Story Fragment #8: Genie Under The Sea

I was not having a good evening. My best friend, Jill, had set me up on a blind date with her cousin Hudson. He was a nice looking guy--6 foot 4, athletic build, with blond hair and blue eyes--and he had a very engaging personality. However, his choice of restaurant left a lot to be desired.

Some people might enjoy the idea of dining in an Italian restaurant located at the bottom of the ocean, but not this woman. I have a deep-seated fear of being underwater, which stems from nearly drowning in a swimming pool at age three. I had spent most of the evening on the verge of a panic attack.

As I left the table to visit the ladies room, mentally willing myself not to lose my dinner, I ran straight into a rather exotic-looking young woman.

"Excuse me, " I stammered. "I'm not feeling well, and I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she purred, her accent one I couldn't place. "And because you reacted so kindly, I have a gift for you--any three wishes you make this evening will be granted. The only rules are that I can not bring someone back to life, and I can not make someone fall in love with you."

Story Fragment #7: Magic pebbles

Murgatroyd Largen was walking along the beach, muttering to herself and looking for more magic pebbles to add to her collection. It was just after high tide, on the day after the full moon, which seemed to be the optimal time for discovering new pebbles.

Most people would think that her "collection" was just a velvet pouch of some thin, flat pebbles, but Murgatroyd knew better. A self-proclaimed witch, she had felt called by each pebble she gathered, and each had come to her at precisely the time she needed the power it possessed.

As she wandered the shore, occasionally reaching toward a particular pebble  to see if she could feel it drawing her in, she failed to notice the young man on a unicycle who was approaching her. Just as she registered his presence, he quickly reached out, grabbed the pouch from her hand and sped away.

Later that afternoon, after a most disappointing visit to the police station--where she had basically been laughed out of the building upon reporting the theft of her magic pebbles--Murgatroyd sat in front of a roaring fire, drinking a cup of tea and absently stroking the fur of her beloved cat, Periwinkle. A loud, persistent knocking at her door pulled her from her melancholy reverie.

Opening the door, she found herself face to face with a young man she didn't recognize--but looking beyond him, she saw a unicycle lying in her yard, so she knew precisely who her visitor was.

The young man stammered as he began to speak. "S-s-sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I wanted to return you pouch and apologize for my behavior. I'm the person who stole from you this morning--I thought your pouch would contain money, and I have debts to pay. When I got home, I found nothing but pebbles. I took one out, and as soon as I touched it, I felt this irresistible  need to return the whole thing to you."

WEDNESDAY WORLD OF WORDS: Winter (A Haiku)

Crisp and bitter cold
Snow makes everything seem pure
Have a blessed Yule.
© Teresa Kander 2016

MONDAY MORNING MEMORIES: My First Four Years

At the time I was born, my parents had been married less than a year. They had met in April 1960 and married on July 30, 1960. (My maternal grandfather was very much against the marriage, which I didn’t learn until I was seventeen. By that time, I felt much the same way, but more on that later.) They were both working full time: Dad was an engineer’s assistant at Buckeye Rural Electric, and Mom was a beautician.

    

Since they were both working five days a week, I was cared for by a babysitter, a trusted family friend, Mae Roush, known to family and friends alike as Mamaw Mae. According to my mother, Mae treated me like one of her grandchildren, and I was very happy with her. A story that gets told often is of Mae getting frustrated with people asking her how old “he” was, even when I was wearing frilly dresses. She began taping bows to the top of my head, as I didn’t have much hair to speak of, and was even more disgusted when that didn’t seem to make any difference.  

    

When Mae had to leave us to care for a biological grandchild, Mom and Dad hired another babysitter. I don’t know her name, but I know she didn’t have the job for very long. She apparently took me downtown in my stroller as Mae had done, but she didn’t put nearly as much care into my appearance. When Mom started hearing stories of me being out with a dirty face and dirty clothes, she was upset with the sitter, but the last straw came on a day when I had a cold and it was raining outside. Mom specifically asked that I be kept inside that day for my health, but she learned from one of her customers that I was seen going down the street in my stroller less than an hour after Mom left for work. As soon as Mom heard that, she got on the phone with Dad, who got home before she did, and told him that when he got home that night, he should pay the sitter and fire her. For the next two weeks, I was cared for by my maternal grandmother and great-grandmother, and then Mom became a stay at home mother.

At the age of thirteen months, I got my first pair of glasses. I was born with crossed eyes, which did not correct themselves as my doctor had hoped. Wearing glasses was the next form of treatment, in the hopes that would resolve the issue. Since I was so young, and there was concern I would try to remove the glasses, Mom used rubber bands attached to the earpieces across the back of my head. I kept that first tiny pair of glasses for many years, but somewhere in all the many moves of adulthood, they were lost.

    

That same summer, it was time to wean me from the bottle. The day that the process was started, Mom and Dad were having a conversation in the hallway near my bedroom. Mom said something about not giving me a “b-o-t-t-l-e” at bedtime, presuming that I wouldn’t know what that meant. She was very surprised when she put me to bed that night without my bottle and walked out of the room.  I started to cry loudly, and through my tears I was screaming “I want my b-t!  I want my b-t now!”  I guess even then I was smarter than they gave me credit for being!

   

In the spring of 1963, the three of us moved to the first home that I can actually remember clearly. It was a three bedroom home with a full basement, located at 12 Evans Heights in Gallipolis. The third bedroom became my playroom, where I spent a large part of my days, at least until I was old enough to go outside and make friends with the other children who lived on the street.

    

Around that same time, I decided to display my artistic talents by drawing a magic marker picture for Dad, using the hardwood floor of the playroom as my canvas. When I showed it to Mom, I’m sure she must have been horrified, but I do have to give her credit for handling it well. She left the picture there until Dad got home from work to see it, and then the two of us worked together to clean it off the floor.

    

One of the stories my mother always tells about me at this age has to do with a day she sent me outside to play in the front yard while she washed dishes, as she could watch me through the window over the sink. She apparently stopped watching at one point, and then realized that as cars went by our house, they were slowing down, pointing toward the yard and laughing. Curious as to what I might be up to, she came outside, where she discovered a totally naked toddler, and found all my clothes neatly folded and stacked on the front steps. I guess you could say that I was a streaker long before it became a fad!

At three and a half years old, I had learned to read well enough to read several of my storybooks to myself, or to anyone else who cared to listen. My Uncle Bob didn’t believe I could actually read, and suspected I had just heard those stories so many times I had them memorized. In an attempt to prove his point,he bought me a new book which Mom assured him I had never seen before that day. When I took the book from his hands and began to read it to them, he had to admit he had been wrong about me.

    

By the age of four, I was guilty of murder….of a goldfish. My Uncle Bob played a part in this story as well. He came by the house for a visiting, and I was eating an apple. He joked that my goldfish looked hungry and that I should share my apple. Not knowing any better, I later tossed what remained of the apple into the fishbowl. The next morning,I discovered my poor fish had gone belly up.

    

After three years of wearing glasses, with the adults hoping they would improve my condition, my eyes were still crossed. The next course of action was for me to have surgery to correct the problem by shortening the muscles attached to my eyes, which occurred in the spring of 1965. I only have little snippets of memory from my recuperation period at home, but Mom likes to tell a story from the hospital which is more about the nurse caring for me than about me.

    

When Mom and Dad were allowed to see me right after the surgery, the nurse told them she knew I was awake, but I was refusing to respond to her. She walked over to my bed to demonstrate, and said “Terri, can you hear me? Are you awake?” and when I didn’t respond, she looked at Mom, apparently expecting her to do something about the situation.

    

Mom gave her a disgusted look and said “If you would call her by her name, I’m sure she would answer you. She has no idea who you are talking to.” (Both eyes were covered by bandages, making me temporarily blind.) To prove her point, she walked over to the bed and asked “Teresa, are you awake?”

    

Without hesitation, I responded “Yes, Mommy, but I can’t see you!”

    

When we got home, I had two metal patches on my eyes, as well as tongue depressors taped to my arms to keep me from bending them, so I couldn’t remove the patches. Mom and Dad put me to bed, and told me to let them know if I needed or wanted anything. A little later, I heard my maternal grandmother in the living room, and couldn’t help myself---I got out of bed and made my way out of my room, then felt along the wall of the hallway to make my way to where the adults were, at which point I surprised all of them when I spoke up and said “Hi Granny.”

    

The worst part of the experience that I can remember had to do with the stitches. As they began to dissolve, the ends would be in my eye. That meant Mom had to apply a very warm washcloth to each eye for several minutes each, at least twice a day. I hated having to sit still that long, and I wasn’t happy with the heated wash cloth, either...it always felt TOO hot to me.

    

Friday Flash Fiction:Rolf

This came from my writers group last weekend. Each person created two characters, then we passed them to the people on our left and right. The two characters I received were as follows:

1) An alcoholic firefighter who wants to open a home for kittens.
2) Rolf Koenig--a former warfighter who now smuggles drugs to the first moon colony. He is also raising a teenage son, trying to keep him away from the crime community.

Rolf Koenig arrived at the moon colony right on schedule. He had brought his teenaged son, Leif, along for the ride this time, attempting to get some quality time with him. Leif was having behavioral issues at school, and Rolf had been hoping to get to the root of that problem.

The trip up to the colony had not been as productive as Rolf had hoped. Leif was engrossed in his virtual reality world and resisted all efforts at conversation. Now that they had arrived, Rolf had to concentrate on unloading his cargo and getting it delivered to his contacts without attracting the attention of the local authorities.

Being a newly-widowed single father was difficult enough, but coupling it with being a drug smuggler who was trying to keep his son unaware of his occupation was even worse. As far as Leif knew, his father was merely a delivery courier for a major corporation. 

Father and son carried the three large crates out of the cargo hold of the ship and placed them in the cargo vehicle. Checking the invoice, Rolf plotted the coordinates and they set off to make their first delivery.

Arriving at the colony's fire prevention station, they were greeted rather over-enthusiastically by Andy, one of Rolf's regular clients. Stumbling his way to the vehicle, Andy slurred "Good morning, gents," and mimed a tip of his hat.

Leif, who always treated the old alcoholic kindly, asked if he had any new kittens in the station or at home. Andy smiled widely as he answered. "Had another five dropped on my doorstep yesterday, which makes the current total thirty. The good news is, I've found a reasonably priced warehouse I can renovate into a cozy living space for them, and I'll still have room for plenty more."

As Rolf listened to the two of them continue to talk about the cats, he wondered if Leif's opinion of the firefighter would change if he knew Andy's money for the project came from selling the drugs they were delivering to him. And what would he think of his father for smuggling the drugs in the first place? Maybe it was time to stop bringing Leif along on these trips, and to find him a boarding school where he could be kept apart from this life.

Wednesday World Of Words: I Am

I Am

I am compassionate and loving
I wonder how the world really sees me
I hear the whispers in the wind
I see a rainbow in the sky
I want to be more courageous
I am compassionate and loving

I pretend that everything is fine
I feel the sand beneath my toes
I touch the hearts and minds of others
I worry about my children and my husband
I cry about the people that I miss
I am compassionate and loving

I understand that life is short
I say live every day to its fullest
I dream of what could have been
I try to make others happy
I hope that I'll be remembered fondly.
I am compassionate and loving

© 2012 Teresa Kander

Monday Morning Memories: Meeting a Cozy Mystery Author

On Tuesday, April 7, 2015, I was privileged to be able to attend a book-signing event for Tonya Kappes at Books & Company, at The Greene. Tonya is the author of several cozy mystery series, the most recent of which is the Ghostly Southern Mystery series. I've been a Facebook friend of Tonya for a while, but this was our first time to meet in person.


After greeting one another with hugs like long lost friends, we introduced each other to our respective husbands, and stood talking with another couple who had come to see Tonya that evening. Tonya joked about how "shy and private" she is, as she talked about her sons and her pets. Eventually, we had to break up our little group and move to the area which was set up for Tonya's talk.



Tonya revealed herself to be a very good speaker. She told us a wonderful story about where she got the idea for this current series of mysteries--her very own ghost story. As with all of her series, this one is set in a fictional small town (in the South, of course), and there is always some tie to her real life.



















There was a brief question and answer period which enabled us to learn a little more about Tonya, and then she made herself available to sign books and talk to her readers (she prefers not to use the term "fan").  As you can see from the photo below, she and I were still laughing and joking as we took pictures together.



Aside from the two books I brought with me to be signed, everything in the picture below was freebie stuff that Tonya gave out to everyone who attended this event.  It's quite an impressive haul!



If you would like to learn more about Tonya and her books, be sure to visit tonyakappes.com. You can also find her on Facebook at Tonya Kappes, Author: https://www.facebook.com/authortonyakappes