By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
photo of my son three years ago, today. He was still living nearby, and he wasn't addicted. I miss that kid - but I know he won't return.
An Ottava Rima is a poem written in 8-line octives. Each line is of a 10 or 11 syllable count in the following rhyme: one octive poem. abababcc two octive poem. abababcc, dededeff three octive poem. abababcc, dededeff, ghghghii I chose to do only one octive for this short poem. |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
The Memento, created by Emily Romano is a poem about a holiday or an anniversary, consisting of two stanzas as follows: the syllable count should be 8 beats for line one; 6 beats for line two; and two beats for line three. This is repeated twice for each stanza. The rhyme scheme is a/b/c/a/b/c for each of the two stanzas.
I wrote this poem as dual edged because I have some very ambivalent feelings about my mother. I know that some others on the site can relate. Thank you for reading this poem. |
By Mustang Patty
A cute furry face,
Bright blue eyes looking at me,
My heart can't keep pace.
| Author Notes | Trying to get back into writing poetry. Experimenting with different forms. This is the first 5-7-5 I've written in years. |
By Mustang Patty
An email came in the usual way,
Its message made for a happy day.
Hubby's former boss wanted him back,
For electrical work, he had a knack.
"Yes, we will come back to Oregon," was all we could say,
There really wasn't any reason in New Mexico to stay.
Thrilled at the prospect, we began to pack,
We couldn't wait to get back.
So excited for moving day,
We couldn't wait to be on our way.
We packed the car, the boxes in a stack,
Lovingly, the dogs were placed in the back.
We left the sunshine and lower pay,
Returned to the Northwest, where we will stay.
| Author Notes | After moving to New Mexico for the birth of our first grandchild, our daughter, who is in the Air Force, was then stationed in Virginia. We prayed for a solution, and it came one day in an email. There wasn't really any question as to whether we would make the move; my husband was working as a long-haul trucker, and was only home 3 days a month. The move gave us better pay, and more time together. |
By Mustang Patty
In just a few hours it will begin
Our own family Christmas
A few weeks late - not a sin
We'll all be under the same roof
No dream, No lie, No spoof
Turn the clock back
just 10 years
Always together, no fears
of who couldn't get the days off
Who didn't have the money to fly
We were all together in the blink of an eye
I will be thankful for what I have
Good memories, lots of phone calls
Visits, photos, and all that jazz
But I miss their voices in the house
I miss the hugs
I miss the shouts
Turn the clock back
just 15 years, . . .
| Author Notes | Today begins our Family Christmas; I go to the airport in about 8 hours, and the days are full until Sunday when we go back to the airport |
By Mustang Patty
Christmas
A day of gifts
Extended family
Too much food, noise, stress, and frayed nerves
Much love
| Author Notes |
The Crapsey Cinquain - a new form for me, I'm not sure I like it, or even if I did it right, but I'm bound and determined to try new things!
Named for Adelaide Crapsey, this form of poetry is Ms. Crapsey???s version of the Cinquain. While a cinquain can be any five-line poem with a set pattern or syllable count, in 1878, Adelaide Crapsey made the cinquain her own. This non-rhyming form of poetry is written in iambic meter, and has a total of 22 syllables. The five lines are arranged in a pattern of 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 syllables. |
By Mustang Patty
My spirit flies to you
My heart has much to say
| Author Notes | an expression of the longing in my heart. Thank you DeeM757 for the lovely artwork. |
By Mustang Patty
In my search for a Better Place,
I found you.
If I lose you,
I have lost my lovely space.
The purity of this dwelling,
that you have made for me,
Has set my heart, my soul,
and my spirit, free.
| Author Notes |
(edited on Nov 19th, from suggestions in feedback. Many folks asked me to remove the multiple repeats in such a short poem, and so this is the new version.)
This love poem is dedicated my hubby of almost 27 years - it WILL be 27 years in a month. We have been through SO much together, and managed to come out on the "other side." THANK YOU, Lorac1 for the beautiful photo. |
By Mustang Patty
We've heard it said that absence makes the heart grow fonder,
And in our years together, we've spent so much time apart,
Not that either of us likes to wander,
Distance just naturally comes between us,
and it has right from the start.
Marrying a sailor was probably not the best choice for me,
For the first three years of our life together,
There were more empty days than full,
More lonely nights than the ones with you beside me,
And it became the way of us, the yearning, the sadness,
and sometimes anger.
Our babies were my company,
first a daughter, and then a son,
Single parenthood was thrust upon me,
and sometimes I wanted to run.
Today is a different story,
We've weathered so many years of this life,
beat down all the pain and strife,
but still I'm here, and you're there
Our baby girl needed me - though she is all grown up,
I packed a bag and flew across the ocean
Leaving you with the house, the cats,
and you, lacking my attention and devotion
Its not much better from this side,
Being the one that leaves,
I still miss you so much
I find it hard to breathe.
Perhaps someday in heaven,
We will always be in the same place,
I will wake up and see your face,
Every day, for all of eternity.
| Author Notes | Angelheart's "Birth of Love" felt like the right artwork to include with this love poem for my hubby. In a few weeks, we will celebrate our 27th Anniversary, and by then, I will be home. |
By Mustang Patty
So many memories
Some beautiful
some sad
Then there are the ones
that are just bad.
Where was the loving touch?
Where was words that meant much?
Instead I remember the cigarette smoke
and always being the butt of the joke.
Did you just not know how to show love?
Or were you ashamed of all of the above?
You are gone now, no answers will come
No apology, no explanation, and no way to make sense.
Mother's Day was yesterday, and I didn't feel anything.
| Author Notes | My mother did her best, but I never felt her love, except through her joke-telling, and a few short memories of laughter over the years. |
By Mustang Patty
Kind words
Loving embrace
waiting all day
to see his face
He loves me!
| Author Notes | This is the first posting on this site. Mustangpatty has written poems for most of her life, along with short stories, and a novel that has been sitting for long enough! |
By Mustang Patty
The storm had been brewing all morning. Dark clouds rolled in and visibility was limited. When the skies finally opened, and released the rain, it came down in a rushing torrent. Even with the windshield wipers turned on high, it was impossible to see.
Driving too fast for the conditions, the driver lost control of the car. Within seconds of the onslaught of rain, the car crashed into a utility pole. Sparks flew as local power and telephone lines came down.
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Supergold for the perfect picture.
Isn't it wonderful how a person and their love can be of such great comfort? |
By Mustang Patty
On Monday, my daughter called to let me know she had qualified for her promotion to Master Sergeant in the Air Force. For those of you who are not familiar with the military rankings, the Master Sergeant rank is an E-7 in a system of E1 through E9. So, in the fourteen years she has served, she has been promoted six times. This is a very good thing.
I realize I haven't talked much about my daughter on FanStory. This is surprising because I fairly bust with pride when I think of my lovely daughter. If ever there was a better kid, I've rarely heard about it.
Heather has always been a dream to take care of. She was a quiet baby and started sleeping through the night when she was just three weeks old. She potty trained herself when she was only nineteen months old because when she saw me putting a diaper on her newborn brother, she decided she wasn't a baby anymore!
She did well in school. I can only remember one 'B' in a sea of 'A's. She excelled in her classes and served as several officers on the Student Council through her high school years, as well as taking part in the Knowledge Bowl. I was never once called to the Principal's office about her, or heard anything negative from her teachers. She was loved by all.
There wasn't much fussing when she reached her teenage years. In fact, she used me as an excuse to keep herself out of trouble. She always told people she couldn't go to parties; her mother would object. Fact is, she never even asked.
She went on several mission trips with our church, and when she was sixteen, she went to Europe for six weeks with a group from high school. She got the travel bug early in life. It wasn't a big surprise when she told us she would rather go into the military than start college.
Just a little over fourteen years ago, she left for basic training. Since then, she has been stationed in New Mexico, Korea, Iraq, Germany, back to New Mexico, and now she is serving in Virginia at Langley. She works in Finance, and she currently manages a large budget for her command. She has won awards and medals and ribbons. She won Airman of the Quarter three times, and Airman of the Year back in 2010.
A mother couldn't ask for a better daughter. Despite all her travels, she has managed to spend quality time with me. We have visited each other every six months unless she was stationed out of country. She flew me to Germany and toured Europe with me back in 2010, and we had a blast. My favorite part was seeing the Eiffel Tower again with one of my favorite people in the world.
In 2014, I moved to New Mexico to await the birth of my first grandchild. Heather and I spent the next year and a half together. We shared our bond daily, and I was privileged to watch her bring her daughter into the world. My bond with Heather is only enhanced by my love for Hailey Rose.
In just a few weeks, I will go for my semi-annual visit to Virginia. I'm looking forward to spending time with Heather, her husband, and her two beautiful children, Hailey Rose and Logan Ernest. My life will be brightened by their light.
| Author Notes |
Photo courtesy of the U.S. Air Force. This picture was taken shortly after Heather was promoted to Technical Sergeant (E6).
Heather is a wonderful daughter, wife, and mother. She is gifted in many ways. As a multi-tasker, she has managed to complete two Associate Degrees in Finance and General Studies, and she is currently working on her Bachelor of Science in Business Management. What can I say? She is simply amazing! |
By Mustang Patty
On Tuesday, May 9th, I will be traveling to Minneapolis to see my son, Gregory. Some of you are familiar with the story – he is my thirty-year-old baby boy, dealing with an addiction. I posted a piece a few weeks back, when I purchased tickets for this trip. Some of you asked me to let everyone know when I was going, so here I am. Prayer cover and positive thoughts would be greatly appreciated.
Tomorrow, I will drop off the dogs at their favorite place – the kennel. My suitcase is already packed. I'm more nervous about this trip than usual. I have a tiny fear of flying, but the anxiety with this trip is caused by something else entirely. Suppose this is the last time I see my son.
For the past two and a half years, I have not enabled him or his habit in any way. I haven't sent any money, stopped his cell phone bill, and made him make his own way. I do take his phone calls and texts, and I make myself available to listen. He came to visit in January of 2016, and I was horrified by his weight loss and general appearance. Prior to his first visit to Minneapolis, he lived with me and my husband. His continual drug use and lack of responsibility prompted me to tell him not to return to New Mexico. I don't think I've ever done anything so hard in all my life.
So, my bags are packed, the hotel reservation made, and the flight confirmation in hand. My heart is beating fast, and I'm praying with all my might that I know the right things to say, and the right thing to do. The joy of seeing my beloved child is tempered by the situation at hand.
A few of you offered valued advice; I should immediately rush him into a rehab facility or give him an ultimatum. Others warned me that he won't go into rehab until he is ready to go. Others still, asked me to proceed with caution. Addicts can be dangerous and shady people.
So, I've taken a few precautions. I'm not carrying too much cash, and my debit card has limited access to funds. I'm bringing a credit card for emergencies that will be 'on my person' always. My husband and daughter will be waiting for me to check in at regular intervals. My jewelry will be sparse, and again, always on my person.
I want to think that my son would never hurt me or rob me, but I know I'm dealing with someone totally different now. I've heard horror stories from other people who were robbed blind by their loved ones. I'm doing my best to limit any temptation.
Prepared to have a conversation about my concerns and his need to get some help, I've done the research. I'm armed with a list of resources in the area. I know the talks may not be pleasant, but I know only my husband and I are willing to have them with him. People have questioned why my husband isn't going with me, and we prayed and decided Gregory is more likely to listen to me. He and I were always the closest. Dave loves him with all his heart, but they had the usual father-son issues.
In short, dear FanStory family, I ask all of you to think of me over the next few days. I will miss my computer and the friendly banter I share with you. I'm purposely posting this a few days before I leave – I'm counting on you guys to chime in and offer advice, and prayers. When I get back, I will have a lot to share – I pray it will be good.
| Author Notes |
the picture is from the Minneapolis website - I love the skyline shot.
While I'm not taking my laptop, I will be taking my writing journal. I'm hoping I will have something positive to share when I get back. I pray, with God's help, I can help my son to see the light. |
By Mustang Patty
I was at the Portland Airport bright and early on Tuesday morning. My flight was at six o'clock AM and I knew getting through Security could be tricky for the early travelers. I was pleasantly surprised to find upon checking my bag and picking up my boarding pass that I qualified for TSA pre-check. This status would take me through Security much faster, and I didn't need to remove my shoes or jewelry!
The airport was already busy at four forty-five in the morning, and I waited in line to get some much-needed coffee. A Mocha with an extra shot of espresso was just the thing to clear my head and get my day started. I was excited, nervous and anxious to see my son. It had been a few months over a year since I'd last had the chance to hug him and tell him how much I love him in person.
Boarding for my flight was called promptly at five thirty, and I grabbed a window seat, since I was in the A group on the Southwest Airlines trip. Buckled in with my carry-on carefully stowed under the seat in front of me, I prepared for take-off. I'm a very nervous flyer and visions of plane crashes flashed through my head.
My layover was in Denver, and everything went smoothly. I had plenty of time to find the next gate, and before I knew it, I was in my next window seat. I breathed a sigh of relief as the plane landed in Minneapolis.
Texts to Gregory:
1:16 PM Mom has landed
1:20 PM Are you here? We were about twenty minutes early.
1:30 PM Heading to baggage claim – we will meet there
1:45 PM Since you're not here yet, I'm going to grab a coffee at the shop right across from baggage claim.
2:00 PM Greg?
2:30 PM Really Gregory?
3:00 PM I'm going to take a cab to the hotel
I was beside myself. What on earth could possibly have kept him from the airport? Just the day before he was texting with me about how excited he was for my visit. Had he been arrested? Was he sick? I was scared, worried, and very hurt. It had been over thirty-five years since I'd been stood up at the airport.
The cab ride to the hotel was solemn for me. I looked around at this new city and wondered where on earth my son was. I knew he lived in the downtown area, and that's where my hotel was, but I was very confused and very sad. The trip wasn't off to a very good start.
Checking into the hotel, I asked if anyone had been there looking for me. The concierge told me no, and helped me with my bags. He let me into my room and handed me my key. I was crushed beyond belief.
The room was beautiful. I had gotten a suite so Gregory could spend this time with me if he wanted. I looked from the sitting room to the bedroom with a deep sigh. The luxurious bathroom wasn't helping my heartache. I checked my phone for any texts I might have missed. Nothing.
Resigning myself to having a four-day writer's retreat, I kicked off my shoes and turned on the TV. I fell asleep with a broken heart.
About five o'clock my cell phone announced Gregory's ring tone. "Your son is attempting to reach you on your cellular device. Your son is attempting to reach you…"
"Hello. Gregory?"
"Mommy, I am so sorry. I fell asleep. Oh, I feel so bad." His voice sounded like he was crying. I knew he felt bad, but I needed time to process my own feelings.
"Let's just start over fresh tomorrow. I'm exhausted. I'll meet you for breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Be here by eight o'clock and we'll go from there."
As I hung up the phone, I offered a silent prayer that he was okay. I tucked away my anger and resentment for his drug use. I vowed to make this a pleasant experience for both of us.
| Author Notes | So, I'm back in Keizer, and I've had some rest. I will present the trip in two parts, because as you can see, it had an inauspicious beginning, and I was so disappointed. However, things got better and I am happy to share the good news with you all. Thank you for your prayers and well wishes - they were and are greatly appreciated. |
By Mustang Patty
I so wish I could tell all of you that my visit found Gregory clean of drugs and willing to talk about going into counseling. It is in my heart of hearts to say that the rest of the visit was perfect in every way, but it is what it is. The disappointment I have wasn't revealed to him, though I know he felt it.
Early on Wednesday morning, Gregory came to my room so we could go out to breakfast. His knock on my door was a wonderful sound, and I hurried to open it. His welcoming hug was wonderful. He seemed taller than I remembered, but it is probably because I'm starting to shrink.
I drank in the sight of him. My baby boy was standing in front of me for the first time in well over a year and I couldn't help but notice he's skinny, lanky and sporting a full beard. His glasses were a pair he got in the military and his clothes were clean. The smell of his body wash lingered in my nose, and I basked in his presence.
We both skipped over the events of the day before and started our usual chatter about everything and anything. We made our way downstairs to the restaurant in the hotel and were seated at a table off in a corner. It didn't really matter; the place was practically empty. We talked to our hearts' content.
While I could tell he wasn't high, I knew he was controlling his intake to accommodate my visit. We didn't delve right into the subjects I wanted to talk about, but since we have total honesty between us, I was clued in. He's still doing drugs and he is selling to support himself.
We went for a walk in the downtown area. Minneapolis has this maze of skyways between the many buildings. You need to know the names of the streets you are looking for, or at least the name of the building. It felt like we walked for a long time to get through just a few blocks. I enjoyed seeing the city from higher up, and found the walkways a lot of fun. My leg was bothering me, so we stopped in a coffee shop and grabbed a seat by the window. The mocha was great, but the conversation was one of life's more difficult.
I brought my copies of the chapters of 'One Man's Journey to Get Clean,' and took them from my bag. Gregory read through them and asked me at one point if those were his copies. When I said yes, he took out a pen and made notes in the margins. He reads faster than me, and he was through all ten chapters within forty-five minutes. When he was done, we talked about everything.
"Mom, this is really good, but you have to know that the piece has the overall feeling of an episode of 'Intervention.' I do know that you want me to get off the drugs and go into rehab. You need to know that I'm not ready. I need to come up with a plan. What will my life look like later?"
He reached for my hand and took it in his. His smile was beautiful even though I hated the words. "You can't make me better by wishing for it. I know you will always pray, just like I know you will always love me. Your character of Mary is you, and I wish I could give you the happy ending right now. I wish I could promise you there will be one."
My heart hurt, but I had known all along this could be the case. I tabled the discussion for a bit, vowing to myself that we would talk about going to see a counselor later in the trip.
We decided to split up when we got back to my hotel room, so Gregory could go and 'do his own thing.' I was thankful for the time to journal the things he told me and look over his notes on my stories.
He wrote notes on how to make the story stronger. He gave me more insight into the underworld of drugs, dealers, and the ways to survive. I knew these words would make the book stronger and help me tremendously with the rewrite, but it hurt to know where the information came from. I set aside the project and resolved to take a nap before dinner.
We spent the next few days enjoying the city, good restaurants, and each other's company. We started each morning with breakfast, and completed the day with a nice dinner. We were only together for three to four hour blocks of time, and though I knew exactly why this was, I took the time between to make notes, rest, and put the information I gained into perspective. It was sometimes overwhelming.
He took me to his apartment and I met his roommates. There are four of them living in a two-bedroom apartment. There is only one tiny bathroom, and I was surprised by the cleanliness.
Gregory showed me the hobbies he uses to occupy his time. He has started building boxes of lightweight wood and he gave me one he finished to give to his Dad. He has also been painting wooden flowers you can find in craft stores. He presented me with a bouquet, and each one is uniquely beautiful.
On Friday afternoon, we went to an appointment I set up with a counselor. Gregory was willing to talk and they spent about an hour together. He has a follow up appointment next week, and I can only pray he will continue to go and that it will lead to rehab.
Early Saturday morning, Gregory came to my hotel to spend some time before the car service would arrive to take me to the airport. I hadn't really slept, but I was packed and ready to go. We talked about future trips I would make to see him and I asked him if he had a plan now. He reached into his bag and showed me a handwritten list of the steps he needed to take to rebuild his life. It was a detailed list and I knew he put a great deal of thought into it.
We went down to the lobby and I checked out. The limo driver was waiting for me, and Gregory and I hugged. We said our goodbyes. I tried to remember every detail. I let him go and got into the car. The visit was over and I had more information, but there were still no concrete answers.
| Author Notes | the picture is one I took of Gregory while we were having coffee in the sky way cafe. I was surprised at the beard, and the glasses he's wearing really reveal just how near-sighted he is. |
By Mustang Patty
Sleep wouldn't come. She had lain there for as long as she could. Resigning herself to another sleepless night, she headed towards the kitchen.
After making a cup of instant coffee, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes, turned off the lights, and headed to the living room. Bone tired, she settled on the couch. Drawing her legs up and making herself comfortable, she lit her cigarette. She brought her wrist up to her face and barely made out the time on her watch. It was three-thirty.
With a sigh, she settled in to wait. One of the few perks of the sorry situation was getting to see the sunrise. The glowing ash was the only light in the house. The kids were all asleep. Thinking about them only brought more misery.
How would she be able to do this on her own? Would the job at the Pancake House be enough? She had never graduated from high school, so finding a better job was out of the question. What else could someone like her do besides waitressing?
Groaning inside, she went through the mental checklist of woes. He was in jail. The house had been sold because they were in the process of buying another one. She was left with three kids to raise. Joe was eighteen, but Billie and Patty were still just mouths to feed.
The sellers of the new house had let her out of that contract, but there was no luck in cancelling the sale of their house. She needed to move into something big enough for the four of them, but cheap enough for her to afford. Inhaling deeply, the glow of her cigarette increased in intensity. How on earth would she get through this?
He had been thrown in jail for messing with Billie. Apparently, it had been going on for years. How did she miss it? Was it her fault? There were plenty of people who thought so.
She went to the Bingo twice a week. Was that when it happened? But Patty had been home – shouldn't that have stopped it? Billie was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. Had Patty seen anything? Shutting her eyes tight, she could only shake her head.
Crushing the cigarette butt in the ashtray, she quickly lit another. Coughing, she covered her mouth to muffle the sound. She really didn't want Patty to wake up. Her barrage of questions was just too much to handle. She needed this time to herself. It was quiet. It was dark. She could organize her thoughts and come up with a plan.
Maybe Joe could use his paycheck to help? He had already been giving her some money. There was nothing wrong with a son helping his family. Wasn't it his duty?
Feeling the enormity of the responsibility that sat squarely on her shoulders, tears stung her eyes. The stub of her cigarette glowed as she left it on the edge of the ashtray. Feeling a good cry coming on, she wanted her hands free. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle the sobs.
Unbeknownst to her, Patty was hiding behind the couch. She heard the sobbing and wished she could come out. It sounded as though her mommy could use a hug. Holding her little hand over her own mouth, she cried for her mother and herself.
| Author Notes |
This story is about my mother. I know she tried to do her best. I think life just got the best of her. The picture is of her when she was around fifty years old. She died when she was seventy. The cause was lung cancer.
|
By Mustang Patty
Sitting on the bar stool, he swiveled to look at the door, but it was doubtful that anyone he wanted to see would enter. Sunlight tried to shine through the dirty square of a window. The dimly lit bar smelled of stale beer and desperation. Swiveling back to his glass of beer, he squinted at the amber liquid barely covering the bottom.
He couldn't remember how many beers he'd had, or how long he sat. Glancing at the dwindling pile of bills sitting in front of him, he calculated it must have been quite some time. He was still thirsty.
It didn't seem to matter how many beers he drank. The thirst still parched the back of his throat. No amount of beer could heal the aching in his heart. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Thumbing through the items stashed in the crease, he found what he was looking for.
Three smiling faces looked up at him. He always remembered them exactly as they were in this picture. But he knew several years had passed. They were much older than the cherub faces of the five, three and two-year-old he left behind. All in school, he wondered if they even remembered him. Did their mother speak of him? Or was he a dirty secret pushed from her mind.
Pushing her from his mind, he gazed at the beauty of his children. He could remember their laughter, the only sound that brought him joy. Of course, the laughter dwindled as he brought his drunken voice into the mix. His temper was quick, and he pushed them all away. He had no time for play, he needed to get more money and return to the bar. She would put up a fight, and his response was to hit and punch.
He sent money every week. It was court ordered. He didn't go to visit. They were better off without him. Or were they? He was their father. He should have a place in their life. She would have to let him in. She didn't have a choice.
Motioning to the bartender for another beer, he came up with a plan. He would drive over to their new place and visit his kids. They would rejoice at his arrival. There would be hugs and the sound of laughter. Taking another look at their worn picture, he smiled for the first time in days.
Downing the beer in one long gulp, he had his resolve. He would go and see his kids. No one would stop him. He needed to hear their laughter. Staggering from the stool, he went to retrieve his coat.
Hefting its heavy weight, he stuck in his arms, and pulled up the collar. He slipped his hand deep into the right pocket. Grasping the butt of his gun, he knew he would see his kids one last time.
| Author Notes | My father was an alcoholic that left for good when I was twelve. He never came back, but there were many nights I feared he would show up with a gun. |
By Mustang Patty
It's been a great few days. After a great deal of soul-searching, I've decided to go visit my son in Minneapolis. In early May, I will be flying from Portland, Oregon to a strange city. I will stay in a hotel in the downtown area, have my semi-homeless son stay with me, and spend some much-needed time with one of my favorite people in the world.
For those of you that follow my writing, you know that my son is living with an addiction. In all honesty, I don't know if he is using crack or crystal meth. All I know is that I haven't seen him in over a year, though he texts and calls quite often. My book in progress, 'One Man's Journey to Get Clean' is based on my deepest hopes and dreams of my son entering rehab. While the story is somewhat biographical, I've classified it as fiction, because he isn't even ready to enter rehab at this point.
My hubby and I decided I should go and see Gregory since I'm also going to see our daughter and her family. So, I have one trip in May, and one trip in June. Spending time with my kids is a special treat. Our little nuclear family fulfilled dreams I had as a child. There are three people in my life that know me, love me, and accept me for who I am.
Booking the flights was an adventure. After I spent over an hour trying to find a flight and hotel package via the numerous travel sites, I was exhausted. Whatever happened to the days when you could call a travel agent and have it all done for you? I finally simply went to the Southwest Airlines website and used their vacation service. I already had an idea of the hotel I wanted to stay in, so it was easier by the time I got to their site. Prior to that, I was out in the weeds. I was presented with over fifty flight selections at times I didn't want to fly. The packages with flight and hotel varied greatly in price, and I had to go to each hotel's website to get the real scoop. I think I read over 100 reviews of various hotels. I perused the amenities, and I looked for something close to restaurants and points of interest.
My patient hubby and the ever-present dogs sat next to me on the couch as I frowned and muttered at my computer screen. I could hear my mate chuckle as I grew more and more frustrated. It was his suggestion to use Southwestern's website.
Although the flights may not have been the cheapest, I know how the airline works and enjoy not having to pay for checked bags. I chose a Best Western Plus, because we know the quality and level of service in the chain.
I wanted to share this information with you, my Fan Story family. I have been so encouraged by all of you that have read my stories. The comments, suggestions, and kind words help to sustain me as I face the biggest challenge in my life. I pray this trip will bring my son one step closer to recovery.
| Author Notes |
This is just a little slice of life story. I cannot tell you how I am excited at the prospect of getting to spend time with both of my children. Any time I get with them is precious. When I visit my daughter, Heather, I get to spend time with my grand babies. I'm sure new stories will come from that experience. Thanks for reading along,
~patty~ |
By Mustang Patty
I remember the day she was born. No one prepared me for the joy I would feel when she made her appearance in the world. Lucky enough to be in the delivery room, I watched as she drew her first breath. I heard her first cry, and watched as she shook her tiny fists at the world she was thrust into.
My joy at the sight of her was only eclipsed by the pride I felt for my daughter. She went through childbirth with no pain killers. Only her will to bring forth the life inside sustained her through the ordeal. Her pain was replaced with a special joy when she looked upon her baby's face.
We had purposely waited to find out the sex of the baby. This only made her arrival more of a wondrous surprise. I didn't tell anyone of my deep desire for a granddaughter. I longed for the kind of connection I had with my own Grandma.
When the nurses were done measuring and cleaning, my daughter and son-in-law held her in wonder. Her tiny rosebud mouth yawned and we all held our breath as she shrugged her shoulders with the breath. I could watch that little face for hours, and I rejoiced in the fact that I was there to witness the miracle.
Finally, it was my turn, and my heart was full as my son-in-law lay her in my arms. "Say hello to Grammy, Hailey." And so, the adventure began.
| Author Notes | When my granddaughter was born, I don't think I was fully prepared for the love that would grow immediately. My bond with her was as strong as it had been with my daughter and son - something I could hardly anticipate. |
By Mustang Patty
I can remember clearly the day I decided to join the Army. I had just blown the engine in my car. I got fired from the cocktail waitress job I had because they found out I was just shy of 18. (Yes, back in 1976, 18 was the legal drinking age in New Jersey.) My mom was driving me crazy, and I just wanted to get out of Dodge.
Having taken the military equivalent of an IQ test a few months before, I ventured into the Army recruiting office and approached the sergeant behind the desk. As I was five foot, nothing, and weighing about 100 pounds, he barely gave me a glance. But his attitude changed when I told him I was interested in signing up.
His eyes looked surprised, but he didn't miss a beat. "We don't get many girls in here. I have a quota for three girls a month, and I rarely meet it. What makes you want to go in the United States Army?"
"I want to serve my country. I know the Vietnam war is over, but I know the military is just as important in peace time. I want to learn a trade and qualify for the G.I. bill. I need to get out of Jersey."
When I told him I had already taken the ASVAB*, he quickly made a call. He scheduled my physical and we talked about me leaving as soon as possible. My test results indicated I could have any job offered to women, and I let him know I just wanted the first slot available.
Within 5 days, I had a slot for basic training. They only gave me two days' notice. I packed the few things they suggested I bring, and waited for the recruiter to pick me up. My mom's tears didn't affect me as I got into his car and prepared for the first big adventure of my life.
My first airplane ride took me from Newark to Atlanta. Since the flight was arranged on such short notice, I flew first class. (That set me up for disappointment the next time I flew!)
Nine days before my eighteenth birthday, I was sworn into the Women's Army Corp,(WACs.) The drill sergeants let us know we were part of the last class of WACs -- from now on, it would just be 'women in the army.' I didn't know then how important it was to have that distinction, but over the years I've come to take pride in being the 'last of the WACs.'
| Author Notes |
I've read a few other writer's memories of their time in the military. I wanted to share the pride I feel in having served. My late teens and early 20s were spent in uniform and I have a lot of great memories.
*ASVAB: The test the military uses for aptitude and practical skills. |
By Mustang Patty
When was the last time you experienced an adrenaline rush?
A few days ago, the apartment management notified us that somebody had complained about our dogs. The dogs are my constant companions and my mind immediately went to the conclusion that I would have to rehome my dogs to remain where we lived. (I got over that.)
What terrifies you most?
The thought of losing any of my loved ones. I have a husband and two kids that I've built my world around, and I have no idea what I would do if any of them died.
If your house is on fire, which book would you save?
My rented copy of the DSM-5. (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) I rented it for research on a novel I'm working on, and it would cost a fortune to buy it outright!
Have you ever been betrayed?
More times than I can count. The grace of God allows me to forgive, but I can rarely forget.
Have you ever told lies?
Of course, I think everyone lies at one time or another. I've told some real whoppers in my lifetime, but I feel like I'm past all that, and may tell a little white lie here and there now.
What is most annoying about Fan Story writers?
It frustrates me to read a post that someone wrote 'on the fly,' without any editing or running through spell check. We are all here to learn and have our work reviewed, so why wouldn't we put out our best work? These same folks seem to be really peeved about getting 4 stars for their unedited work, too.
What do you like best about being part of Fan Story?
I love to hear what others think about my writing. I have gotten so many suggestions, compliments and forms of encouragement. Once I've posted something, I can't wait to see the comments.
| Author Notes | I love being here on Fan Story. If I didn't have some type of feedback on my writing, I would never know if I'm really good. I love the feedback, but I also love learning more about the other writers when they share their thoughts about whatever they found meaningful to them in my story. |
By Mustang Patty
I just finished watching 'An Affair to Remember,' and as the tears dried, I thought about how the movie is classified as a Christmas movie. Is there really a Christmas theme? Or, is there just a Christmas tree and Christmas decorations in the frame?
As an avid watcher of Christmas movies, these questions occur to me often. What makes a movie a 'Christmas movie?' Does there need to be a Santa theme; a Christian theme or notion? Some of the movies may have had their opening weekend during those precious cinematic weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. They feature either a Christmas tree, some shiny decorations, or a shot of Rockefeller Center's skating rink, and call it good. Rarely do these films feature the Christmas spirit. Just look at the 'Die Hard' franchise.
No, it must be something more. I own over fifty Christmas movies on DVD, and each of them has a message of hope. Why then do they take place during the Christmas season?
Most of the movies I enjoy the best revolve around the redemption of a character. Like Scrooge, they come to realize that there is something missing in their lives. It could be family or more meaning in their day to day life, but for the most part, the key ingredient is hope. Hope for a better and more meaningful life; hope for a wonderful future.
I finally realized the central theme in all the 'Christmas movies,' that I enjoy the most is love. The Hallmark channel has enough Christmas love stories to play from November 1st to December 31st. What is the connection between Christmas and love?
The most logical explanation is rooted in a belief in Christ. He came to earth as a baby to live as a man. His father, God, sent Him in an act of divine love. A love that was meant to save us all. A belief system centered on the Christ child is the key to Heaven.
But not everyone believes in Christ, or even God. The appeal of Christmas movies must be based on something else. While not everyone watches the amount of Christmas movies that I do, most people will watch one or two of their favorites. Some people are attracted to the story line of 'A Christmas Carol,' while others are drawn to 'it's a Wonderful Life.' Neither of these movies talk about Christian beliefs, but they both revere Christmas traditions.
Did you ever notice the feeling in the air around Christmas time? People tend to smile more. There are more doors being held open as you come and go. People will let customers with one or two items go ahead of them in the check-out lines at the grocery stores. There are more random acts of kindness around holidays, and charitable giving is at its peak. Could it be that Christmas brings out love for our fellow men?
I think the obvious answer to these questions is that Christmas is love. No matter what your beliefs are, no matter how you feel about buying presents or decorating a tree, there is still a kernel of hope in your heart as you watch a movie or listen to the myriad of Christmas songs played on radio stations. That kernel of hope is the bud of love.
May this Christmas season find your heart blossoming with the blessings of the season.
| Author Notes |
The Christmas season is my favorite time of year. I find myself humming more, and as excited as a child at the prospect of family gatherings, decorating, and PRESENTS!!
But deep in my heart, I know there is a deeper meaning to the holiday. I believe that Christmas is LOVE. |
By Mustang Patty
Once upon a time I got married when I was eighteen. I didn't know Mike very well, but it had been an exciting six weeks and I wanted to belong to someone. The day after we got married, he decided that he needed to leave for his next military assignment early, so I stood at the bus station waving goodbye.
The marriage lasted for almost five years and the only good to come of it was our son, Mikey. I had named him after his dad because I was told to. Most of the things I did during that time were dictated by this man I convinced myself I loved.
I knew I had to get out. The beatings were getting worse and the emotional damage was erasing the person inside of me. I found somewhere to go and fled. The only thing was I knew that he wouldn't let me go unless I left our son with him.
He was only fifteen months old when I left. He has no memories of living with his mom and he can't understand what his dad could ever have done to make me leave. Through the years, whenever he asked, I did my best to answer his questions. He never got the answer he was looking for.
I remarried and built a new life. Two other children got to grow up with me right in their own house, and this hurt him deeply. He was a smaller version of his dad and the jealousy was strong. He tried to have fun whenever he was with us, but still the little boy inside was hurting.
A plan formed in my head as he entered high school. I offered him an opportunity that I thought was a dream. If he could choose a college that he could drive to from my house, then he could live with us and I would pay his way - and provide the car! I honestly thought it was a good deal in spite of the 'strings.' I knew what it was like to work my way through school and I wanted him to have this one gift.
After months of struggling with the doubts in his head and the lies he heard over the years from his dad and aunt, he decided he couldn't come to live with me. He couldn't tell me straight out, so he started a big argument about the fact that I wasn't willing to let him have cable tv in his room.
The riff healed slowly. We didn't see him for almost six years, and one day I found him on MySpace. I joyously contacted him, and drove to where he lived the next weekend. We spent time together, and I went to the club with him where he DJ'd. His life was going good, and he seemed happy to see me.
But, life went back to hearing from him very little. He rarely called or emailed, and then it stopped all together. He is friends with both of his siblings on FaceBook, but he won't answer my messages. I don't know why, and I'm not sure how to heal it.
My tears will dry and life will go on. My family tries to comfort me when they know there is none. It really hurts to lose a son. Once upon a time, he was my baby.
| Author Notes | This is a true story. My oldest son, now 30, lives in Yakima, WA - about a five hour drive, and he doesn't call or respond to my emails or text messages. I'm not sure what happened, but I only wish him love, and this spring I may have to make the drive, and show up in his club one Friday night - and tell him that I will always love him. |
By Mustang Patty
Sheila sat in a darkened room. The only light came from the television. Her chair faced it, but she wasn't watching, or even listening. Though the television was tuned to one of the court shows -- usually something she enjoyed, she just couldn't focus on the stories unfolding in front of her. She simply didn't care, and couldn't care about other people's problems.
Biting on the inside of her lip, she did her best to remain calm. Her grip on the arms of her chair tightened. The dark waves were crashing over her. A wall of darkness enveloped her mind. She couldn't find anything to hold onto.
Her inner voice was at once soothing, but it didn't have the confidence she needed. "I'm on medication. I've been stable for a very long time. Is it all beginning again? It crept up on me. I never saw it coming. Lord knows, I should be able to recognize the signs by now. Is it happening again? I had a funny thought; I almost smiled, so I can't be too depressed. Can I? What will happen in this next election? What if the unthinkable happens, and he is elected? What will happen to this world? Will everyone allow their inner bigot to come out? What if Social Security runs out of money? What if the terrorists bomb my city? Could I survive the apocalypse?"
A deep depression began to send tiny inroads to her soul. The downward spiral started to spin faster and faster. Anxiety joined the depression, and the crushing force of fear coupled with the dark clouds threatened to cripple her. Even food -- her self-soothing friend, couldn't stop the onslaught of negative thoughts.
The inner dialogue continued. "I've never felt THIS bad before. I'm in actual physical pain. Am I having a heart attack? What is this feeling of doom? Maybe I should go to a doctor and see if there is something wrong. I keep telling myself it's all in my head, but suppose it isn't? What if they tell me I have cancer? How much of the treatment would my insurance cover? Suppose I don't have enough money to pay for my treatment? I remember how much pain my mother was in as she died of cancer. Would I be able to tolerate all that pain? Will I turn into the monster she became in her last days? What if I lost it in front of people like she did? Would they laugh at me? Or worse, feel sorry for me? Worse still, what if they talked about me like they did about her. What could have happened in her life to make her so bitter?"
As her mind took off on wild tangents, she did her best to put an end to the negative thoughts. She tried to remember a time and place before the symptoms started to gather. Her memory failed her. All she could feel was the bleakness.
"Focus on the good in your life. Think about what you have." Her mind fumbled through the darkness that was taking over. Looking for something, anything, to cling to.
"I have a man who loves me." Or does he? There was that false start of an affair a few years back. He loved me so much, he pretended I didn't exist. It turned out to be such a cliche. She was a stewardess. He lied to me for weeks. If I hadn't caught him when she texted late at night, he wouldn't have told me. I only know because he got caught. How many other times did he stray? He was always working. It felt like he always chose jobs that kept him away from home for a week or more at a time. Men are fickle. They leave and never look back. Look at my father. Look at what my brother did to his wives. No, a man wasn't anything to cling to.
"I have a roof over my head, and food to eat." Sure, that's today. What if he did leave you? What if he lost his job? Do you think you could live on your disability check? How long do you think it would take before everything went away? If you can't afford a place to live -- what happens to your things? Your book collection? What happens to your photo albums? What will happen to your dogs? It doesn't seem like a home is anything to cling to. It's all just an illusion and could be gone at the drop of a hat.
"My kids love me." They do, huh? You have three sons and a daughter. How often do you hear from your sons? Two of them haven't even spoken to you in several years. They say you are too difficult to deal with. They blame you for all the wrongs in their lives. They refuse to acknowledge the crippling depressions. You aren't sick to them. You are merely a bad mother. Those thoughts are crushing; stop thinking about them.
Your youngest son, who used to be a great source of joy, has become a derelict. How could someone with so much talent end up homeless in their early 30s? Even worse, he's been selling drugs for the last year to eke out a meager existence. Thinking about him too much brings the crashing waves even closer.
"My dogs. I have two little dogs that would give their lives for me." Two little dogs that don't have a lifespan of more than 10 or fifteen years, and one of them has lived over half of that already. Could a dog that weighs only twelve pounds save your life? Probably not. No, the dogs were just a drain of money, and a waste of time. They steal the covers at night, and leave 'presents' quite often.
"I finally won my disability case this year." Yea, that's such a great thing. You now have an official label. You're officially mentally ill. There's a paper trail that proves it. A judge passed down a decision that you are unable to work due to mental deficiency.
By accepting the checks that are based on your time of working, you are viewed by many as a leach on society. Winning the case has opened the door for more people to know there is 'something wrong' with you. Can you imagine what people must think? Every time you submit a letter from Social Security as proof of income, you know they are trying to figure out what is wrong with you. Stop! Following that train of thought will only take you further down the dark path.
Every positive thought she could recall was countered with a negative declaration of war. She forced her mind to shut off. She pushed herself from the chair and went to the kitchen. Surely, her good friend, the refrigerator, could help her find some joy. She pulled open the door and peered in. She was looking for something, anything, to ease her mind and calm her down.
Nothing!! She couldn't find one thing among the groceries staring back at her. Why, oh why had she started eating better? Was there anything in the house that would fill the void? No, all the junk food had been cleared out. She didn't even buy any Halloween candy. If any Trick-or-Treaters showed up, she would give them a few pennies from the penny jar.
In disgust, she grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch, and burrowed into the deep cushions. She would need to find every tool she ever learned from therapy. With a pang of regret, she wondered if she needed to consider going into the hospital. Was she that bad? Was she seriously thinking about giving up?
Pulling the afghan tighter around her, she made herself relax and started to drift off. Sleep was a good escape, and sometimes an answer would come to her as she snoozed. Anxiety and depression eased away, and sleep could take her to a safer place.
About an hour later, she stretched her legs and arms. Deciding the couch was comfortable and safe, she located the TV remote. Pulling herself to a sitting position and scrunching into the corner of the couch, she prepared for a long siege of some serious television watching. Scanning the listings on the guide, she searched for something to divert her attention. She desperately needed a good story to hold her attention. After scrolling up and down the listings twice, she decided that despite having over 120 channels on cable, there wasn't anything to watch.
In her frustration, she became motionless. Choosing a show that wouldn't upset her, but didn't need her to pay too close attention, she put down the remote and let her mind drift. She wouldn't go to the hospital unless it became necessary. She could help herself if she only could remember how to find the key to let the light in.
A diagnosis of bipolar disease was difficult to live with. She knew her disease was resistant to medication, and even if she was stable on certain medications for a period, some adjustments were to be expected. The next appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse was over a month away. She decided she could find a way to hang on for five weeks. She had the tools in her possession. She simply needed to remember what to do.
Needing to relax was the primary issue to be addressed. What would relax her? She looked around the living room in search of a diversion. There were two bookcases full of books. She scanned the titles and couldn't find anything she thought would get her mind off things. Then she looked over at the shelves of DVDs. Her eyes settled on the Christmas titles, and she knew the shelf of titles would soothe her. Like old friends, the stories would make her laugh and cry tears of joy.
The inner dialogue started back up. "You can't watch Christmas movies. It's only October. That's against the rules! The rule of the house has always been you can't watch Christmas movies until the day after Thanksgiving." It was one of her man's rules. With a heavy sigh, she stopped looking at the Christmas movies. Maybe another kind of movie would do the trick.
After ten minutes of picking up a movie only to put it down for one reason or another, she returned to the couch. Mustering all her courage, and making an executive decision to help herself, she returned to the shelf of Christmas movies. All in all, she owned over 40 Christmas movies. That could be 80 hours of intensive therapy!
"The rules do not apply when it's an emergency," she decided and slipped an old favorite into the DVD player.
*************************************************************************************
Over the next few days, she watched Christmas movies. With her man out of town for his job, she didn't have to worry about any backlash. In between the movies, she made herself take care of business. She took a shower and washed her hair. The garbage got emptied. She checked the mail. She threw in a load of laundry. The dishwasher was run. Making sure the dogs were cared for, she checked their food and water on a regular basis. She cleaned up their pee pads, and thanked God she didn't have to walk them outside.
Making herself some dinner, she decided a more concrete plan was in order. One of her tools was making lists. Making lists and plans was a therapeutic thing to do.
She started with a list of the remaining Christmas movies. Deciding the order in which she would watch the rest, she left her very favorites for last. Next, she made a schedule to balance chores with movie watching. Creating extensive spreadsheets to compile the list, and then one for her daily schedule, helped to make her feel more in control.
Without realizing it, her breathing had become more even. She was humming as she printed the schedule and list. With 'A Holly Jolly Christmas,' on her lips, she taped the list above the shelf, and lay the schedule on the kitchen table.
Walking back to the living room, her humming continued as she put the next movie in. As the days passed, the movies became more spiritual, and more uplifting. Her humming turned into singing in the shower. She sang as she worked around the house, and she noticed the house was getting cleaner. The dogs wagged their tails as they followed her in her chores, and the time between movies grew. Careful to not overwhelm herself, she made herself watch each movie without her phone in hand, and her laptop was stowed in the spare bedroom.
Concentrating on each story, she felt her spirits lifting, and the dark cloud was held at bay.
Negative thoughts lurked on the edge of her consciences, and sometimes she needed to give herself positive affirmations. It became easier and easier to find the good in her life.
"I have a man who loves me. He isn't perfect and he's made mistakes. Who hasn't? He does come back whenever he leaves. He is coping with my illness in his own way."
"My daughter calls me every week. She takes time from her busy life just to talk to me. She gave me two beautiful grandchildren who call me Grammy."
"We're living in a brand-new apartment, and next year we are going to buy a house. There's healthy food in the refrigerator and cupboards. I can eat three meals a day, and I have a car to run to grocery store if I'm low on anything."
"My things are just that -- things. If I lose them, I will survive without them. I've lost things before."
With each Christmas movie, more and more positive thoughts came to her mind. In between movies, she accomplished more and more around the house. She was dressed every day by 7:30 am. Her new daily schedule was beginning to feel like a good routine, and she felt accomplished every time she checked something off.
Though she limited her computer time, and avoided reading the political garbage on Face book, she did have time for the occasional glimpse of what her extended family was doing. Her great nephews seemed to be getting ready for Halloween, and she was looking forward to pictures of them in costume.
She returned to the dwindling pile of Christmas movies. The remaining few were her absolute favorites, and they were all spiritual in nature. First up was 'Mr. Krueger's Christmas,' which highlighted the birth of Christ. Next was 'Miracle on 34th Street,' which showcased the miracles happening all around us. Finally, only 'It's a Wonderful Life,' was left on the list.
On impulse, Sheila took one of the many Face book quizzes. This one was an analysis of your profile to come up with your 'life quote.' Expectantly she waited for the results, and she had to smile at her quote. "When you wake up in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive."
Watching the trials and tribulations of George Bailey's life, she smiled through her tears as Clarence, the guardian angel, showed George just how special and important his role on earth was. As the movie ended, she checked off 'Watch a Christmas movie,' from her schedule.
It struck her then. The key to finding the light in the darkness wasn't through positive thinking or making lists. The key was to believe. Believe that He would help you find a way. Find your way out of the darkness and into His light.
| Author Notes | Bipolar disease is a debilitating mental illness. Sufferers from this disease live their life in chaotic cycles. For a time, they seem to be stable. They can interact with the rest of the world, and live a life that looks normal. The mood swings that come can rise high to a manic phase, or plunge into a downward spiral. It is a rocky way to live, and a challenging life. Thanks to CammyCards for artwork that fit the 'downward spiral' so perfectly. |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
Photo from ChrystalMethAddiction.com
As you can tell from this poem, Gregory is still NOT in treatment. At the advice of my NA support group, I cut off my communications with him until he goes to get help. I do know he's okay. I sent him a birthday text, and he responded with a 'thank you.' I texted him today to let him know I'm pissed, and he responded with an, 'oh, ok. I miss you, too.' Tough love is the hardest thing I've ever done. |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
thank you tekayup for the use of Puppy Love
The Katauta is an unrhymed Japanese form consisting of 17 or 19 syllables. The poem is a three-lined poem the following syllable counts: 5/7/5 or 5/7/7. The Katauta form was used for poems addressed to a lover. A single katauta is considered incomplete or a half-poem, however, a pair of katautas using the syllable count of 5,7,7 is called a sedoka. |
By Mustang Patty
Wondrous smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen. Grinding the beans awakens the senses and causes the taste buds to anticipate the dark brew. The day has begun.
Scuffled, shuffles scrape the laminate floor until the carpeting is reached. Hurried clicking of the doggy feet follow closely. The door to the bathroom creaks open and daily ablutions bring freshness and the wondrous smell of soap and lotion. Twist of the hair up into a bun sitting on top of the head. Sounds of footfalls as the closet is approached.
Searching hangers for the shirt for today, a myriad of colors greets the eye. Opening drawers with a squeak to look for underwear and shorts; an outfit is made.
Feeling fresh and shiny, a trip to the kitchen for that important first cup must be made. Savoring the smell as it greets the nostrils, and the heat from the decoction before it reaches the tongue is one of the best moments of the day.
Ready to take on the world, the to-do list is checked and the work begins. Scrubbing, wiping, swishing, and mopping get the kitchen and bathrooms up to snuff. The living room is dusted and vacuumed. Get the laundry going as the washer whirs to life. Make the bed, fluff the pillows, and put the dog toys back in their bin.
Carrying the ever-present cup, head for the desk to the pile of mail. Sort and take the checks and bills to the desk. Prepare the deposit and open the checkbook. Money in; pay the bills to move the money back out. Business for the week is handled.
With a whistle, and a turn of the office door knob, the glowing screen of the computer is approached. With dogs at her feet, the writer begins her work day. Opening the latest story from her computer file, and pulling out hand prepared notes about the character, she tackles the next scene. The next two hours quickly pass as she is lost in a world she created.
Returning to her office from that other world, she moves towards the leashes for the dogs and they spring into action. Excited yelps and dancing feet are tamed with the harnesses. Grabbing the envelopes to be mailed, and opening the front door, she and the dogs greet the sunshine.
Left behind is the coffee cup and the clean house. In the quiet, the ticking of the still hot coffee pot is heard along with the whirring of the fan. The computer has saved her work for the day, and the story is almost finished.
She'll come back from the walk with fresh air in her lungs and the dogs ready for a nap. Then there's dinner to start, and the wait for his homecoming begins.
Life is good.
| Author Notes |
photo from Google
No dialogue, and no real story - this is simply a descriptive piece about the activities of a day. It was an exercise in using words to make a point. |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
photo taken by Pete Edwins
Catena Rondo poetic form As found on the Poets Garrett This form is the brainchild of Robin Skelton, academic, writer, poet, and anthologist. It is a Quatrain, and the second line forms a rhyming couplet with the third line and is also used as the first and fourth line of the following stanza. Any number of stanzas can be created this way and the final stanza is a repeat of the first. This gives a rhyme scheme of: A B b A B C c B C D d C F A a F A B b A No set meter. Minimum of three stanzas. My hubby, Dave, and I spent this past weekend with our friends, Pete and Brynda. Each couple has been married for thirty-four years, and next year, we will celebrate our thirty-fifth anniversaries on a Caribbean cruise. This year, we gathered for the eclipse, and filled the rest of the time with endless games of cards, Trivial Pursuit and stories from the past. SUCH a GOOD time! |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
picture obtained from Google Images
|
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
picture of Gregory and Heather, from the Clark County, WA State Fair, August, 2000.
New bookcases, new curios...moving furniture and putting up new pictures The Cinquain is a class of poetic forms that employ a 5-line pattern. Earlier used to describe any five-line form, it now refers to one of several forms that are defined by specific rules and guidelines. I would rather reserve the name Cinquain for the unrhymed verse (2-4-6-8-2 with a substantive title) that Adelaide Crapsey created in 1915. |
By Mustang Patty
Strong coffee is a big part of my life. It's surprising too, because I didn't even start drinking coffee until I was twenty-five. I've read so many conflicting reports about whether it's healthy, or even recommended, to drink coffee, I'm truly lost as to what to do. There seems to be a consensus about how much coffee is good; I'm pretty sure I exceed that daily.
These days, I work on small projects I take on to keep busy, and then there's life on FanStory. Over the past few months, I've had more projects than usual, and life with the dogs and my hubby make for full days. I've been fitting in writing Howie and Bernie stories to sell to the veterinarian websites, along with my other writing to post as part of the family here.
Small business consulting is a great source of pleasure for me. Over the past thirty years, I've had to learn the ins and outs of all kinds of businesses. I've worked with the owners of landscaping companies and muffler repair, and everything from architectural firms to recycling associations. Each work environment gave me a myriad of new information and added to my vocabulary and knowledge of acronyms.
Writing technical guides and how-to instructions for end-users is tedious work. Consumption of large amounts of coffee has gotten me through breaking down tasks into systematic directions. Along the way, I've learned how to use many different types of software, and the easiest way to help differing types of people learn how to do what they need to do daily.
You may have noticed that coffee plays a role in almost every one of my stories. There is always the mention of a cup of coffee, or making some, or the empty pot. It just showed up in several stories on its own, and then I decided to use it as my own special signature to my pieces. If any of you were ever to come to my house, you would see me with the ever-present mug in my hands. I usually use my 'Grammy' cup pictured here. The cup was one of my main Christmas presents from my grandbabies; my children are aware of my coffee obsession.
If my writing seems off, or my reviews offend you – blame it on the lack of coffee. It could never be that I, like everyone else, had a bad day.
Yup, I'm a bit touchy right now. Being attacked by writers for bad reviews is one of my least favorite things in my online safe place, FanStory.
| Author Notes |
I do not wish to offend anyone with this post, and I'm not pointing any fingers. I'm just letting off a bit of steam.
I really do love you guys. |
By Mustang Patty
It all started with a glance at my overloaded bookcases in the front room. There were books lining the shelves all neat and tidy, but lying sideways across every shelf was a mess of other books. The interlopers were either new, or simply books pulled out and not put away properly. I didn't like the look of the wall of shelves. My living room looked untidy.
I hatched a plan to reorganize my books and tidy up the living room at the same time. It would take the help of my then sleeping husband, but I was determined to make this our project for the weekend. I didn't realize the depths the adventure would take me to, nor the amount of work it would take to make my plan a reality.
With graph paper in one hand, and the tape measure in the other, I went into the guestroom and started sketching. To make the needed wall space, I would have to get the furniture rearranged, and I didn't want it to simply look like furniture stacked within the enclosed room. Carefully measuring the width of the seven-foot high bookcases in the living room, I made sure they would fit in the allotted spot I created in the bedroom. I then realized the free space in the front room would allow me to reconfigure that space as well.
Could we rearrange two rooms in the space of a weekend? Sure! We used to rearrange the house all the time. Once the kids went to bed, we would move the furniture in the living room and dining room and have everything in place, pictures and all, before morning.
I must've forgotten along the way that those days were over twenty-five years ago. The collection of books was more than three times the size, and well, we are a tad older.
Combining the bookshelves already in the bedroom with the ones from the living room still didn't give me the needed shelf space, so I went to the website of my favorite second-hand store and looked at the offerings of good used bookcases. A wonderful find of two seven-foot, oak shelves was mine for the asking—and payment, of course.
By the time my hubby woke up, I had the shelving, and a great curio I found to fill the empty space in the living room. Sketches were made of the living room and bedroom, and a fresh pot of coffee was at the ready. Now, I just needed to get him onboard.
"Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well? I poured you a nice cup of coffee."
Tired, yet suspicious eyes looked up at me. "You're up to something, aren't you? Why do I feel like I'm in an episode of 'I Love Lucy?'"
"Me? Up to something? Well, it all started when I was looking at the bookshelves…"
After listening to my story and drinking his coffee, he put on his glasses and asked to look at the online shopping cart full of my finds. His reaction to the purchase was positive, but he looked at me carefully, "You do realize this will mean moving ALL of your books, don't you?"
"I know, but we have two whole days – minus the time to eat. It will be fun—just like the old days."
"I think 'old' is the operative word here. But, if you think you're up to it, I'm game."
Throwing my arms around his neck, "I love you, Fuzzy face! When can we start?"
"Let's have another cup of coffee while I study your sketches and get dressed."
| Author Notes |
thank you VMarguarite for the use of your picture. It was the perfect compliment to my work.
Hope you enjoy this insight to me and my varied interests. |
By Mustang Patty
When the music, soft muzak of Journey's songs, stopped playing, a beautiful woman with striking features, and big brown eyes, stepped up to the front. As she turned around to face us, the resemblance was unmistakable, and she had to be the daughter of the deceased.
All questions of her lineage were set aside as she began to speak so eloquently. She had her mother's voice and inflection.
"We're here today to celebrate my Mom's life. She wouldn't have wanted us to be sad or waste time fretting over the fact that she isn't here. Mom knew where she was going, and for many years she had been somewhat homesick for her home with Christ."
Though the voice of the woman had started out a bit shaky and full of emotion, she looked up from her notes and flashed a beautiful smile at the crowd in the room. She looked lovingly at the widower, her father, and the man sitting next to him, her younger brother.
"My Dad, brother, and our spouses can agree that she is undoubtedly in Heaven right now. She isn't looking down, or watching over us. She is enjoying her time with Christ and being free of the burdens of this world. She's been looking forward to this moment in time for as long as I can remember. You see, today is the day that my mother gets to drink wine again!"
Murmuring ran through the crowd, and the widower and his son looked at one another with big smiles. The woman began to explain this strange statement.
"You see, my mother made a promise to Christ in 1996. Our family decided to be baptized in the river near our church as a family, and it was an important day for Mom. Throwing off the yoke of a Catholic upbringing in a non-practicing family, she embraced the fact that all of us were Christians, and reveled in our joint decision to be baptized together. Her father had been an alcoholic, and as an adult child of an alcoholic, she monitored herself carefully. She had begun to notice that she loved her wine just a bit too much, and the night before our baptism, she announced to all of us that she was giving up wine in honor of our baptism. She quoted Christ's words to his disciples and told all of us that the next time she would drink from the fruit of the vine would be in paradise with Him."
"For the rest of her life, she never touched another drop of wine. She came to spend time with me when I was stationed in Europe, and she was surrounded by the Riesling wines she had come to love in her youth, but she continued to abstain. Often, she would talk about the wonderful wine that Christ would have waiting for her - at their table overlooking all of the stars in the galaxy. The conversations that they would share would be complemented by the most delicious wine in the universe, rivaled only by the mansion that he would show her to when their special time together was over."
"Many of you gathered here today knew my mother as your tax preparer, or your financial consultant. Mom was also an accomplished writer of short stories and poems. She kept journals for all of her life, and we are blessed with the legacy and privilege of getting to read her private thoughts now that she has gone. We began reading yesterday, and her writing sounds exactly like she did. She was funny, charismatic, loving and warm. Though she didn't have many close friends, she had many acquaintances - acquaintances close enough that you would come to honor her here today. She would remember small details from your conversations, and always ask after your children, or your place of work. She remembered so many things, and so many details that she used to say she wished she could reformat her brain the way she could do to the hard drive in her computer, because she felt a bit overwhelmed at times. Memorized phone numbers, addresses, and social security numbers can fill the brain, and those nagging details are the tell-tale signs when Alzheimer's sets in. You probably didn't notice the note cards that she started to use over the past few years. She would have to familiarize herself with your "data," before your appointment. Small wonder, by the time she stopped doing taxes last year, her client list was well over one thousand individuals."
"I consider myself lucky because my mother was also my best friend. Our relationship was something we both treasured, and maybe once or twice over the years, we weren't exactly "best friends," but I always knew I could count on my mother. I always knew she would be there. I stand before you like a little girl lost, because I've lost my compass and my guide."
"Thank you so much for joining us today. Before we go to the next room and enjoy the wonderful food provided by the ladies of our church, would anyone like to say a particular memory they have about my Mom?"
For the next hour, almost everyone in the room came to the front and shared some simple memory of this woman that had touched us all. We heard a lot of her jokes told, and teasing about how she always had a coffee cup in her hand, and a cat or two, somewhere in her office. The tears and laughter had begun to die down when the son made his way to the front and simply said, "My mom was my hero."
| Author Notes | In discussing this with my daughter, she told me emphatically that she would NOT read a prepared Eulogy written by me; she would instead tell stories of what it was like to grow up with me as her Mom, and invite others to share their memories. |
By Mustang Patty
| Author Notes |
Since we will have a house soon, I'm thinking of having Gregory come to live with us. We haven't in the past because rental agreements demanded all people to be on the lease. Gregory doesn't even have a state-issued ID.
Am I being foolish? |
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