Monday, January 27, 2014

Dancers and Doorways

The Mischief Cafe at TweetSpeakPoetry challenged poets to craft a poem that includes both a dancer and a door. Although I'm not the same caliber of poet as my best friend, Megan Willome, I will claim the title of poet (or at least poet-in-training) today!


My brand new patent leather shoes beckon me
to tap, tap, tap in our kitchen doorway
as I belt out
Frosty the Snowman.
Momma peers around the corner and smiles at me and fastens her necklace.
I pause, self-conscious that she heard me singing
all the way in her bedroom.

Forty years later,
I can't remember if I ever finished the song.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Friday Fiction - January 24, 2014

I'm back, guys, and determined to write every day. Here's my contribution to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fiction effort for January 24, 2014. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Copyright - Björn Rudberg

Photo credit: Björn Rudberg

“Where, exactly, does he live?”

To my credit, I refrained from audibly exhaling and reminded myself it was my idea to track down our grandfather in the first place. Camille’s days involved high-end furniture and she spent her evenings sipping wine at Dallas restaurants. I swerved left onto a poorly marked dirt road in the middle of nowhere. “It’s - hold on…” I grabbed at my Diet Coke in a futile attempt to prevent the spill. “Damn. He, well - lives behind someone.”

Behind someone?”

“Yes. Up a hill or something like that.” I finally allowed myself a big sigh. “I don’t know, Camille, it was hard to understand, but it’s definitely on this road, ok?”

If you'd like to read other Friday Fiction stories based on this photo - you can find them here.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Stupid Ants Ruining My Life

I bet you're wondering why I've posted a picture of dirt on my living room floor. Not the most appealing picture, is it? I mean, not only is the dirt drab and...dirty...but the floor isn't much to look at either.

This one simple picture summarizes EXACTLY how I feel today. Completely and utterly out of control. Out. Of. Control.

We've got carpenter ants. We had them before and apparently they just can't get enough of our house. They feel quite at home because I often see them poking their nasty little heads out of the hole in the ceiling. For a few days I swept up the dirt as it collected in my living room before I resorted to shrugs and apathy. Every once in a while I wonder whether my entire ceiling will fall on my head as I'm watching Sex and the City reruns. I guess if I have to could be worse.

I'm sad to say that the ants are just the tip of the teetering iceberg that is my life right now. You see, I am no longer the mom of young kids. Things simply cannot be fixed with juice boxes and trips to Chick-fil-a. So many things are careening spectacularly in every direction that all I could bring myself to do this afternoon was sit on the couch dejectedly and curse the ants.

I told my husband yesterday that people shouldn't throw baby showers, they should throw parties where they warn parents how hard and OUT OF CONTROL everything gets as the kids become teenagers.

Wait. I think people warned me about that, come to think of it. Oh, yeah.

Damn ants.