Untrained

Master Class

 Stacey of Stacey’s Writing Moments was chosen to pick our line this week, read her piece from our last lesson, titled Winter. .

She chose Erma Bombeck’s Motherhood, The Second  Oldest Profession. Your line for this week, to open your stories, is….(drumroll please!!)

“One of the biggest complaints of motherhood is the lack of training.”

Put your thinking caps on and set your Muse to create. This assignment is due by 6:00 pm Monday, April 1, 2013 . Please identify the starting line by enclosing it in quotes, bolding, or italicizing.

"One of the biggest complaints of motherhood is the lack of training."

That's what I hear.  Oh, there are plenty of books, magazine articles, web sites, or pod casts.  But honestly, I wouldn't have read/listened to them if they'd been available anyway.  

I was busy reorganizing my life.  Buying baby clothes, furniture, supplies.  

My pregnancy was not planned.  I was a single mother.

I'd been hitting the snooze on my biological clock for years.  Evidently nap time was over.

No time for training in the motherly arts or keeping up on the latest mommy trends.  So, when the daughter arrived, I asked the best expert I knew.

My mother.

Was she an excellent mother?  Probably not, there were issues.  But, she had five kids.  She kept us all fed, housed, healthy and loved.  What other qualifications were necessary?

Did I turn out to be an excellent mother?  Probably not, it wasn't exactly my calling.  But, I kept her fed, housed, healthy, and loved.  Because that's how I was trained.




  

All That Glitters...

Trifecta: Week Sixty-one
This week's word is:

BITCH (noun)

1: the female of the dog or some other carnivorous mammals
2 a : a lewd or immoral woman
   b : a malicious, spiteful, or overbearing woman —sometimes used as a generalized term of abuse
3: something that is extremely difficult, objectionable, or unpleasant

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

"What in the name of God have you done?"

My sister, Abby, and I jumped at Aunt Lyds' screech, sending a cloud of pink and purple sparkles shimmering into the air.

"Shit," I muttered as I tried to contain the iridescent dust settling over the table.

"What just came out of your mouth, Christine Diane!"  Great Aunt Lyds screeched again. 

"Nothing, Aunt Lyds."  I rolled my eyes, hoping she didn't catch that.  "I'm just helping Abby decorate some Valentine's card with glitter."

"Glitter?"  She sneered.  "Demon spawn!  That's what it is!"

"Wha..." Thankfully, Mom came to see what the ruckus was.

"Lydia, what are you doing our of your room?  Stop scaring the girls with your nonsense."  Mom took her Aunt's arm and gently led her back to her room.  "Christine, you girls clean up now.  It's almost dinner time."  She called over her shoulder.

Abby and I got busy brushing the stray glitter into the trash can.  I knew what Aunt Lyds meant, getting all that stuff cleaned up was a bitch.

At least I thought I knew.  

Aunt Lyds stopped coming out of her room a few days later.

"I warned you!" She hollered almost hourly in her usual screech, "Demon spawn!"

That's when I started to notice.  First, a small winking pink line began to creep out of the seam where the halves of the dining table met.

Then, a pink sparkle oozed from between the couch cushions.

One morning, Abby started screaming hysterically at breakfast.  Her oaten O's were dotted in glitter.  At that moment, the cat raced by yowling in panic.  A stream of glowing purple dust trailing behind her.

"Mom? Mom!  I think we have a problem!"

"What problem, honey?" she called from the kitchen.

"The glitter, Mom, it's everywhere!"

"Don't be silly, honey," She came up behind me as I turned and watched her pink glittered nails fussing with her purple glittered hair. "It's only glitter."  She smiled through shiny, glittery teeth.

Goal

the prompt: We want to know what your goals and ambitions are for your writing, in 300 words or less. 


A long time ago, I used to make up stories. Write them down and sometimes illustrate them.

I took creative writing in high school. Even a poetry class.  I wrote. I have little journal books of crappy teen angst poems. The stories I wrote?  I don't know where they are. Long decomposed in some landfill I expect.

It all got lost.  In growing up and boys and work. Then motherhood and marriage.  Yes the mommy part came first.

The stories were still there. Locked in my head. Told and retold to the invisible passenger as I drove my intergalactic fighter or horse drawn cart to work or the grocery.

Pieces of elsetime.  Glimpses of otherwhen.

I can remember my mother telling me long ago she could see me at a typewriter, mixed drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, cranking out books.

Didn't happen.

Yet.

But I have taken a step. Sitting in front of a keyboard, coffee mug in one hand, cigarette in the other.  Learning how to pull  pieces and glimpses of elsetime and otherwhen out of my head and put them together.

Telling those stories.  Flying my magic carpet through the Internet, babbling away to You, my invisible passengers.

My Goal?

Simple.

Don't stop.

One Meal

This week, we’ve asked you to share with us a special recipe. But, we’ve asked you to do more than just list out ingredients.

We challenged you to take us back…to take us into your memory, in 500 words or less.


My mother shuffled out to the kitchen as I was cutting slits in the hot dogs. After she had broken her hip, she relied on the fancy walker we'd gotten for her rehab. She could walk without it, but she didn't want to.

She asked what I was making.  As I folded the slices of cheese into the slits I'd cut, I told her.  Her eyes lit up.  It wasn't often I could convince her to eat enough.  She watched as I opened the tube of crescent roll dough and wrapped the cheese filled hot dogs up.

"Pigs in a blanket!  I haven't had those for so long.  That sounds wonderful!"

We'd had them often when I was growing up.  They were easy and inexpensive.  With five kids, it was a good call for working parents.

I made them when my daughter was growing up.  They were easy and inexpensive.  I worked a lot of nights, it was a good call.

I think Mom ate three or four of them that night.  She ate the leftovers for lunch the next day.

During the year we lived with her, before she died, I believe this was the meal she enjoyed most.

It was a good call.