A Short Story Cut Short, Part One

I have a booklet of collected stories and poetry from my old town. In it, is a story I wrote when I was in high school. Thinking I surely had a copy of this story in my file, I decided I didn't need the booklet anymore. Instead of throwing it away, I have been using the blank back sides of the pages to jot down recipes I want to try. After I try the recipes, I've been ripping the pages out to either discard or copy into my recipe book.

About a month ago, while looking for a recipe, I began to read my story from the booklet. It ended mid sentence along a ripped half page. Curious to read the rest of it again, I went to my file, but it wasn't there. It was then that I remembered I probably had it saved on an old floppy disk, which I had most surely thrown away long ago because my new computer does not read floppy disks.

I know how the story ends, but I'm trying to decide if it is worth rewriting. So, here is the first half (with some editing because I have every right, don't I?):

Caught in the transition from winter to spring, the tired man shielded his bare arms from the crisp breeze. If his wife had been with him, she would have reminded him to wear his jacket, but she was lightly sleeping in a hospital bed inside. He walked away from the front of the towering building and tried to remember where he had parked the car. It seemed to him that weeks had passed since they had hurried there the night before.

The day had been cold and gray. The glistening, wet pavement rushed beneath them as they sped to the hospital. After their arrival, everything was a blur. It all happened so quickly. This was only the second time Andrew had ever been to a hospital. Until now, he had avoided hospitals with great effort. If it weren't for Marie, there were many things that Andrew would never have dared to face again.

He didn't like to walk the long hallways of the hospital, even though it felt good to stretch his cramping legs. This place brought back too many unwanted memories. He told himself that he was over all of that, but when he reached the lobby and saw a man sitting on a long couch with his head bowed to his lap, for a fractured moment he thought it was his father who grieved there. He quickly scolded himself, knowing his father was miles away.

Andrew hesitantly put the overnight bag he was carrying on the floor and sat down next to the trembling man. Firmly, he put his hand on the man's strong shoulder. "Have you lost someone?" was all...

And there it is. So, should I finish it?

Too Tired To Think of a Title

My son was playing in his room for a few minutes and when I went to check on him, this is what I found in the hallway:

It was time to pick his sister up from school, so I carried him to the truck, but he fell right back to sleep.

When we got home, I put him on the futon (my girls call it the fruiton), where he finished out his nap without moving a muscle.

The reason for his drowsiness? Lately he thinks morning begins at five or six a.m. (and that it should begin then for Mommy too). Come to think of it, I could use a few naps myself.

The End

The Clumsy Curse

Yesterday I read a post that reminded me so much of myself in younger days. It seems I have learned from experience enough to function now, but for a lot of years I was so clumsy it was almost dangerous.

For example, it wasn't uncommon for someone meeting me for the first time to hear first from me something like, "Ow, I just fell into that bush and now I'm bleeding. And look at my nylons!" Remember that coat rack thing I hit my head on repeatedly for eight years? And then there was that date that ended (before it began) with me in the ditch, muddy water dripping from my hair, dress ripped and shriveled wherever it was wet. Lucky for my date, I went home instead of to the dance.

No one was surprised when I burned my eyelids after opening the radiator cap on my overheated car. When I graduated from high school, my family sat on the edges of their seats as I walked, willing me to make it without tripping in front of the stadium-filled audience. Two years later, they did it again when I received my associate of science from the local college.

There is a reason I avoided jobs like waitressing (I probably should have also avoided that job that involved a meat slicer).

My early years as a wife were treacherous. It seemed like I cut myself while preparing food at least once a week. I locked myself out of our apartment or car so many times, it began to feel like a habit. My husband got to the point where he would just shake his head because he knew there was nothing he could do about me.

Like a gangly teenager struggles as he gets used to his changing body, I eventually matured into the semi-normal person I am today. I rarely have run-ins with knives or the iron anymore, and though I locked myself (and the four children that were with me) out of our vehicle just last week at the library, I can't even recall the last time that happened because it was so long ago.

I hope this lasts because I've heard that growing old is really hard. I'd like to do it gracefully if I can.

Tasty Clean

I am one of those people who reads in the shower. I read shampoo bottles and tubes of shower gel just because they are there. I probably should start laminating better reading material to take in there, but for now, this works for me. I always like to travel to my mother in law's house for a change of genre. So far, I like what Irish Spring has to say more than the others.

Not long ago, I discovered that the shave cream for women I bought at the dollar store has butane, propane, and isobutane for the sixth, seventh, and eighth ingredients. The next time I used it, I couldn't believe I didn't notice the distinct smell of those liquefied gases the first time. The peach fragrance just can't hide it. I find it hard to believe that propane and butane are good for my skin, even when they are mixed with Aloe juice and Vitamin E. But then again, I use coal tar shampoo to help with my itchy scalp, so you never know. Regardless, I plan to throw that extremely flammable container (that may explode if heated) out and use the body butter I got for Christmas instead.

Today I realized it appears I'm in danger of being barbecued...I mean, I've got the propane, butane, and coal. Then I baste myself in butter, garnish with apples & raspberries: next it could be all over.

Good thing there's all that water.

Found a Peanut

He told me he wasn't feeling well when he got home from work. I gave him a hug. After dinner he went to orchestra practice. We watched a movie when he got home. As we climbed into bed that night, he said his stomach was hurting again. I told him I was sorry and rolled over to go to sleep.

Not long later, he was complaining again. He said it was hurting more on his right side now, but it felt better when he laid on that side. "Appendix?" we groggily asked each other. I said, "Well tell me if you think it is and I'll take you to the emergency room."

He moaned through the night and I tried to stay awake so he wouldn't think I didn't believe him (I did) or that I didn't care (I did). Sometime around 4:30 am, he decided we should go. He took a shower while I bundled up our sleeping children and began carrying them to our vehicle. I had thrown on a denim gingham jumper dress because I couldn't find any clean pants in my rush, but because it was cold, I wore my white thermal pants under it and my red college sweatshirt over it. It was too cold for dressy shoes, so I wore white athletic socks with my blue-gray fake converse shoes. I figured I wouldn't be seen by very many and I could change in a few hours. The cold air woke the children as I took them outside, but I knew it was nothing a good nap couldn't cure later on. I could have called a friend, but I hated to wake anyone up so early.

I bought a vending machine breakfast for the children to eat while we waited in the ER waiting room. I wished I could sit with my husband, but the sign said only one visitor, and we were four. Thankfully, one of my husband's coworkers saw us there and offered to sit with my little sleepy heads while I went in to reassure my husband.

When I returned to the waiting room, our smart friend had turned the television to cartoons. Mickey Mouse kept the children happy while we waited for the diagnosis. When the doctor came into the room, I could read the answer on his face. I was relieved when he told me that it had not burst. Surgery would be soon. I asked him if I could bring the children in to see their dad before I found somewhere for them to go. He agreed.

We walked into the small exam room. My husband smiled weakly, his face pale. One by one, the children kissed him. I loaded the babies (yes, I still call them that) into the double stroller and told my husband I'd be back soon.

Though fairly calm, I was in a rush. First, I needed to get my oldest daughter to school. I pulled her hair into a ponytail as we stood outside in the cold. I talked to the neighbor who usually takes her to the bus stop, but her daughter was ill, so I took my daughter to the bus stop myself. This was easy to do because the babies were already in their carseats, and our truck was running with the heater blowing nice warm air.

Daughter on bus. Check.

My husband had given me some instructions to get his classroom ready for the substitute. I drove to his school and did that, checking with the office for a sub list, but it was still before 7:30 and no one was there yet.

I drove home so I could make some phone calls (it is times like these I wish I had a cell phone). I needed to call my husband's parents and let them know what was going on. I needed to find a substitute for my husband and someone to watch my kids. I only had to make two calls to fill each position and then I was off. My goal at this point was to make it back to the hospital before they took my husband in for surgery.

Even after having to run back to the school to replace a book in his classroom, I still made it to the hospital in time to spend an hour with my husband before they wheeled his bed down the hallway. I held his hand and talked to him. His hands were so cold. His hands are only cold when he is very nervous.

"Don't worry," I said. "They've been doing appendectomies for a very long time, I'm sure they have the procedure perfected." But it was the anesthesia he was afraid of. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was convincingly positive (plus he promised to give my husband something for nerves the moment they arrived in the OR).

I made some phone calls to find an afternoon babysitter for the children. I ate lunch in the cafeteria. I read a very interesting article in a magazine about a woman who had face blindness. The doctor came to the waiting room to tell me my husband was doing fine.

After we were resettled in our room, I told my husband I had to leave to pick up kids from school and transfer all of the children to a different house. I told him to get some sleep and I'd be back soon. Of course, at this point, I remembered how silly I looked. The fact that I had not showered the day before and had no make-up on didn't make me feel any more confident in my appearance, but I didn't have time to do anything about it before pick up time. Of course, that day just had to be the last day of "eat lunch with your family" week, so there were dozens of people in the hallway to see me in all my gorgeousness.

When I saw him again, he was in a lot of pain. More morphine, more lortab, still more pain. Even though they told us we could go home, we decided to stay the night. I didn't want to take him home and not be able to help him. So I found yet another place for the children to go, this time to stay the night. And although Friday is a good night for a sleepover, I was extremely grateful for willing friends who not only took good care of my children, but asked nothing in return. So it was with everyone who babysat for me that day. And another friend made us dinner. I love people!

The rest of our stay was pretty repetitive. When he slept, I slept. When he couldn't sleep, I read to him from an Orson Scott Card book we've been reading together. When he needed to go to the bathroom, I unhooked him from his three tethers and followed him with the IV tree.

He felt much better by morning. He thanked me several times for taking care of him, but I was just relieved that he's still here to take care of me!

Quoting the Cute: Page Eight

Six-year-old: "My favorite game is 'Caracal Leap.'" Me: "What's a caracal?" Six (incredulously): "You know! An African wildcat that can jump three meters high?" (Someone please tell me, did you know that?)

Two-year-old: "Don't talk to me!"

When I take my baby's picture, he now says, "Cheee!"

My father-in-law was explaining to my six-year-old over the phone how he has to tie his apron in the front and then turn it around and she said, "That's what my mom does with her bra."

Oh my.

My husband had an appendectomy. After the surgery, the nurse was checking his blood pressure when my two-year-old daughter told her, "Be careful with my daddy. He has owies."

Sixteen month old: "Ala" (this means "don't" in Finnish), "More," and my personal favorite: "Ma ma ma ma."

Redo of the Do

You know how sometimes you see something or someone in a photograph and you notice things you didn't see before? Like the pictures that showed me, to my horror, that when my hair was pulled straight back into a ponytail, I looked like I had bald spots on the sides...For a long time after that, I wore my hair down only, but eventually I learned how to part my hair just right to cover my sparse spots, even with a ponytail.

So after I posted this picture here, I noticed that it was all looking a little tacky.

After thinking about it for awhile, I remembered I had another pot that would look better. It wasn't even in use because I could never find a plant small enough to go in it. I also had to re-cover the phone book because I got a new one and it was smaller.

Now I can't decide if it's better or too matchy...