Procrastination and My Monkey Boyfriend

In a text convo with my friend, she asked how I was. "I'm fine, thanks." I said. "Just busy procrastinating."

She then proceeded to ask what I was procrastinating and I told her, though, for now I am going to keep it between myself and she. But, in true procrastinating form, rather than do the thing I'm putting off, I will regale you with a promised story about a monkey.

We have the most charming little zoo where I live. It's just big enough to be interesting and just small enough to go through the whole thing in a hour or maybe two, if you linger at each exhibit. Last year, for Ella's birthday, I visited the zoo with my children and my parents. We had a lovely time and near the end of our tour, we stopped at the monkey house. There are several gibbons there, two of which were in the outdoor habitat, one black with a little white beard and the other white with black marks on her face. We watched them for a while and somehow, the black one took a shining to my dad and I. He started following us when we would move around the perimeter of the habitat, enclosed in thick glass. It became a game. A very entertaining game for us humans made especially so by the white monkey who, for reasons that will remain a mystery, would wait until we weren't paying attention and swing down from on high and slam herself into the glass enclosure with a loud bang. It would startle us almost every time, but the black monkey continued to follow us, me in particular, as we ran back and forth in front of his cage amidst the slamming of the white monkey.

I would guess that we played this game for about an hour with our little monkey friends. We laughed and laughed and loved every minute of it and then it came time to go.


The End.


Just kidding.

That was the end until about two months later. I was back at the zoo with my Mother's Group friends and I mentioned this funny encounter with the two monkeys to Maria and a few others present. Shortly, we came to the gibbons who, on this occasion, were residing in the indoor portion of their housing. My little black monkey was up in the tippy-top of the room looking out of a skylight window. For the first few minutes he didn't pay attention that there were new droves of people there to observe him. Then he looked down, saw me and proceed to swing down and plop himself right in front of me again, holding his long arms up with right-angled elbows. He remembered me. I was thrilled! He did this arm gesture on the previous occasion and made little kissey gestures with his lips, which he did again. I'm not silly enough to believe he was actually kissing at me, but it was so funny to watch those little black lips work. I began again my game of running back and forth in front of his cage to see if he'd follow me. He did, much to the delight of all who were observing. I had also mentioned the white monkey and her antics to my zoo companions, and she didn't disappoint either.

So there I was, running back and forth with my black monkey following coupled with the occasional interruption of the white monkey's slamming/startling action, leaving all present thoroughly entertained for a good twenty minutes. In the way of all good things, it came time to go and I found myself hard-pressed to walk away from my little black friend. I felt like I was abandoning him. He seemed sad to see me go, which made me sad, in turn. I held up my hand to the glass and told him goodbye, thinking I would come see him soon.

I didn't.


The end.


Just kidding.

That was the end, until last week. On Thursday I went to the zoo again with my friend, Rebby. I haven't been in nearly a year. As we walked through the different exhibits, I mentioned my little black monkey-friend to Rebby and told her the two stories and how he remembered me. She seemed dubious, but I didn't care. I was excited to see him, to see if he'd remember me again.

As before, we came to the monkey house at the end of our zoo adventures. I saw my little black darling and his white companion in the outdoor cage, near the top. I walked up to the cage and he didn't seem to care even though he was looking right at me. Crestfallen, I thought perhaps it could be the hood I was wearing (due to the biting wind) and so I pulled it off. He was watching me as I did, and no sooner than he saw my head uncovered, he jumped up, swung himself on his very long arms to land in front of me, arms above his head, elbows at right angles, hands on the glass, and little black mouth gesticulating in kissing motions.

I was so excited! After almost a year, he remembered me! We proceeded to play our run back and forth game and I relished in these through-the-glass affections of my little monkey. Strangely, the white monkey just observed this time, apparently deciding to forego her slamming antics. That was fine with me.

When it was time to go, I felt sad, as did my Little Black. Well, I like to think he was sad anyway. There's no telling for sure, but he looked forlorn as I left. Not to worry, my little friend. I'll be back, and I won't wait a year for it. I promise.

Late

I was late. Very late. Images of my exasperated children popped in my head. I could just hear their little voices as they opened the car door. "Mom! Why are you always late?!" In the way of internal conversations, I answered their ghost-question with a mental sigh, "I don't know, my little loves. I don't know. I ask myself the same thing all the time."

As my mind continued conjuring these images, my foot pressed a little harder on the gas. Not that the ten or so seconds gained by going faster would make my children have a mother that was on time, but it made me feel better.

With all that brain-chatter interference, my normally acute cop-radar was not functioning at peak performance. I saw the cop car with my eyes, but it did not register in my brain. Well, it did, but my brain said, "No, Clancy... no need to stomp on the brake. It's parked in front of a house, meaning that the cop lives there." My brain forgot to mention that I've driven this route every day of the week for three years (excluding summers) and never before has there been a patrol car in that spot. I simply continued at my illegal speed, distracted as I was, coming up fast on said police car.

Thinking the car void of inhabitants, I was shocked to suddenly see an arm shoot out of the window, skeletal structure in a straight line to the wrist, ending in a single pointed finger aimed at the ground. The shoulders along with pectorals, lats and countless other muscles unseen by my eyes, forced the prostrate arm and pointing finger up and down in a very exaggerated, very clear message. SLOW DOWN.

It's a rather amazing thing, the adrenal system at work. Before my brain really registered what the signal meant, my heart was pounding and it felt as though it had jumped to my throat, leaving a watery feeling in my arms and stomach. Then my brain (so slow!) finally said, "DUDE! That's a cop sitting there waiting for unsuspecting speeders like you!!!" and it proceeded to send a little message down the pipe (which pipe, by the way, brings to mind those drive through bank teller tubes) causing my foot to stomp on the brake. I slowed down to the speed limit before I reached him and waved in gratitude as I passed without turning my head. After all, I can be grateful without having to show the shame in my eyes to the owner of the warning arm, right?

As I passed and waved, I started giggling rather hysterically. I was suddenly a child, eight, maybe ten years old, caught in some act of stupidity by an adult who rightly gives me a silent but firm rebuke, thus sparing my embarrassment from everyone save myself and the chastising adult. It must have been the combination of that mental image and the blood surging quicker-than-normal through my veins, but I couldn't stop the laughter. The giggling was accompanied by an ear-splitting grin.

I can't explain it, but as I drove to my children, slightly under the speed limit, I was rapturous. Joyous. Happy beyond measure. My insides felt warm, like a cheery fire had been lit in my lower abdominal cavity. The smile on my lips went bone deep and I marveled at this simple gift of sweet exuberance wrapped in the very strange and surprising package of warning and adrenalin. It makes no sense to me, even now. But for reasons unknown, I was unequivocally happy this day.

Yeah, Write...

As a reminder, this is a writing project that I started a couple weeks ago. I wrote a story using prompts from my readers and ended it with an abrupt cliffhanger. In the comment section, it was decided to let it be a bit of a game. Maria took my story and wrote the next "chapter". It is posted below and it's AWESOME! Well done, Maria! Next week we will hear from Ginny. And the following week, our contributor will be Polly. If anyone else is interested in playing, please let me know and I will assign you a week to write.

The rules: Pick up the story where it was left off and write where you think it would go. Thursdays are the day I'll post the chapters. Email me your chapter by Wednesday. You only get one week as we want to keep the story flowing and keep "our readers" interested! I will play editor in this, here, game. Don't get your feeling hurt if I edit something. I'll only do it for flow, not content. I'll try to approve any edits if there's time enough before posting, but I will say that as this is my blog, I'll reserve the right to have the final say. Additionally, you agree to grant me copyrights if you agree to play the game.

To be brought up to speed on the first chapter of the story, click here.


Chapter 2

My vision was blurred and I brushed my arm across my face. The coarseness of my jacket scratched at my raw cheeks. My tears were flowing freely and were physically causing pain because it was so cold outside. I did not know where I was going, I thought in the direction of the apartments. I was just running, running away from him. I stumbled onto a road, managed to cross it quickly, and felt my feet bog down in gravel. I looked around briefly at the playground I had found and then crumbled onto the rocks. My body shook with the sobs I had stifled in my hasty escape. How could this be? Was this real? It was truth so painful, so awful, I could not bear it.

My world crashed around me as I listened again in my mind to his confession. The pain in my jaw flared as I gritted my teeth at the sting of my most recent memory. The physical pain was nothing compared to my internal suffering. I wanted to run to the apartments now just thirty yards away. I willed myself to run, but my body would not go. I could not pick myself up. My desperation, or perhaps something even stronger, held me there. As I tried to breathe deeply to calm myself, I turned back toward the car and saw him emerge, looking at me. I was hit with a wave of nausea and I tried to turned away. I felt like my center of balance was shifting under my very body. It was vertigo with an intensity I had never experienced before. I was spinning out of control. I collapsed with sheer emotional exhaustion onto the gravel and laid my head on the cold stones. The coolness was comforting now and I closed my eyes. A memory flickered.

What was her name? Why did I want to remember her name? There was a little white mouse in my fifth grade classroom. When she first arrived, she would cower in the corner of her cage, afraid of the noise and the greedy fingers pressing through the bars of her sanctuary trying frantically just to touch the soft white fur. She would pile up her bedding into a sort of hill and try to bury herself from sight, only her bright pink nose periodically poking through, giving her away. As she adjusted to the sounds and smells of the classroom, she gradually eased her way back out. She warily tolerated our interest, but usually just ignored us. I used to chuckle with some melancholy pleasure at her running wheel. I found it sadly humorous that she would spend so much energy, running in a circle, going nowhere. She would hop off the wheel, clearly pleased with her activity and I used to pity her, because she was not going anywhere. She was still stuck, she was still caged. Looking back, perhaps it was myself I pitied because here was an animal every bit as caged, as frightened, and as stuck spinning as I was. And still, her name would not come to me.

I was pulled back to the present and the vertigo eased. I sat up slowly, glancing again to the car. I was on the playground and he was still watching me. His shoulders were drooped in despair and his expression was pure agony. Had I caused that? Was I now causing him pain? How could I bear to cause him pain? What about him held me here? I had wanted to run away and now I knew that I could not. Is that why I was drawn to him? Is that why I was pulled with some deeply rooted magnetic reaction to others with confidence, with direction… because I was devoid of that trait and I was searching for some way to glean it from others? I should have been aware of the pattern I was creating for my life. I had always gravitated towards confidence that was as fragile as my own skittish nature. Friends and boyfriends had often betrayed me and left my life in shambles. Somehow I managed to extricate myself from the wreckage of those relationships, only to find another new and equally damaging one. But he seemed different. He seemed to pull me further from my own center and further into his with ease. And now, how could I possibly pull away from him. This wreckage was different. I had not cowered in the corner enough. I had allowed his fingers to close around my meager consciousness, my delicate self-awareness. I had allowed his scent to become too familiar. I had enjoyed the warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze. I had reveled in the knowledge that he talked with me, not to me. He was mysterious and I was boring, and yet he still wanted to be with me. And now, I was inextricably linked to him. I knew a secret so dark, so intriguing and yet equally revolting, and instead of being repulsed, I actually felt I was a part of it. But how could that be?

I did not know how it could be, it simply was. As soon as I accepted that I was as bound to him as he was to me, I stood up, not with confidence yet, but with resignation. I turned back toward the car and took the first step in his direction. His face lit in a way I had never yet seen.

Come back next Thursday to see where Ginny will take us!

Yeah, Write....

Remember the other week when I asked for writing prompts... and then I said I'd write the next Thursday? Well, the next Thursday was Christmas and I neglected this blog over the holidays. Then the next Thursday was New Years Day and I was still on vacation, for the most part. So. It's Thursday again and I'm doing it, so help me!

Well... since there were five prompts, I've decided I can squeeze them all into one post. Sorry Ginny... I decided randomly to pick all of you even though you were the one that won in the ACTUAL RANDOM number draw! ;)



The smog was thick in this part of the valley. So thick that you could taste it on the back of your tongue, acrid and bitter. My nose twitched as I tried to breath through it, a sneeze threatening to burst out. I held it back. With how aloof he was acting, I didn't dare make a noise.

I looked at him dubiously as he lifted the smoking hood. This was not good. One time in high school I did take shop class, but despite that fact, neither of us knew very much about engines and we were helplessly stranded, that was clear. The highway was crowded with cars, and there were apartments just 100 yards away. I was wondering why no one was stopping or why we weren't walking to a phone, but I wasn't about to ask.

To be honest, he scared me. A lot. Yes, I had been "with" him for more than a year, but I never could anticipate him, and he was getting worse. The last few weeks had brought, at first, brooding. I often watched him with his furrowed brow, and I wondered where his mind was. It was like he was looking through me through some severe memory. He had also started sleeping more and more in the day, but when he was awake, his brooding gradually turned into seething... like a pot of water just before it boils.

It wasn't even eleven and he'd already flipped out twice today. The first one was when he realized he'd forgotten his cell phone. He swore and clenched his teeth, and as he fumed I watched the wiry muscles up and down his arms twitching. I flinched in reaction. I don't know if it was my flinch or the fact that his cell phone was sitting on his nightstand, but he lost it. He bellowed something that seemed like another language and swung his fist, ripping the rear view mirror off the windshield. It flew across the car, hitting my face, and clattered to the floor. Holding my jaw and leaning my forehead against the window, I wished I could ball up some of those snowflakes that were falling outside and cool the throbbing I felt under my sweaty hand. He didn't even notice me crying. The second explosion was less severe, but the look in his eyes made me sure I was going to loose the cold lasagna that I had eaten for breakfast.

A horn on the freeway brought me back to the hissing engine in front of me. My jaw still ached and it was getting harder to move. I was just starting to wonder if it was broken when he shifted his weight and grunted. He stood up and looked at me for what seemed like the first time that day and, as he did, his eyes flicked toward my jaw and a look of horror crossed his face for a brief second, almost too fast to notice. Clearing his throat, he turned away and started pacing, kicking an empty applesauce cup out into the rush of cars.

As I watched him I wondered why he wasn't trying to get some help. Though my heart was pumping like a galloping horse, I finally worked up the courage to say something.

"So, ummmm... what's your plan?" I ventured timidly.

He stopped and glanced first at me and then at the nearby apartments. His eyes looked tight, strained and almost vexed. He didn't say anything. He simply turned around and walked around the car and dropped out of sight. I followed, my breath coming in little puffs as I walked around the car. He was sitting on the ground, staring at nothing.

Irritated and worried, I opened the door and climbed back in the car. I'd never seen him act so distraught. Enraged, yes. Exasperated, yes. Distraught and even confused, no. His confidence was one of the things that drew me to him and kept me here, despite his unpredictability. He felt like a shield between me and the life I second-guessed my way through. He always knew what to do.

My apprehension was getting the better of me as I sat back in my seat. We're totally freezing, but he acted like he had no desire to leave! I didn't get it. It seemed like he was praying that no one would stop or desperately trying to figure out a way to stay away from the apartments and anyone that might emerge from them. I couldn't understand what the problem was. So we were broken down!? Big deal! Let's pick an apartment, knock on a door and use the phone!

Pain flared in my jaw again as I realized I was grinding my teeth. With him safely outside the car, I reached for the rear view mirror to see if there was any visible marks on my face and, seeing the mirror gone, remembered it was on the floor somewhere. After a minute of groping, I found it, held it up to my face. The cold air seared my lungs as I gasped and dropped the mirror. 'That couldn't be right!' I thought wildly.

Gently, I brought my hand up where the mirror had hit me. I couldn't feel much since my hands were getting numb from the cold. But I could feel a lump. There wasn't anything to feel aside from that. Nothing told my fingers about the weird mark I saw there, a half inch across, solid black in the center and gradated into my pink skin at the edges. It was creepy, and I didn't understand how a mirror could leave a mark like that.

When I had seen the mark, I had dropped the mirror so fast I was not sure it was real. Fingers trembling slightly, I picked it back up and turned it over, my face becoming visible once again. Sure enough, the black mark was there, but the first time I looked I had only seen one, and then there were two. I felt panic rise in my chest. I was breathing fast and felt a little dizzy. 'Could I have just missed the second one, or did it show up just now?' I thought to myself. My mind was spinning and I realized I needed to be out of that small car.

I turned to open the door and I screamed as his face loomed in the window. I didn't know how long he had been watching me, but his eyes scrutinized my face, and as he saw the black marks, his face crumpled and he began to cry quietly. I climbed out of the car slowly, unsure of how to react. I had never seen a hint of vulnerability in him before, and here he was crying.

He turned his red rimmed eyes toward me and grabbed me gently by the shoulders. "There's something I should tell you" he whispered.

Manic Monday: Ghost

Be sure to visit Mo for more Manic Monday fun!


Slowly the girls walked with their dates down the winding, paved road. The swift moving creek roared somewhere off to the left. The wind blew through the trees, their few remaining leaves hanging on like a drowning man on a life preserver. Erin carried a flashlight, but left it in her pocket as the moon faintly illuminated the black pavement, creating their eerie, declining footpath.

The group huddled closer, dates linking arms as they walked. Erin asked in a hushed whisper, "Have you guys ever heard of the legend of the Hippity Hoppity Lady?" Of course, Beth and Clancy had both been here before with Erin, but they feigned ignorance. Dave, Cody and Cache replied with a nonchalant 'No', and laughed it off. They were too cool and manly to be scared, and they had dared the girls to do their worst when the night started.

Erin began, "It was a long time ago, right in this very canyon. A mother lived with her three children in a small house near the river. They were a happy little family. The children loved to play all the games kids play and they did so every day. It was a simple life filled with simple pleasures."

"One day, the mother was cooking dinner and laughing at the sound of her children's games, when she suddenly noticed that the din she was enjoying had stopped. Smiling to herself and wondering what mischief they were in now, she went outside. Her smile faded as she realized they were nowhere to be seen. Putting down her dishcloth, she walked further in the direction they usually played. She found nothing. No sound of footsteps. No laughing. No children jumping out to say "Boo!". Not even a footprint to mark where they had run. She started calling their names. 'Eliza! Allen! James!! Where are you? Answer me!!!' Nothing. Not a noise. Not a giggle. The silence was deafening. Not even a bird call could be heard. The only sound was her footsteps on the crunching leaves."

At this point, Clancy thought it would be funny to throw a stick into the trees where it cracked against a wide trunk. Dave jumped. "What was that?!" he yelled. Everyone agreed that it must have been nothing as Clancy swallowed a giggle.

As the group walked ever slower and huddled closer, Erin continued. "As the mother was feeling panic rise in her chest that threatened to overwhelm her, she began to run. Franticly, she searched every place she could think that the children might have hidden themselves, every place they could have fallen or hurt themselves. She found not a trace."

"As the evening stretched into night, she continued calling her children, searching everywhere, and yielding nothing. She wiped sweat from her dirt-streaked face. All thoughts had left her, but the lost children. She searched endlessly through the night and into the next day."

"Late that afternoon, as she finally collapsed from exhaustion, a broken and miserable heap, she allowed herself to cry. Her cry shook the trees. It howled through the canyon like the very wind you hear right now." Just then a particularly large gust of wind burst through the tunnel the road created through the trees. Everyone shivered.

"She sat in a stupor for hours. It grew dark, and a small but sudden noise brought her out of her languor. She stood, backing away from the unexpected sound when her foot lighted upon something that was, clearly, not earth. Just as she reacted, trying to pull her foot away, she heard a snapping noise and felt steel shutting around her leg. A bear trap. She didn't care about her leg. Her only concern was finding her long-lost children. She was delirious... manic. Obsessed with the search."

"She lay there unable to move when the unexplained noise revealed itself. Just in front of her was the glinting, wicked blade of what must be the trapper's axe. Why he had left it here and how it had fallen and startled her, she neither knew nor cared. Here was her salvation. She picked it up and began to hack at her leg. When, at last, she was free of the trap, she got up on her leg that was whole, and began hopping in her hopeless search for her children. 'Eliza! Allen! James!!', she called. It was just a breath of what her voice had been two days ago. She was losing blood fast as she hopped along, saying their names as a chant now. 'Eliza. Allen. James. Eliza. Allen. James.' She hopped as long as she could and as she fell to the cold, leaf-littered ground, those were the last words that left her lips. 'Eliza. Allen. James.'

As Erin told the concluding remarks of her tale, she quietly grabbed the flashlight from her pocket. She prepared herself to shine it at just the right moment as she continued the story in a hushed voice. "It has been said that the ghost of the Hippity Hoppity Lady still wanders these woods calling for her lost children. You can hear her voice in the wind that whips through your hair. You can see her ghostly form as she hops, one legged, from tree to tree."

Suddenly Erin whips out the flashlight, shines it on an object just in front of the group and screams at the top of her lungs, "AND THERE SHE IS!!!!!"





Yes, this is a true story of a date we went on for a dance in high school (with some artistic license taken by the author on the actual story of the Hippity Hoppity Lady, and a few other minor details). This was what the pedestrian crossing sign looked like... a leg chopped, or more accurately, sprayed off, not by a trapper's axe, but by a little vandal! LOL! I must tell you that Dave (Beth's ACTUAL date) ran off screaming a very high pitched girly scream and ran all the way back to the car without stopping. For the rest of the night we visited every spooky place we could think of in Salt Lake City, including a visit to the lime kilns.

From The Jar... #22 (revisited)

I wrote a witty and colorful account the other night of this jar topic, but, as you all recall, that got flushed down the cyber toilet, never to be seen again. It's probably floating in the lost-post cyber-sewer-treatment-plant right now... next to your lost blog entry. So, I will make an attempt to recapture what I wrote previously. You can be sure I'll be watching that autosave every few minutes.

So LAST week the Jar said:

Tell a courtship story about your parents. How they met, how they got engaged, etc.

My parents have a tidy little package for all three. Meeting, courtship and engagement.

My dad was 20. My mom was 19. Mom was attending Ricks College in Idaho and Dad lived in Salt Lake. My mom went down to SLC to visit her friend, Sydney, for the weekend and on Sunday they went to church together. My mom saw my dad for the first time while he was passing the sacrament. He had hair down to the middle of his back, and my mom thought that long hair was hot stuff! (who are we kidding, she still thinks that to this day!) She nudged her friend and asked, "Who's the long-hair?" (I could be making stuff up... Mom, if you read this, feel free to fill in holes or tell me I'm up in the night if I'm wrong.)

She was intrigued at first glance. Later on that evening, Sydney had a bunch of people, my father included, over to her house to play games, etc. Mom and Dad met and talked all evening. Then it was time for everyone to leave, so my mom walked my dad halfway home (just down the street). They stood on the corner shivering (it was wintery cold outside) and talking for another two hours! Those crazy kids...

As my dad came home that night, he talked to his own father for a bit. In the course of their conversation my dad said, "Dad, I've met the girl I'm going to marry. What should I do?"

My grandpa replied, "GET TO KNOW HER!" (Nice try, Gramps!)

My mom was supposed to go home on Sunday, but Sydney told her she'd drive her back to Idaho on Tuesday so she could see a guy she had been dating at the airport as he left on his mission. I can't remember if he flew out on Monday or Tuesday, but I know my dad and mom saw each other on one or both of those days.

On Tuesday, Mom went back with her crazy friends (who like roasted peanuts- ha!) to Idaho amidst a terrible snowstorm. On Wednesday, my dad called and said that he was coming to Idaho on Saturday to ski and could he see her? (was the skiing part right? I can't remember for sure.) So, he came up Saturday and they did see eachother. I don't know what their evening consisted of, except that it ended with them talking in my dad's car in Island Park, wherein my dad asked my mom to marry him. She shocked herself by saying, "Yes. It's too soon, but I say yes." It was a very powerful spiritual moment for them both.

So, in six days, they went from being strangers to being affianced. (Six days, you say? Yes, you're right. That would be the same amount of time it took me to freakin' decide to marry my sweetheart!) And, they are still married thirty-five years later. Quite happily, in fact.




A shout out to my parents for the awesome example they are to me of unconditional love and acceptance, for the incredible and undying support that they give to me, my husband, and my little family, and for the path they forge of growth and change and learning. I love you, Mom and Dad. You gave me life and by doing so you gave me gifts [solicited or "un"! ;)] that are my joy and/or my greatest lessons that keep me moving forward in my own growth. Thank you. Love you.

Rohan...

Dustin and Rohan were sitting at the table sharing a hearty bowl of macaroni and cheese. (hearty... RIGHT!) Dustin had just gotten off work and had dirt or concrete on his shirt. Rohan noticed it and fingering it he said, "Dad, you got work on you shirt!" Cute boy.

Manic Monday: Iron

It was the ironing board in the wall that closed the deal. Isn't it silly that something so small could make the difference? It also helped that the kitchen was yellow from floor to ceiling.... yellow is such a happy color. We had been apartment hunting for two days solid and nothing had felt like a fit for us until we saw that yellow kitchen and built-in ironing board. We knew we were home. Our first home.

How strange that in only a week, we would be married and living here together- sleeping in the same bed, washing our hands with the same bar of soap, hanging our clothes in the same closet, and sharing our fears, our dreams, and our love in the same moment. Who could guess at that point what our lives would bring? That all of our early memories would be wrapped up in a basement apartment with a musty room, hissing radiators, a carpeted bathroom, a yellow kitchen, and an ironing board that was built into the wall...


Be sure to visit Mo for more Manic Monday fun!

The Verbosity Project

Elise winced as her finger was pricked by yet another dead-looking weed. How many had they looked through now? She lost count sometime yesterday. For all she knew, she had already looked in this one twice. Stifling a yawn, she found herself wondering how Caroline was doing it. 'Does she EVER get tired?' she thought begrudgingly.

They had been at this for two days now with very little rest, and Caroline was relentless in her determination. 'Why is such a little thing such a big deal?' she thought for what felt like the thousandth time. 'And why am I still helping her!' she berated herself. This was not the first time she had had the latter thought either. She knew the answer to that question. Caroline didn't seem to have much choice in the matter. She HAD to find it and Elise wasn't about to leave her up here alone. She only wished Caroline could tell her a little more about what "it" was.

Her mind drifted to that night that began with such innocence. How could something so seemingly innocuous turn out to be so gravely urgent?

The old lime kilns were a place that Elise and her friends had frequented often. Creeping along the dark trail was no different this night than any other. They giggled as they told stories of what these kilns were used for, which was nowhere near the truth. They were trying to scare themselves and it was working. Everyone was getting sufficiently jittery. Well, almost everyone.

"Caroline, what's wrong?" Elise whispered. "You're acting weird."

"Nothing", Caroline replied stiffly. "I'm just freaked out." Elise could tell by her voice that that was only half true.

Shrugging it off, Elise sped up to where Evan was walking. They fell into easy conversation and continued up the path. Even in the dim light that the moon cast, Elsie could just see the kilns ahead. They reminded her of a small castle. The quarried rock that was mortared together spanned fifty feet and held the openings to four tunnels barely big enough to walk in. The kilns were built into the scarp of the mountain side, allowing the group to hike up the steep sides to the top, which rose more than twenty feet from the base.

Exploring the top always left Elsie feeling a little unnerved. A gaping twelve-foot hole, serving as a shaft for the limestone back when the kiln was in operation, looked ominous and foreboding. Everyone seemed to feel much the same as Elise because the mood shifted from giggling to sober in an instant.

"That is just plain freaky" Gabe quavered. Elsie's friends edged closer. The mood was lightening again as they taunted each other around the side of the shaft.

"Let's go check out the tunnels" Evan whispered. He wasn't alone in his idea. There were already others backtracking down the steep sides of the kiln. Elise turned to follow him but stopped. Caroline had caught her eye. She was moving toward the shaft instead of away from it. Her movements were unnatural, almost jerky as if she didn't really want to get closer, but she couldn't help it. As she twitched toward the hole Elise noticed her hand reaching into her pocket. She brought out something in a tightly clenched fist and quickly threw it into the blackness. It made no noise.

"Caroline!" Elise hissed. "What are you DOING! What was that that you threw in the hole?"

Caroline whipped around, her hair, silver in the moonlight, stuck to her wet lips. "Nothing!" she cringed, an almost hysterical note to her voice. Even in the wan light Elise could see her cheeks flush as an abashed look came over her face. "Honestly, I don't even know." She was almost whispering now. "I had a, umm, friend give something to me, and he told me to throw it in the shaft of the kiln. It was some sort of powder stuff. I really don't know what it was. He said that it would be funny."

As she spoke, Elsie noticed she had a hand in her other pocket. Feigning nonchalance, she kept the hand in her pocket turned away from Elsie. Caroline didn't seem to want her to notice it. "What's in the other pocket?" Elise asked.

"The other half of the joke." she murmured, almost too soft for Elise to hear.

Suddenly Elsie was on her back, as a blast from the shaft shot fire up into the sky. Screaming and shouting rained around her. 'Caroline!' she thought. 'Where's Caroline? She was too close to that hole!' Pulling her elbows up underneath her, she lifted her head. Caroline was down in a crouch, the expression on her face bouncing between panic and snarling rage. Her hand was still in her pocket, her shoulder curved protectively over it, and she was muttering to herself. Elise caught something about "too soon".

Elise shouted three times before Caroline responded. "Caroline, are you OK?"

Caroline looked around as if she was only just aware of where she was. "Yes. I'm fi..." She stopped mid-sentence as flashlights suddenly surrounded them. Men's voices shouted "Hold it right where you are!"

"Holy crap! It's the cops!" Elise squeaked, darting a glance at Caroline. The snarl was back on her face as she flung her hand out from her pocket, throwing whatever it was into the darkness of the mountainside. It whistled shrilly as it sailed past Elise's head. Seconds later, the cops had both of them in hand.

Elise kept her eyes on Caroline. She squirmed impatiently as the cop patted her down, but Caroline's eyes never moved from the direction she threw the... whatever it was.

Elise was brought back to the present by another stupid weed. Those cops had not stopped asking questions until the small hours of the morning. None of the group had any answers, except perhaps Caroline, but she was all wide-eyed innocence about the fifty foot jet of fire that burst out of that hole. They had been lucky Evan and the others hadn't ventured down the tunnels yet.

Elise asked Caroline about the fire, and she wouldn't talk. But when she asked her about what it was that she threw, Caroline grabbed her hand and squeezed it til it hurt saying, "We HAVE to find it! You have to help me Elise! The Prime. I've lost it!" The desperation on her face was frightening. What else could she do.

And so, for two days they searched, and at the end of those two days they found what would change Caroline and Elise's life forever.

A lime kiln in Utah

Crayons...

Crayons have absolutely nothing to do with this post, excepting the fact that I never claimed to be the sharpest one in the box.

Dinnertime. Last week. Beans and rice were on the menu. I turned on the burner on HIGH. Put water and rice in the pot. When they came to a boil, I was supposed to turn them down to a low temperature and leave the lid on 'til they were done. Easy.

Whilst the water/rice combo came to a boil, I turned my attention to the other half of the meal. Beans. Great-Northern beans, to be precise. I wasn't sure how long I was supposed to pressure cook these babies, so I turned to my favorite source: Google. My computer is downstairs. Downstairs is not within smelling range of my kitchen. If I am not perfectly vigilant Google can carry me to a fantasy land where neither time nor rice exist. Google did just that on that fateful night.

As I was carried away searching for a pressure cooking timetable I thought to myself, "I"m sure glad I already put the rice on... THE RICE!!!" I bolted up the stairs and, as my nose came within range of the kitchen, I smelled the disaster before I saw it. I pulled the smoking rice off of the red-hot burner and opened the lid a fraction. Smoke began to pour out. With a spoon I moved the rice aside to assess the damage. Bad news greeted me from the bottom of my pot. Black covered everything I could see under the rice. Trying to avoid MORE of the smell of char in my kitchen, I headed outside to purge the pot of the befouled rice.

With haste to get the smoking pot outside, I encountered the closed outside door that I could not open with both of my hands holding a pot. For some insane reason (most likely having to do with previous crayon comment),I set the pot down... ON THE CARPET. Too late I realized what sort of physics project was happening under the pot. I might have set a record for the fastest opening of a door. Sure enough, I picked up the pot again and strings of melted nylon came up with it like hundreds of spiders had built their homes between the pot and the carpet. Perfect.

With wisps of melted carpet dangling from the pot, I took it outside and scraped the rice out. Inside the pot, the bottom was black except for the perfect outlines of rice. It reminded me of maggots. Eww.

Fortunately, this story has a fairly happy ending. If you can count as happy the several hours of elbow grease required to remove most traces of the charred rice and melted carpet from the pot...

The pot is still in action today, boiling merrily with whatever I'm scrambling to cook for dinner each night. I never cared about the carpet. The perfect melted circle left by the pot stands as reminder to sharpen those proverbial crayons and use them to defend myself against the lure of Google and stupidity of thinking before I set a scorching pan onto nylon carpet.