Well, it's true I didn't know about it until the movie was advertised," Cookies admitted. "But it's a wonderful book. It reminds me of Madeline L'Engle's work! It's brilliant, it really is. Very well-written."
"Well, I brought War and Peace," Cookies crowed arrogantly, straining to hold up his large book. "A classic for those of us who are truly educated."
"I know for a fact that book is used to hold up your roost, you bloated fake," Pumble accused him.
"And what did you bring?" Cookies snarled. "Something about food, I'm sure. You can't go without talking about food for two minutes."
"For your information, I brought Betty Crocker's Cookbook," Pumble sniffed, clutching the well-worn tomb to his chest. "I read it every day. I've just now made it to the cookie section without drooling."
"Cookbooks don't count!" Cookies argued.
"They do so!" Pumble shot back. "Do you know how many glorious new recipes I've tried just from reading this book?"
"I can see for myself," Cookies eyed Pumble's amble girth. Sensing a fight, the seals chattered loudly as they waved their book in the air.
"Everybody Poops," Hairy repeated, trying not to smile. "That's a wonderful choice. And what did you like about it? Oh, that everybody poops. Well, that's true. There's no seal poop in there? Or salmon poop? Well, perhaps you could write a letter to the author and point out his mistake."
"I just lost my appetite," Pumble muttered.
"I don't poop," Owl announced. "I regurgitate owl pellets."
"Yes, well, that was a lovely meeting," Hairy interrupted hastily. He could see Pumble's eye twitching and didn't know what he was going to say. He didn't want to know.
"You forgot about us!" the first duck yelled from the spa.
"You can't forget us!" the second duck, cried, indignant.
"We'd like to speak, if that's all right," the third duck asked meekly.
"I'm so sorry!" Hairy cried, rushing to the Spa doorway. "Please, let's see your books!"
"I have Moby Dick," the first duck said smugly.
"You can't even read," Cookies sneered.
"I'm reading The Yellow Duck," the second duck boasted.
"That's a blog!" Cookies protested. "That doesn't count."
"Does so!" the second duck retorted.
"Does not!" Cookies argued.
"And what is your book?" Hairy asked the third duck, praying he'd answer quickly.
"I'm reading Ponies," the third duck beamed. The other two ducks turned to stare at him.
"Ponies?" they asked. "Why are you reading about ponies?"
"It's a good book!" the third duck protested. As Pumble began to argue with Cookies and the seals rushed to the bathroom to see if ducks pooped, Hairy sat down with a sigh. His book club had turned to chaos. He looked to his side and saw The Golden Compass laying beside him. With a smile, he picked it up and began to read. Who needed a book club anyway?
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
The Pond was warm and sunny in the middle of December--too warm, I thought to myself as I walked. I spent my nights watching Christmas movies while the days reached 80 degrees.
Walking on my usual path, I felt the familiar tiny feet on my arm. I looked down to see a delicate butterfly gently treading on my forearm.
"You're back," I smiled.
"Of course," the butterfly opened and closed his wings slowly. "Why do you always seem so surprised to see us? We always tell you we will return."
"I guess after all this time, I'm always surprised you come when I need you," I said thoughtfully, chewing on my lip.
I slowed my steps, letting the butterfly relax on my arm as I held it stiffly in front of me. "I had a lot of trouble the other week, you know," I began conversationally. "Why didn't you come then?"
"It was too cold," the butterfly said. I nodded my head. "It was in the 50s that week."
"The weather was not of concern," the butterfly slowly moved up to my shoulder. "There were other things that were too cold."
It took me a moment to process what he said. "I was too cold?" I gasped. The butterfly fluttered his wings gently. "What do you mean? I was upset, sure. But who wouldn't have been upset over that news. I was really hoping..." I trailed off and looked into the bright blue sky above me.
"I didn't say you didn't have a reason," the butterfly whispered gently, settling into my hair. "I merely said you were too cold. You had things to think about before we could see you. If we come too soon, we bring false comfort. You wouldn't have made the right choice."
"There were other signs to tell me I was making the right decision," I pointed out defensively. "Elle Woods was on T.V. Every time Elle is on, I know I'm going the right way."
"Precisely," the butterfly hummed softly to himself as he entwined thin strands of my hair around his tiny feet. "That's why I am here now."
"Oh." I couldn't think of a response.
"You're too concerned about your brilliant ideas," the butterfly said, languidly braiding strands of my hair. "You're too concerned about always being creative, always producing massive amounts. You're frustrated because you know you're sacrificing quality for quantity. You're desperate for that affirmation that you're still brilliant. You think without several new stories a day you're failing, and that worries you. And you, my dear, don't do well under stress."
"I know," I said glumly. "I just get so scared if I don't keep thinking of great things that they'll quit coming to me."
"Has it stopped before?" the butterfly asked practically.
"No," I admitted.
"Well, then," the butterfly twittered his wings. "Creativity is a gift that can not be forced. You're letting your frustration and daily boredom wear on you. You need to focus on your ideas and feed your inspiration. Once you do that, the creativity and your "brilliant ideas" will come. They might come slowly at first, but they will come. Besides, it gives you more time to write down your other brilliant ideas."
"I'm worried the holidays will derail me," I said. "I'm worried all this party planning I have to do and gift crap is sucking the creativity out of me."
"Your creativity comes from you," the butterfly reminded me. "You must remember: there are times to live, and time to reflect. Right now, it's a time to live. Think of all the ideas you'll have later on."
"Very true," I sighed. I held out my finger, and the butterfly kissed it gravely. "Why can't you be here always?" I whispered. "If you were around, I wouldn't always lose my faith. I wouldn't doubt myself. My hope wouldn't waver and my thoughts wouldn't consume me."
"Because," the butterfly said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "I am here to inspire." With that, he floated gently into the breeze toward a field of flowers. Smiling behind him, I nodded in agreement.
"And you do," I whispered to myself. "You do."
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
"What?" he hissed back.
"Look at that old lady!" He turned around and watched as she succeeded in peeling one arm out of the coat.
"What about her?" The old lady had decided that the restaurant was too cold and was now sliding her arm back into the coat.
"I need to adopt her!" Ben stared at me as if I was insane. Peering around the wall, I watched as she delicately sat down.
"What do you mean you need to adopt her?"
"I need to rescue her!" I squeaked, peering around the other side of the wall as the line moved forward. Ben turned and looked at the old woman. He turned and looked back at me, raising his eyebrow.
"She's fine," he said patiently. "Look, she's with her son. He's taking her to lunch!"
"I need to rescue her," I said decisively, watching as she hunched over. She slowly lifted a trembling spoon to her withering lips, sipping her soup silently.
"No, you don't need to rescue her," Ben said, trying to steer me away from the wall as the line moved forward. "We don't have a place to put her."
I stared at him in horror. "She's not a dog!" I said indignantly. "You can't talk like that."
Rolling his eyes, Ben said quietly, "I know that, dear. You're the one wanting to rescue her!"
"She's so cute!" I whispered, straining to see as the line moved forward and I lost sight of her. "She probably smells like meatballs and mothballs! She could live in our guest room honey and make us Italian food every night and mumble in a foreign language and smile a lot and kiss our cheeks!"
Ben said nothing. He merely held his hand up to my head to see if I had a fever.
"I don't think you can rescue her," he said, nudging me as I continued to gape at her. I had found a space in the wall that allowed me to stare. "I don't think she needs to be rescued."
"Everyone needs to be rescued," I said, pouting as he pointed to a table. As I went to save the table, he kissed my cheek and said, "Then rescue me. I'm hungry."
"That's not nearly as interesting," I mumbled to myself as I plopped down at a table where I could openly gape at her. As I watched her slowly eat her soup, I saw how content she and her son were together. I wondered if they came every Sunday. I wondered if he was nice to her, and if she dressed up to go to church or just to run errands. When I saw him smile and pat her hand and she beamed back at him, I realized I was right. I didn't need to rescue her after all.
Ben brought our number and sat down at the table.
"Thank you for lunch, honey," I said, letting my gaze wonder around the restaurant.
"You're welcome," he said, sipping his coke. Suddenly, I spotted an old man. He was hunched over a table, a old wrinkled jacket spread across his back. He ate a sandwich, reading a menu and keeping his eyes down.
"Ben!" I hissed in excitement, stabbing him in the arm. "Look at that old man!"
He turned and looked. "Yes?" he said warily.
"I need to rescue him!"
Monday, December 03, 2007
Leave it to me to serenade a little black dress.
Friday afternoon, I met my mom at the mall in the Pond so she could buy me some shoes for Christmas. As a cheap and resourceful duck, I had worn my work shoes to the point where the sole was coming off in large chunks, threads were sticking out crazily among the sides and one pair had fallen apart even after being hot glued and duck taped.
Normally, you'd have to promise me peanut butter ice cream before I would even set foot in the mall. Unless it's a weekday morning, the idea of going to a mall makes me want to pluck out my eyeballs and throw them at all the shoppers. Lured by the promise of hole-less shoes, I met my mother on the gray and drizzling afternoon. After actually finding some adorable shoes that didn't cost $300, we set off on a quest for a little black dress. For years, I haven't owned a single black dress in my closet. I have sundresses, nice dresses and dresses for work. No black dresses, no cocktail dresses. However, something told me this day would be different.
As drizzle fell from the sky, we bustled past the trees wrapped in Christmas lights and the rich landscaping. Ignoring the people who scurried about buying Christmas presents, I stuck my head in a few stores. My hopes began to sink as I perused through dozens of unappetizing dresses. Too cheap-looking, too-revealing, too-trendy,too-tacky...honestly, does anyone wear gaudy gold zippers anymore?
Frustrated, I drug mom into White House, Black Market. And that's when I saw it:
I had admired the dress from the Web site. I had stared at it, thought about it. Ever the realist, I had talked myself out of it before I ever set foot in the store. "You'll never look good in a draped neckline," I told myself. "You're too busty for that dress. It's too trendy, it won't hold up."
I was wrong.
The gently slope of the neckline highlighted my bust without making me look like a Playboy Bunny. It hugged my waist and hips without making me look pregnant. The draping on the waist and slight slit made my hips want to wiggle and dance to the salsa beats pounding in my head.
It was a dress worthy of inspiration. A dress that could charm at evening functions, dance all night in a tiny club in some small town no one had heard of or simply stand on it's own, elegant in it's delicate simplicity. The moment I slipped the straps over my shoulders, I knew I had been inspired.
Many dresses are simply a dress. There are a few dresses in one's lifetime that for a evening transform the wearer into something more. This was one of those dresses.
The dress excited me in a way none had since my wedding dress. I felt gorgeous, elegant and worthy of envy. I could wiggle my hips, twirl and dance in heels. Thoughts poured through my brain as I imagined the possibilities of wearing a dress like this, the adventures one could have.
That night, I stared at the dress, running my fingers down the buttons on the side. By the next morning, I had three new ideas for books. The entire weekend, I would sneak into my closet and stare at it.
"Little black dress, little black dress," I would sing under my breath. "Little black dress, little black dress."
The dress sat in it's black bag quietly, waiting patiently until I'm able to slide it on Saturday for the holiday party at Ben's office.
For it is a dress worthy of inspiration and delight, like Mooch's little pink sock.
"Little black dress, little black dress".....