Just before she fell asleep, she realized that those were the words she had been searching for. She was filled with joy . . . pure, undiluted, uninhibited, unspoiled joy. There was simply no better word to describe the culmination of the past few days. Now, lying here in the dark, in the loving arms of her husband, she felt her unborn child kick inside her as the man she loved breathed softly on her neck while he slept quietly, the three of them entwined. And she knew that she would always remember this as the sweetest, most joyful day of her life.

The past five days were just a bad nightmare now.

When she responded to the doorbell and saw the two men standing on the front step, she instantly knew that they did not belong there. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake. If Jeff had been killed, she would have known. Because of the strong connection they shared, she would have sensed the moment that his spirit left his body. She tried to explain that to the officer and chaplain who came to her house that Sunday morning to deliver the news. When she refused to believe them, they asked who they could call to come and be with her. So she gave them her parents’ telephone number, and they arrived at the house just a few minutes later.

For the next five days, she went through the motions, doing what was expected of her. She finally gave up trying to tell her parents, Jeff’s parents, who had arrived from their home in New Hampshire, her friends . . . no one would listen to her. They just put their arms around her, tried to convince her that she was in shock, and suggested that she rest. “Honey, you have to focus on the baby now,” her mother told her gently.

The kitchen was full of food, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat any of it. When other wives from the base stopped by to express their condolences, she saw the mixture of fear and relief in their eyes. She understood exactly how they felt, and why. But she did not need their pity. Jeff was not dead. She knew that. And soon enough, so would everyone else.

She had not cried. She would not cry. She would simply wait until the Army discovered its mistake, and sent the polite officer and chaplain back to the house to offer sheepish apologies. Jeff wasn’t answering emails or his cell phone because he was dispatched to a remote area of Afghanistan where there was no connection or reception, she told herself. When he returned to his base camp, he would find all the frantic emails and voice mail messages, and call to assure her and the rest of his family that he was indeed fine.

So when her parents and Jeff’s urged her to plan a memorial service, she complied, but the effort was only half-hearted because she, unlike them, knew the truth.

Which made this day — this glorious, joyous day — even sweeter and more satisfying. When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was simply another delivery person bringing more flowers or food. Too weary from it all, she allowed Jeff’s mother to answer the door, but was not prepared for her mother-in-law’s screams. When she ran to the living room and saw Jeff standing there hugging his incredulous mother, she was overcome by feelings of relief, vindication, and the joy she now found herself attempting to put into words. The tears came, but they were not the tears of grief and loss her family and Jeff’s had been watching for.

Realizing its mistake, the Army had immediately terminated Jeff’s deployment and sent him back to the States to spend time with his family. His commanding officer informed him that his family would be notified of the error, apologize for the agonizing pain they had needlessly suffered, and apprise them of his scheduled arrival time. But Jeff begged his commander to allow him to arrive unannounced, arguing that the magnitude of the Army’s mistake must surely entitle him — and his family — to handle the situation in the manner he requested. After several torturous hours, his commander finally reported that his superiors had reluctantly agreed.

And now, after the day-long celebration, they were finally alone. Exhausted, Jeff slept peacefully, but for her, sleep would not yet come. She was thinking about their child and how she would describe this incredible day for him or her when she relayed the story. She determined to write in her pregnancy journal first thing in the morning, tears of happiness softly running down her cheeks and onto her pillow as she snuggled even closer to Jeff and softly whispered the words “pure joy, baby. That’s what you give me. Pure joy,” as she finally dozed off.

The sun was just beginning to creep into her bedroom when she awoke. She had slept soundly and peacefully. So still, in fact, that she had barely moved all night and was still lying on her left side, as she had been when she finally drifted off. She lay there for a few moments, her eyes closed before rolling over onto her back and instinctively reaching out with her right hand for Jeff. He wasn’t there, but it was no cause for alarm. Even having just returned from overseas, Jeff would be up at or before dawn for his morning run. Jogging was like a religion for him and he ran first thing every morning, rain or shine.

She continued relaxing there for a few more minutes, enjoying the quiet and feeling the baby begin stirring within her. A few moments passed before she realized that something was not quite right. She turned her head to the right and finally looked at the other side of the bed. The blankets and sheet were pulled up over the pillow. It appeared that only one side of the bed had been turned down the night before. Jeff had obviously tidied up his side of the bed before going out.

And then she saw it. The black dress was hanging on the door frame of the closet, just where her mother had put it the day before.

Panicked, she sat up suddenly, rubbed her eyes, and put her head in her hands, elbows on her knees, trying to remember why there was a dress she had never worn hanging on her closet.

She turned back to her left then, toward her nightstand. There, right where she had placed them yesterday, was the small black volume — the New Testament — the Army chaplain had left with her when he came with the other officer to notify her of Jeff’s fate. And on top of it lay the gold chain onto which she had slipped Jeff’s wedding band when the funeral home director gave it, along with a small bag of his other belongings, to her during her meeting with him in his office. She had demanded to see Jeff, but the funeral director assured her that would be a mistake, nodding his head “no” at her parents and in-laws in search of support for his refusal.

And then she heard the scream. It sounded as though it came from far, far away and was a mournful, plaintive cry born of previously unreleased pain. It startled her, but she was unable to react because, before she knew it, her mother and mother-in-law were both in the room with her, one on each side of the bed wrapping her in their arms and softly repeating, “O.k., baby, let it out . . . let it go . . . ”

At that moment, she remembered it all in painstaking detail. And began the long, agonizing journey of acceptance and mourning. The pure joy she had wanted to memorialize in her pregnancy journal for Jeff’s unborn son or daughter was but a dream.

Inspired by:

The story of Lance Corporals Mark D. Juarez and Mark A. Juarez, both of whom served their country with honor.

Included in:

• The Saturday Evening Blog Post, Vol. 2, Issue 2 at Elizabeth Esther.
• Just Write Blog Carnival at Incurable Disease of Writing.

“Enjoy your innocence while it lasts, little one,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. Just then he sighed deeply, rubbed his head on the blanket, and made a sucking motion with his mouth. She held her breath, waiting to see if he was going to awaken. But after a couple more sighs, she heard his breathing return to normal and he was again still. She pulled the blanket up over his chest and followed her sister down the hallway into the master bedroom.

“I still can’t believe we’re going to drag a sleeping baby out on such a cold night . . .” She wanted to add, “just because your husband is a self-centered, abusive ass,” but she stopped herself. This was neither the time nor place. She had to focus on getting the two people she loved most in the world to safety. There would be plenty of time later to sort out how her sister would reclaim her home — and sanity.

“So is he at the usual place?” she asked as she watched her sister pack a bag for herself.

“Yes.”

“Did you call there?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s bartending tonight? Gary?”

“Uh huh.”

She plopped down on the bed as her sister disappeared into the bathroom, emerging moments later with a few toiletries in her hand. “I have all that stuff at my house, you know.”

Her sister didn’t respond, but placed the items in a small overnight bag. “O.K. Let’s put the baby seat in your car.”

Just then the telephone rang, startling both of them. Her sister threw the bag down on the foot of the bed and quickly picked up the cordless receiver from the nightstand, silencing the ringer hurriedly lest it wake the baby. Looking down at the digital display, she cringed.

“Mom,” they both said at once.

“Don’t answer it.”

“Well, if I don’t, she’ll call your house.”

“Good point. Answer it and tell her we’re baking cookies.”

“Hi, Mom, whatcha doin’?” Her sister’s attempt to sound cheerful would never fool anyone, much less their mother. “No, everything’s fine. Why?”

She rolled over onto her stomach, grabbed a pillow, and put it over her head.

“Yup, she’s right here. We’re baking Christmas cookies.” Her sister poked her in the ribs, eliciting an involuntary “Youch!”

“Hey, I told you to grab a potholder, you goofball,” the older daughter improvised as she rolled her eyes and put the pillow back over her head. “Sugar cookies. I’m going to bring them on Christmas Eve.” She waited impatiently, the pillow still over her head as her sister politely engaged their mother for a few more minutes. After a few obligatory “Uh huhs” and “Unh huhs,” interspersed with a couple of “Really?’s” and an unenthusiastic “wow,” she was relieved to hear her say, “O.K., Mom, I need to go start the next batch now. I’ll give you a call tomorrow then,” and finally hang up.

“Holy crap, of all nights,” she muttered as she got up and strode toward the garage to retrieve the baby’s car seat from her sister’s vehicle. Halfway there, she remembered: Paul had taken her sister’s car because his was in the shop.

“Hey, I think we have a little problem here,” she declared, turning to meet her sister, carrying her own bag and the baby’s, in the middle of the kitchen. “He has your car. Is the baby carrier in it?”

Her sister froze, her eyes wide in panic. “Oh, no . . . ” The two of them rushed toward the garage and were relieved when her sister flipped on the light and they saw the car seat on the floor. “Oh, thank God . . . he took it out before he left.” Her sister nearly burst into tears at the site of the baby carrier.

She picked it up and continued out to the driveway where her own vehicle was parked. Yet again, she refrained from giving voice, in her sister’s presence, to her thoughts. But she had long suspected that Paul’s indiscretions included not just ever-increasing levels of alcohol use and extended absences from the family home. She was fairly certain that he had been unfaithful to her sister. As she buckled the car seat into place, she muttered to herself, “Pretty hard to pass yourself off as single with a baby seat in the car, huh, big guy?” She shook her head in disgust, wondering for at least the zillionth time how her sister — as between the two of them, the one with all the potential for success — had ended up in this contemptible situation, married to a man she deemed a pathetic excuse for a husband.

She re-entered the house and found her sister back in the baby’s room trying to quickly put him into a one-piece jumpsuit with a hood. “Hand me the sucky,” she whispered, nodding toward the dressing table. She brought the bright-colored pacifier over to the crib and offered it to the sweet little sleepy boy, who took it and began sucking contentedly without even opening his eyes just as her sister pulled the zipper up under his chubby chin.

“All right,” she sighed. “Now let’s get this guy into my car and head downtown to find your car . . . ”

To be continued . . .

Inspired by A Thousand Words Prompt Number Thirty-Four

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/opportunity-part-two/feed/ 1 692 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/opportunity/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/opportunity/#comments Sun, 10 Jan 2010 03:05:26 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=686 She stared at the ceiling. She had been tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, determined to will sleep to overtake her . . . to no avail. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she heard the clock in her living room chime four times. She had thought to herself, “Four in the morning. Unbelievable” and tried once more to pound her pillow with her fist, pull the covers up over her ears, squeeze her eyes shut, and hope against hope that she would drift off to sleep. Finally, she opted to surrender. She rolled onto her back, kicked the sheet and blanket off her legs, and opted to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.

She would have risen from her bed, prepared herself a snack, and gotten comfortable in front of the television. Wee-hours infomercials usually lulled her into unconsciousness. But tonight, of course, she was confined to her bedroom, afraid that even if she tiptoed into the kitchen, moving very quietly, her four-month-old nephew would awaken. Given that her sister had only succeeded in getting him to settle down and go to sleep less than three hours earlier, she dared not risk disturbing either one of them. She knew her sister was sleeping because she heard her snoring softly.

“Exhausted, no doubt,” she sighed as she considered the darkness of her room.

The evening’s events continuing playing out in her head like an unattended movie reel looping over and over in an abandoned theater. She had not been surprised when she answered the telephone and heard her sister’s frightened sobs.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing really,” she had lied. “What’s the matter? You sound horrible.” She picked up the timer and silenced it before it could interrupt their conversation in 45 more seconds. As she did so, she walked over to the oven and peeked in, calculating that the chocolate chip cookies would need to bake for another two minutes or so, and resetting the timer. Her Christmas cards, festive sheets of stationary, address book, and stamps were neatly organized on the kitchen table and the fire had was beginning to crackle and pop as the flames attacked the dried-out log she had just placed atop the ashes of its predecessor.

“I need you to come help me. We have to get out of the house.”

“Who has to get out of the house?”

“I need to take the baby and go. Paul’s not here. He went downtown. But before he left, it got pretty bad . . . ”

“Bad . . . how?”

“He was pretty drunk.” Her sister’s voice was barely a whisper. “After he left, I called his doctor.”

“What doctor?”

“He’s been seeing a psychiatrist.”

“Since when?” She again silenced the timer just as it was about to begin beeping. Cradling the phone between her left shoulder and ear, she removed the cookie sheet and began placing the hot cookies on a rack to cool. She was glad for the activity as it prevented her from sitting down and focusing fully on what her sister was saying.

“Oh, I think it’s been a couple of months. I’m not really sure. I found the doctor’s business card in his jacket so I called and spoke with him. He said . . .” Her sister’s voice trailed off as she struggled to compose herself.

One by one she piled the cookies on the cooling rack as she waited for her sister to continue.

“He said that there are signs of violence, so I should take the baby and leave. He recommended that I not be here when Paul gets home.”

“Swell,” she thought to herself, knowing that her plans for a quiet evening in front of the fire addressing Christmas cards, enjoying a hot toddy and freshly baked cookies, would have to wait for another time. “O.K., so what do you want me to do?”

“I was wondering if you could come and get us.”

Silence. She briefly pondered whether she could refuse this latest request, but knew that there was literally no one else to whom her troubled sister could turn for help.

“I suppose he took your car.”

“Yes. His car is in the shop.”

“Give me about fifteen minutes.” As she hung up the phone, she found herself again wondering how her older sister wound up in a disastrous marriage marked by alcohol, verbal and emotional abuse. She had been wondering for many months how long it would be before she received such a telephone call, but was relieved that at least the situation had not escalated into violence. Yet.

She knew that this night presented the opportunity she had been waiting for. Tonight she would help her sister walk away for good from her destructive, dead-end marriage.

But what if she refused?

“Hold down the fort, Charlie,” she said, patting the seat of the big cozy chair in front of the fireplace. Charlie, her beloved terrier, had been following her around the house as she tucked the Christmas cards back into the drawer of the secretary, turned off the oven, and put on her coat. He put his paws up on her knees and she bent down, picked him up, and gently placed him in the chair. It was their ritual. He would wait there until she returned.

“Love you, boy,” she told him as she lightly kissed the top of his head, turned, and walked to the garage.

To be continued . . .

Inspired by A Thousand Words Prompt Number Twenty-Eight

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/opportunity/feed/ 3 686 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-farewell1/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-farewell1/#comments Sun, 18 Oct 2009 20:16:00 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=637 “She wants to see you,” his father told him two days ago.

“How did you get my telephone number?” He looked over at Keith, who could not meet his gaze.

“That’s not important. What matters is that she wants to see you one last time, son.” His father spoke softly and deliberately.

He considered how long it had been since he last heard one of his parents call him “son.”

“Dad, I appreciate your calling and letting me know. But I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Bring Keith with you. If you’d like.”

So that’s how his father got their telephone number. He should have known that Keith had interceded.

“We’ll discuss it and I’ll get back to you, Dad. Thanks again for calling.” He hung up without waiting for his father’s one-word response, spoken in a hoarse whisper: “Hurry.”

Navigating the icy roads, still unsure that he was doing the right thing, he reached for Keith’s hand — and reassurance — as he drove. He had always hated snow and, for that matter, anything associated with winter. As a small child, he became fascinated with the ocean and papered his room with posters and photos depicting beaches around the world that he dreamed of visiting. When it came time to select a college, the one thing he knew was that he would pick a campus as near the beach as possible where there would never be snow. That even before leaving home to commence his freshman year of study he declared his major to be Oceanography surprised no one.

After he went away to school, his visits back home became more and more infrequent. Finally, they stopped altogether as he took up residence on the Southern California coast and developed a successful career.

Until today.

He had resolved to tell his mother first. When he returned home for Christmas his freshman year, he found an opportunity early one cold morning as they sat in the kitchen enjoying a cup of hot cocoa. He was shocked by his mother’s reaction. Although she had always been more religious than his father who, after all, had converted to her religion solely to be accepted by her family, he thought she would be the one who would understand, accept, and embrace him. He counted on the unconditional and nonjudgmental love with which she had supported him throughout his life.

Her first bout with cancer came when he was just a teenager. But he devotedly helped his father care for her, running directly home after school, foregoing football games, dances, and other social activities so that he could be with her, savoring their time together. He was sure she was going to die and, for awhile, so was she. The doctors held out little hope, offering a grim prognosis.

“Mom, if it gets too hard to fight, Dad and I will be all right,” he told her one Sunday morning as he helped her back to bed after she suffered a particularly violent and frightening reaction to the chemotherapy she had received two days earlier. “You can go.” He stroked her forehead before placing the cold washcloth on her brow.

“I’m going to be all right,” she whispered. “You’ll see.” She was unconvincing.

“I just don’t want you to feel that you have to keep fighting so that you can stick around for me. I’m almost a man and I’ll look after Dad . . . if it comes to that.”

“I know.” She reached up and gently stroked his cheek. “I’ll let you know if I feel that way. I promise.”

A few days later, her condition improved and within a few months, she regained nearly all of her strength. The doctors were amazed at the way she suddenly “turned the corner” and her cancer went into remission. So it had been especially difficult for him to leave her in pursuit of his career dreams and desire to be near the sea. But leave he did, intending to visit as often as possible. After that first Christmas, everything changed.

“How much further?” Keith asked.

“Probably close to an hour, considering how slippery this road is.”

As he approached the stop sign, his mind drifted back to the trip home that Christmas. As he navigated this same road, he had been so excited about seeing his parents and friends after being away at school for four months. He had never before been away from them for more than a few days, and he knew his parents were anxious to hear about his experiences. There were many details he would not be sharing with them, of course. But he had rehearsed and imagined the conversation he hoped to have with his mother for several years and knew that he could put it off no longer.

To be continued . . .

Inspired by A Thousand Words Prompt Twenty-One.

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-farewell1/feed/ 2 637 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-letter-chapter-twenty-seven/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-letter-chapter-twenty-seven/#comments Sun, 22 Mar 2009 20:48:34 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=640 As always, Dennis knew exactly what she needed and provided it. As she stood on the deck of the little cottage at the top of the walkway leading to the shore, she marveled at how well he understood her. Leave it to Dennis to arrange for them to enjoy an end-of-summer vacation on the coast. The cottage was charming — just right for the three of them. It was located a scant mile or so outside a quaint village that tourists had yet to discover. Dennis learned about it from a colleague who rented the same cottage a couple of summers earlier. The little town was per se Americana, complete with a Labor Day fireworks display heralding the end of the summer season.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” she sighed, as Dennis walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.

“We already met the next-door neighbors when we were unloading the suitcases.” He nuzzled her neck and whispered “the kids are all playing over there” seductively, as he took her hand and led her down the hall. “Let’s see what the master bedroom is like. I hope it has a firm mattress.”

“So are you ever going to tell me what happened at the reunion? . . . Why you came home early?” They enjoyed a delicious lunch and were lying on a blanket on the beach, relaxing as their son and the four children from the cottage next door ran up and down near the water’s edge, chasing several beach balls and the other family’s dog. Their shrieks of sunny afternoon joy assured her that, even when she was not looking directly at them, they were safe.

“Nothing happened. Nothing at all,” she shrugged. “I told you. The reunion was a dud. After I spent some time with the people I cared about seeing, I had no desire to hang out just to get a glimpse at people who were never really my friends to begin with. I missed you guys, so I came home. No big deal.”

“So you’ve said at least a dozen times in the last month-and-a-half.” The kids were moments away from breaking ground on a sand castle. Dennis watched in fascination as they negotiated the final details of the design.

“How is everyone doin’?” a voice boomed behind them before Dennis could press the issue. “Man, what a perfect day this turned out to be!”

“It sure did,” Dennis responded, jumping to his feet and extending his hand to the inhabitant of the cottage next to theirs. “Sweetheart, you haven’t met the Knutsons yet. This is Jeff and his wife, Marge.”

She stood beside Dennis, extending her hand, as well. “Oh, it’s lovely to meet you. Your children have been keeping our boy busy. They’re having a great time over there working on their sand castle.”

“I see that. Thanks for keeping an eye on them for a little while,” Marge smiled warmly. “Do you mind if we join you? We brought more blankets, some sunscreen. A couple bottles of our favorite wine, too.”

“By all means!” Dennis and Jeff spread out the blankets and they all made themselves comfortable, as she and Marge uncorked the first bottle of wine. “A toast to the end of summer and some new friends!” Jeff declared as they all raised their glasses and settled in for the afternoon.

Just then, her son stood up from the sand and turned around to check on his parents’ whereabouts. When he saw that the Knutsons had joined them, he said something to their children, all of whom stood and began jumping about and waving wildly, pointing to their work-in-progress.

As she called to her son, assuring him that they would all inspect the castle as soon as he and his fellow architects deemed it ready, she felt as contended and at peace as she ever had in her life. She glanced over at Dennis who was speculating enthusiastically with Jeff about the upcoming football season. He caught her staring wistfully at him and smiled lovingly as Jeff opined about his favorite players’ draft by a new team.

“Jeff could talk sports all day every day if somebody would listen to him,” Marge said shaking her head in amusement. “And our oldest is turning out to be just like him, so at least they have each other! How about your boy? Is he into sports?”

“Somewhat,” she replied. “He isn’t quite as athletic as his father, but he’s really been enjoying soccer and basketball.”

Before they knew it, the sand castle had been completed and declared a masterpiece by all four adults just in time for the afternoon tide to begin nipping away at the grounds and moat surrounding it.

“Show me the pictures,” Dennis said, as he poured two more glasses of wine and sat next to her on the couch in the living room of the cottage. “You know my theory. If a camera can handle fireworks, it can take great photos of any subject.”

She connected the camera to her laptop computer and as they surveyed the images, Dennis signified his approval with enthusiastic “ooohs” and “aaaahs.” She giggled at his silly commentary, in part because the several glasses of wine she had enjoyed throughout the afternoon and evening were making her light-headed.

“That’s my favorite,” he declared as they considered the splash of white and red captured bursting over the water. “I love the way you shot this through the trees. Will you frame a copy of that for me? It would look great in my office. My new office,” he added slyly to see if she was paying attention.

“What new office? You didn’t tell me you were getting a new office.”

“I’m telling you now,” he grinned. “The new office comes with my new title. I got the promotion.”

She remained focused on the laptop screen, refusing to look at him.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he pushed. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

“I thought we agreed.”

“We did,” he said somewhat gleefully. “That’s why, when George first offered me the job, I turned it down. But he was very persistent — which allowed me to negotiate.”

She continued looking straight ahead.

“Don’t you want to know the details? You’re going to like them.”

“No. Because I already told you I don’t want you away from home on business trips any more than you already are. And if you’re going to be the Regional Manager, I know you’re going to have to be gone more. You told me that when we first talked about this. So we agreed that you weren’t going to seek the job.” She added sarcastically, “Now you’re decorating your new office.”

“I told George that I was only interested in the job if he guaranteed me that I wouldn’t have to travel any more that I have been. And he agreed.” Dennis was clearly a bit tipsy — and proud of himself. “He is going to allow me to conduct quarterly meetings by teleconference. It will save the company a lot of money, so he loved the idea. In fact, we’re going to be implementing teleconferencing pretty much across the board. So I have secured the best of both worlds — the promotion with no additional travel — for us! How ’bout that?” With one arm around her shoulders, he reached over and gently placed his hand on her cheek, tenderly urging her to face him. “You know I would never break a promise to you.”

“Swear to me you won’t be traveling more.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he teased, making an “x” over his chest with his right hand.

“Dennis! You know I hate that expression.” With both hands on his chest, she feigned an attempt to push him away, but he held her in his arms.

“Yup, I do. That’s why I say it. Just to annoy you. Lovingly.”

“When do you start?” She couldn’t help smiling at his playfulness. In all the years they had been together, she had never managed to stay angry at him for more than a few minutes and tonight was no exception.

“October 1. The salary increase is significant. We will be able to put more money into his college fund,” Dennis said with sudden seriousness. “And our retirement accounts. I really couldn’t bypass this opportunity. I don’t know when such a solid offer will come my way again. This is for all of us. It will work out just fine. You’ll see. Trust me?”

She fell into his arms, as she always did. Safe, secure, loved. Those were the three emotions she had felt with Dennis from the moment she met him. He stroked her hair as they leaned back on the couch, their embrace familiar, comforting. “Do you really have to ask?”

“No. Just like I haven’t really pressed to know what happened at the reunion. Because if something had happened, you would have told me by now.”

Sitting up, she looked into his eyes, finally read to talk about that night. “He was there. I tried to sneak out of the ballroom without talking to him, but just as I was about to walk out the door, there he was. He said he wanted to ‘catch up,’ so I asked him to get us a couple of drinks while I used the ladies’ room. Then I got in the elevator, went up to my room, packed, and caught a cab to the airport. That was it.”

“So you left him in the ball room with a drink in each hand?” Dennis asked incredulously.

“I guess. I never went back into the ballroom so I didn’t see what he did after that. I didn’t want to speak to him. All I wanted to do was come home — to you and our son. That’s all that happened.” She added, “I swear to you,” as she studied his expression.

Dennis burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Dennis’ shocking reaction caught her completely off-guard.

“That poor son-of-a-bitch.” Dennis continued laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. “I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Talk about being stood up. I’m picturing the look on his face as he stood there with a drink in each hand, asking people where you went. Oh, honey, that’s priceless. Brava!”

For the first time since returning home, she envisioned him standing in the ballroom, completely bewildered, and surveying the hallway of the hotel in search of her. She had been so wrapped up in her own desire to avoid interacting with him that she had never stopped to consider his reaction, his befuddled expression when she failed to return. Because logically, he would have been confident that she was as anxious to see him and, as he put it, “catch up” as he was to converse with her. After all, she had never, ever said “no” to or denied him anything — not even herself. Why would he expect her to do anything other than breathlessly return to the ballroom to hang on his every word?

“Wow, I hadn’t thought about it like that. I guess I totally dissed him, didn’t I?”

“You sure did! Oh, that made my whole night. I wish you had told me sooner.” Dennis stood up, dried his eyes, and held out his hands to her. “He’s probably still trying to figure out what happened. I love you and I’m very proud of you.” He kissed her passionately before whispering, “Let’s call it a night.”

To be continued . . .

Inspired by A Thousand Words Prompts Twelve and Three.

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-letter-chapter-twenty-seven/feed/ 1 640 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/valentines-day-carnival-of-family-life/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/valentines-day-carnival-of-family-life/#comments Mon, 09 Feb 2009 08:01:09 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=623 Welcome to the Valentine’s Day Edition of the Carnival of Family Life! Love is definitely in the air and there are many wonderful articles included in this special edition. So get comfortable, cuddle up with someone you love, and spend some time enjoying them. (Be sure to leave a comment letting the participant know that you enjoyed his/her contribution to the Carnival.)

Cooking & Recipes

Abel Cheng presents Food for Toddlers: What Every Parent Needs To Know posted at Parent Wonder.

Rani presents Mirowave Peanut Brittle posted at Christ’s Bridge. Need to give a gift? This peanut brittle might be just the right thing.

Family Crafts & Activities

The Smarter Wallet presents Organize Your Home With These Space Saving Ideas posted at The Smarter Wallet.

knittsings presents Top 100 Knitting Blogs With Public Traffic Stats posted at knittsings, based on publicly available stats.

Erika Collin presents 25 Safe, Fun & Educational Virtual Worlds for Toddlers, Kids, and Tweens posted at eLearning Gurus.

Josanne Anthony presents Every Child Should Read These Books!!! posted at Delightful Domestications.

Education

Fiona Lohrenz presents Encouraging Diversity At Day Care posted at Child Care Only.

Shen-Li Lee presents 5 Ways to Raise a Smart Kid posted at Babylicious.

Alvaro Fernandez presents Learning about Learning: an Interview with Joshua Waitzkin posted at SharpBrains.

Donald Latumahina presents A Simple Tip for Finding Good Ideas posted at Life Optimizer.

Family Finance

One Family presents Holiday Shopping – A peek at our Spending in the 2008 season posted at One Family’s Blog.

Lauren Rose presents Never Use Copy Paste for Your Credit Card Number and Internet Explorer posted at No Debt Anymore. “Under certain circumstances, your clipboard contents from a copy and paste command can be stolen from the Internet,” Lauren warns. “That includes your credit card number.”

Tom Tessin presents Side Job Ideas posted at FSC Blog. Looking to make a little bit of money on the side?

Raymond presents Second Stimulus Check For Obama 2009 Economic Stimulus Package? posted at Money Blue Book.

Silicon Valley Blogger presents High Yield Savings Account Interest Rates: Changes Ahead? posted at The Digerati Life. “How are you handling your family’s finances now that interest rates are going down? Silicon Valley Blogger offers some suggestions regarding your family’s emergency funds and short term reserves.

Mr. Banker presents High Interest Savings Accounts posted at Best Interest Rate Banks.

Finance Tips 101 presents The Pros And Cons Of Personal Loans posted at Finance Tips 101.

jim presents Preparing Financially for a Baby posted at Blueprint for Financial Prosperity.

Family Health and Wellness

Carole Fogarty presents 10 Tips To Grab On The Run For Staying Hydrated posted at Rejuvenation Lounge. “One of the most important roles of water is to keep your brain hydrated,”Carole writes. “Research has also shown that children learn and understand new information far more easily when their brains are hydrated.”

Aparna presents Puff out puffy eyes posted at Beauty and Personality Grooming. A lot of people experience puffy eyes during different phases of their lives, cause by a variety of factors such as strenuous hours of study, water retention, salt, improper sleep, liquor, medications or even inadequate ventilation.

Parenting Tips & Advice

Concerning Kids presents Tips And Idea To Help Child Proof Your Home posted at Concerning Kids.

Paul Kipnes presents Sibling Rivalry: Can’t Kill ’em so Try to Love ’em posted at Or Am I?, a discussion about moving children beyond sibling rivalry.

Riley presents Getting Back on the Bike posted at All Rileyed Up.

Kakie presents Discussing tolerance & differences in biracial families posted at Bur Bur & Friends: Community Park, a story based upon an experience Kakie had with her son.

Natalie Fox presents How to get your kids to bed early posted at All Sleep Info, offering seven tips for getting your kids in bed on time.

Emma presents My miserable failure at brushing my toddler’s teeth posted at Baby-Log.

Lisa Mitchell presents Britax Marathon Review posted at Let’s Talk Babies.

Kevin presents Weekly Parenting Tips – Building Self Confidence posted at More4kids.

Pets

Matt M presents Pricey Pet Food Not Necessarily Better posted at The Pet Haven, providing tips on choosing the best food for your pet.

Relationships & Self-Improvement

JHS presents Tuesday’s Tribute: Clint Ritchie posted at Colloquium in memory of her friend, the “Clintessential” actor who brought “Clint Buchanan” to life on “One Life to Live” for more than twenty years.

Broderick Allen presents No Need to Defend Your Point of View posted at Personal Growth and Enjoying Life’s Journey.

Susan Gaissert presents Shocking Your Mother posted at The Expanding Life.

mavlar presents Picture of Nolan posted at Knowing Nolan.

Travel

Gary R. presents Traditional vs. Rustic Camp Sites posted at Camping Tips, explaining that an increasing number of campgrounds are offering visitors the choice of both traditional and rustic campsites.

Next week, the Carnival will be On the Horizon. Click here to submit the link to and relevant information about your post. Should you have questions, be sure to review the Carnival guidelines before submitting your post.

Would you like the Carnival to pay a visit to your site? Check out the hosting schedule, select a date, and then drop a line advising what week you would like to host.

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/valentines-day-carnival-of-family-life/feed/ 4 623 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-consequences/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-consequences/#comments Sun, 08 Feb 2009 08:00:34 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=612 As she approached the small chapel, she heard voices speaking in a hushed tone. Checking the name in the placard on the wall in the hallway just outside the doorway, she confirmed that she was, in fact, in the right room. Quietly, she noted that a small group of five people, none of whom she recognized, were standing near the front of the chapel, talking quietly, so she turned and went back to the reception area to wait.

“May I help you?” a kind young woman in a conservatively tailored black suit asked.

“No, thank you,” she replied. “I’m just waiting for the other folks to leave so that I can pay my respects privately.”

“All right then,” the young woman said with a slight, knowing smile, nodding toward a small room just inside the lobby. “I’ll be in the office. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you,” she responded.

A few minutes later, when she heard the other folks coming down the hallway, she rose from the chair in which she was seated and strode toward a rack of pamphlets and other reading material mounted on the opposite wall, her back to them. She waited as the young employee emerged from the office and saw them out, only turning around after she heard the front door shut. “You can go on in now.”

As she entered the chapel, she felt slightly light-headed, so she sat in the back row near the door for a few moments while she regained her composure and strength. Finally, she rose and began slowly walking up the aisle toward the front of the room. She stopped several times, hesitating as so many emotions threatened to derail her journey. Eventually, however, she found herself standing before him.

She gasped involuntarily when she finally looked down at his face. Had his name not been posted just outside the doorway, she would have sworn she was in the wrong room. The old-appearing man in the casket bore no resemblance to the handsome young man she had loved for so many years. Putting her hand to her mouth, she fought to regain her composure, mindful that other mourners could arrive at any time to pay their last respects. She began to quietly sob as she studied the profound changes that time — and alcohol — had wrought. His once-thick, chestnut hair was gone, replaced by a thin spate of receded silver strands. Despite the mortician’s best efforts to make him appear youthful and at peace, she noted the deep-set wrinkles, especially around his eyes and mouth.

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the envelope containing the page that bore her final words to him, scented by the expensive perfume he used to buy for her. She quickly lifted the edge of his jacket and slipped it between the fabric of the coat and his shirt so that it would forever lie on his chest just above his now-stilled heart. Then she carefully rearranged the lapel so that no one would notice the envelope’s presence.

Half-staggering backwards, she sat down hard on a chair in the first row directly in front of the mahogany casket and let the tears fall for the first time since she had read of his death two days earlier. Her face in her hands, she did not hear his sister, Annette, enter the chapel and was completely oblivious to her presence until she felt Annette’s arm slip around her as Annette seated herself on the chair next to hers.

“I knew you’d come,” Annette said softly. The two women sat in silence for a few minutes as she strove to regain her composure while Annette absent-mindedly rubbed her shoulder.

Finally, she raised her head, took a deep breath, and said, “I didn’t even know if I could come.”

“I knew that you would come to pay your respects and say good-bye . . . again,” Annette replied gently. “I put you on the list of approved visitors that I gave to the funeral director,” she smiled wryly. “Just in case.”

“Such a waste,” she said plaintively.

“He drank himself to death. Nobody could stop him,” Annette said virtually without emotion. “Nobody. The last couple of years, he just gave up completely. He withdrew. He wouldn’t leave the house. He just wanted to be by himself all the time. We all brought him food, cigarettes. I refused to buy his alcohol, so he paid his employees to bring that to him, I guess. He got it somewhere because every time I went to see him, he had a drink in his hand. He tried to push me away, just like he did everyone else.”

“So many people loved him,” she replied.

“I know,” Annette sighed. “The media started calling just a couple of hours after he died. I don’t know who told them.”

“Probably a hospital employee,” she answered. “That’s how those vultures find out everything that should remain private, like which star is the latest to check into rehab.”

“I’m sure,” Annette said resolutely. “Well . . . they would have found out eventually, anyway. At least they haven’t descended upon this place. It’s obscure enough that they haven’t tracked it down. By the time they do . . . ” her voice trailed off.

“Will he be buried on the property?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s what he wanted,” Annette confirmed. “We’ll have a public memorial service later. I don’t know when. I can’t even think about that now. There are a lot of details that I have to take care of, starting with straightening out his finances. What a mess,” she shook her head sadly. “At the end, he wasn’t taking care of anything — not his businesses, not his finances. Not himself, obviously. I have to try to figure everything out.”

“Did he have a will?” she inquired tentatively.

“Yeah,” Annette said with sorrowful disgust. “He finally had his lawyer draft it. But . . . ”

“He never signed it,” she finished the sentence.

The two women looked at each other knowingly before sitting in silence for a few more minutes, each lost in their own memories. Finally, she stood up, walked to the casket and gazed down at him, the tears flowing again. Annette joined her.

“Why couldn’t he believe it?” she sobbed. “Why couldn’t he believe how loved he was?”

“It was the disease,” Annette said resolutely. “He knew he was loved, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t feel it. I’ve always believed that’s why he began drinking in the first place. And then, as the years went on and . . . ” she let her voice trail off, hesitant to finish the sentence.

“Go ahead and say it,” she said. “After I left him.”

“Nobody blames you,” Annette responded sternly. “Nobody. And you can’t blame yourself, either. He is right where he was going to end up, no matter what. If you had stayed with him, he would still be right here, right now. Nobody could save him. And he refused to save himself. It was his tragic flaw. Of Shakespearean proportion.”

“When I heard that he retired, I really thought that things would get better,” she explained. “I spoke to Josh and he said that he was going to take some time off — ‘get some rest’ were the words he used. I thought that meant that he was either going to rehab or he would get interested in things again, spend more time outside . . . get healthier.”

“We all did, but just the opposite happened,” Annette sighed. “Instead of getting busy with all of the projects he claimed to have planned, he became more and more of a hermit, isolated. And the drinking escalated. You can’t drink more than a fifth of vodka every day for that many years without there being consequences.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” she said, the tears beginning to fall again. “I had no idea it was that bad . . . ”

“At least,” Annette said. “We’ve started going through the house and grounds, but I don’t think we’ve found all of the empty bottles yet. They’re everywhere. I think it actually might have been closer to two fifths. We’ll never really know, of course.”

Just then they heard the young woman entered the chapel and they turned back toward the door.

“No rush, ladies,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that the appointed visiting hours have concluded so no one else will be allowed to enter. But you take all the time you want.”

“We’ll be leaving in just a few moments,” Annette said.

“No problem,” the employee replied. “As I said, take your time.” She turned and walked back toward the office.

“I need to get going, anyway,” she said to Annette as they turned back toward the open coffin. “I have a flight to catch.”

The two women collected their belongings and walked down the hallway arm in arm. After being shown out, they walked quietly toward the parking lot. When they reached her car, she stopped, looked Annette squarely in the eyes and said, “I need to tell you something.”

“All right.”

“I loved him. I’ve always loved him; I never stopped,” she explained.

“Sweetie, I know that,” Annette assured her. “We all know that. Nobody ever doubted that for a moment.”

“And I didn’t leave him,” she continued, needing to purge the secret she had maintained for so long. “I would never have left him. But when I tried to talk to him about his drinking, he got so enraged. He was completely unreasonable, so I usually just backed off. But I decided that no matter what the consequences, I had to help him. I was determined to convince him that if he would just go into rehab, I would stand by him — we all would — and our lives would be so much better.”

“That night, I decided that we were going to talk about it, but . . . ” she continued. “I didn’t know he was capable of that much anger. He stomped out of the house and didn’t come back for hours. When he did, he was sober, but he wouldn’t even talk to me or look at me. The next day when I left for a few hours to run some errands, he put all of my belongings on the front lawn and changed the locks. He refused to let me back in, and wouldn’t take my calls. I had no choice. Fortunately, I had some money so I was able to get on my feet fairly quickly. But that was the last time we ever spoke or saw each other. I just told everyone that we split up, but the truth is that he threw me out.”

Annette continued listening intently.

“The only person who knows the truth is Josh. I told him, but swore him to secrecy. I didn’t want you or anyone else to get angry and try to intercede on my behalf because I was afraid that he would cut you out of his life, too. His ability to hold a grudge was unbelievable. I figured that even if he turned his back on me, at least he had you. And Josh, of course. Josh assured me that he never let on that he knew the truth.”

Tears were streaming down her face, unabated, now. “I never would have left him, Annette. You have to believe that.”

Without saying a word, Annette put her arms around her, hugged her close, and allowed her to cry for a few moments before whispering in her ear, “I knew.”

Pulling away, she stared into Annette’s eyes, her mouth hanging open. “What? You knew?”

“He told me,” Annette said softly. “I never believed for a moment that you had left him.”

Now it was Annette’s turn to rid herself of the secret she had carried with her for too long. “I waited until just the right moment. You know how he was . . . you had to wait for the opportunity, when he was in precisely right right frame of mind, and then seize the moment because it might never come again. I went over to the house a few weeks later and, as it turned out, your name came up. I sensed that would be my only chance to talk about it, so I confronted him then and there. He confessed what he had done.”

She continued staring at Annette in utter disbelief. “Then . . . ”

“Then why didn’t I call and tell you? Why didn’t I convince him to call you?” She nodded as Annette continued speaking. “I tried. He refused. And he absolutely forbid me to call you and let him know that I knew. He swore me to secrecy. He made it very clear that the two of you would not be getting back together under any circumstances. He huffed and puffed like he always did. And, as you say, I was afraid that if I crossed him, he would cut me out of his life completely, too. Then who would he have? Josh meant well, but he was in no position to take care of him. And his employees were just a bunch of enablers.”

“Besides,” she added, “I knew what was really going on.”

She searched Annette’s face.

“Don’t you see? He loved you, too. He loved you so much that he wanted to save you. He knew he couldn’t save himself. No one will ever convince me that he didn’t have a death wish. He couldn’t overcome it, so he was determined not to take you down with him.”

Tears continued rolling down her cheeks and her stomach churned as the import of Annette’s revelations overtook her.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she mumbled nearly inaudibly.

Annette gently grabbed her upper arms and looked her squarely in the eyes. “He didn’t want you to watch him kill himself slowly. He loved you too much,” Annette said matter-of-factly. “Sweetie, he loved you far more than he loved himself. He did the one thing for you that he was incapable of doing for himself.” They remained motionless for a few more moments, each processing Annette’s words in their own fashion. Finally, Annette released her grip and broke the silence. “How is Jerry? And the kids?”

“Fine. They’re all great,” she said. “Jerry thinks I had to go on a brief business trip out of town which is why I need to get back home. The kids have a lot of school activities . . . Kevin is playing basketball and loving it. Hoping for a scholarship.”

“I’m so glad,” Annette replied genuinely. “All right then, I’d better let you get going so that you don’t miss your flight. We’ll stay in touch?”

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll speak soon.” They hugged again before she got into the rental car and began driving in the direction of the airport, ready to return to the happy life she had made without the man who would always be the one true love of her life.

Inspired by the Cafe Writing February Project: Love Letters:

What can I tell you by letter? Alas! nothing that I would tell you. The messages of the gods to each other travel not by pen and ink and indeed your bodily presence here would not make you more real: for I feel your fingers in my hair, and your cheek brushing mine. The air is full of the music of your voice, my soul and body seem no longer mine, but mingled in some exquisite ecstasy with yours. I feel incomplete without you.

Oscar Wilde (in a letter to Constance Wilde)

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/the-consequences/feed/ 13 612 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-years-part/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-years-part/#comments Sun, 01 Feb 2009 10:02:59 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=607 She felt the throbbing before she opened her eyes. She was disoriented and uncomfortable, but the sound of Arnie softly breathing next to her assured her that she was at home. She opened her eyes slowly as she sat up. He was lying on his side, gazing at her, a couple of noisemakers and some confetti streamers strewn about. The bottle of champagne she had bought a few days earlier — nearly empty now — stood upright in silent testament to the previous night.

She pulled her knees up and propped her elbows on them in order to massage her temples as she tried to remember why she had slept on the living room floor rather than in their bed. When she extended her left arm to pick up the noisemaker nearest Arnie, she noticed the red stains. Pulling her arm back and raising her right hand to inspect it as well, she saw the dried blood caked on both hands and under her fingernails. Panic overtook her.

“What the . . .?” she whispered frantically as Arnie stood up, came over to her, and nuzzled her elbow with his nose.

As her restored memories overtook her, she collapsed back onto the floor in slow motion, Arnie instinctively lying down with her as she absently rubbed his ears and stroked his head.

“Oh, Arnie,” she sobbed as she realized that she had actually lived the sequence of events that seemed like just a terrible nightmare.

They had dressed hurriedly for the party because they had both left work early and come home to enjoy a couple of hours alone before going out for the evening. They dozed off, satisfiedly wrapped each other’s arms, and awoke to realize that they had less than an hour to shower, dress, and travel uptown to their friends’ home for the New Year’s Eve dinner and celebration.

“Oh, my gosh! Sam! Wake up! We’re going to be late,” she warned after she contentedly rolled over and glimpsed the clock on the nightstand. “It’s six o’clock!”

“How ’bout if we just stay here tonight?” Sam mumbled, reaching to pull her back to him as he burrowed deeper under the covers.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she chided, pulling the covers back. “I’m getting in the shower. You promised me that we would go to the party tonight and I’m holding you to it. I’m wearing my new dress and you’re wearing your tux. So get moving!” she playfully slapped him on the rear end as she got out of bed and strode toward the bathroom.

“Hey!” he yelped. He groaned dramatically as he grabbed the covers and pulled them up over his head. But when he heard the faucet creak as the water began surging out of the shower pipes, he couldn’t resist the temptation to join her.

Thirty minutes later, they were dashing around the apartment as they finished getting ready for the evening. She was still putting her earrings and bracelet on as they hurried down the hall to the elevator. His tie hung around the collar of his half-buttoned shirt, and he finished hooking and straightening his belt as they exited the elevator car on the first floor.

“Would you like me to get you a cab?” the doorman asked as they stepped out of the building into the cold New York City air.

“That would be great!” he responded, putting his jacket on. He quickly finished buttoning his shirt as she began assisting him with his tie.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he whispered as he lightly kissed the end of her nose. “Are you sure you don’t want to just go back upstairs and have a private celebration?”

“Thank you,” she beamed. The taxi pulled up just as she was adjusting the bow to assure that it was straight. “And you are unbelievably dashing in this tux. But no. I intend to wear this dress for at least a few hours.”

They hurriedly hopped into the back seat. Sam announced their destination to the driver and urged him to drive as quickly as possible because they were running late.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” the driver replied, “but there’s a lot of traffic this evening, you know.”

Sam sighed as he grinned slyly and leaned toward her. “It was worth a late arrival, don’t you think?”

“Behave yourself,” she whispered, feigning displeasure.

“I love you,” he mouthed silently as he draped his hand over her legs and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers.

“I know and I’m very lucky,” she said quietly as she reached up and tenderly stroked his cheek with her right hand. As she did, she felt the cab slowing. Glancing forward through the windshield, she noted that they had entered an intersection and the cab driver was waiting for oncoming traffic to pass before making a left turn.

Sam leaned back on the seat, his right hand remaining over her legs as she turned her attention to her handbag lying on the seat to her right. She reached for it, intending to pull on her gloves when she felt the impact and Sam seemed to be ripped from her side in slow motion.

The next thing she knew, she was leaning over him on the pavement. She removed her coat and placed it under his head, holding his face in her hands and urging him to hang on as the wail of the sirens grew louder and louder. She never stopped talking to him, gently stroking his face and telling him how much she loved him, assuring him that everything would be fine as the paramedics carefully placed him on the gurney and lifted it into the ambulance, helping her up the steps so that she could remain by his side. She did not stop whispering in his ear until they reached the hospital and the paramedics forced her to remain in the waiting room while several medical personnel took control of the gurney and whisked Sam away from her.

“No, no,” she repeated over and over when hospital staffers asked her repeatedly if she was sure there wasn’t someone they should call to come and stay with her in the waiting room. “No. No one. All of our family live out of state. I’ll call them later after I see Sam,” she insisted. “I don’t want to alarm them unnecessarily.”

She still would not provide them with the name and telephone number of someone they should call to accompany her home after they let her sit with Sam’s body. The social worker who had informed her that Sam would not be going home with her and accompanied her into the room where the medical personnel had tried desperately – but unsuccessfully – to revive him had practically demanded that she either provide a name or remain at the hospital herself to rest and recover from the shock. Still she refused. All she wanted to do was go home. There she would figure out what needed to be done and who needed to be called, she explained.

Eventually, the social worker relented and summoned a police officer and chaplain to drive her back to their building and escort her into their apartment. After greeting Arnie and searching the premises to assure that nothing was amiss, they finally took their leave after providing her with several telephone numbers to call if she felt that she needed assistance.

It was 2:00 a.m. A new year had begun but not in the way she and Sam had planned.

Her parents, Sam’s parents, her sister . . . they would all be asleep by now, she told herself, unable to face the task of dialing their numbers and telling them about the accident.

So she went to the refrigerator and retrieved the champagne that she had purchased a few days earlier — just in case Sam convinced her to stay at home instead of going to the party. Just for fun, she had also bought a couple of silly hats, noisemakers, and some confetti, knowing that Sam would try to beg off going out and want to celebrate quietly at home, alone with her and Arnie.

She popped open the champagne, blew bitterly into one of the noisemakers, and threw some streamers around the room as she sat down on the floor next to Arnie and began drinking the champagne right out of the bottle. Arnie stared at her questioningly in his perpetually forlorn manner as if to ask, “Where is he?”

“He’s not coming home, Arnie,” she cried. “He’s not coming back to us.” She repeated the words, “He’s gone, Arnie,” over and over, drinking the champagne to numb her pain between the sobs that wracked her entire body as she wished she had let him convince her to crawl back into bed with him instead of insisting that they go to the party.

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-years-part/feed/ 5 607 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-year-carnival-of-family-life/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-year-carnival-of-family-life/#comments Mon, 29 Dec 2008 07:01:19 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=562 In many different respects, 2008 was a challenging year for most. But on New Year’s Eve, we pause to remember the good things that happened during the past year. On this night, we forget our problems and cares, looking hopefully to the future. Precisely at midnight, we’ll be singing and toasting the arrival of 2009!

Hope you brought your family and good friends along, because the party is just getting underway. The champagne has been on ice all day and the waiters are popping the first bottles now. The hors d’ oeuvres will be served momentarily. Grab a few noisemakers and select a silly hat! The orchestra is tuning up and will begin playing in just a few minutes.

You look wonderful in your most festive attire! Grab your dance partner because the New Year’s festivities are getting underway!

Family Cooking & Recipes

Myscha Theriault presents Cooking with Canned Pumpkin: Fresh Ideas for a Frugal Super Food at Wise Bread.

Emma presents How to get away with cooking once a week for your baby at Baby-Log.

Family Crafts and Activities

HowToMe presents How To Make an “Angelic” Kitchen Towel Set at HowToMe.

Catherine Eagleson presents Games for the Brain – Perfect for Rainy Days! at Crosswords For Fun. “If the weather decides to put a dampener on your family holiday,” Catherine writes, “games for the brain are the perfect solution to keep your kids occupied for hours at a time.”

Family Finance

Polly Poorhouse presents Drama For a Song at Economic Crunch, suggesting that you “comparison shop for kids’ activities, as well as for peanut butter and soap.”

Jim presents Total Cost of Owning A Dog at Blueprint for Financial Prosperity, taking a detailed “look at the cost of making a new furry addition to the family.”

Credit Shout presents TrueEarnings Card from Costco and American Express Review at CreditShout. If you shop at Costco, there is now a credit card with which you can maximize savings.

Raymond presents The Best Online High Interest Savings Accounts at Money Blue Book.

freefrombroke presents You Are Richer Than You Think at Free From Broke, reminding us that “family and friends are our richest resource.”

Renae presents When Circumstances Squeeze Wish Lists at Life Nurturing Education.

Terri Mauro presents Teaching Money Management With a Credit-Card-Free iTunes Account at Terri’s Special Children Blog.

Silicon Valley Blogger presents Ebates Review: Online Rewards, Double Cash Back When You Shop! at The Digerati Life, recommending an online shopping site that features savings and cash back rewards.

Family Health and Wellness

Matthew presents Allergy to Milk at Fast Medical Information. He explains that “lactose intolerance” is the term used to describe an allergy to milk which prevents digestion or absorption of lactose, the sugar in milk.

Peter Garant presents Cool Mist Humidifiers: Important Traits at Humidifier Reviews, offering tips about selecting the cool mist humidifier that is safe, clean, and efficient.

Aparna presents Tips for dry winter hair at Beauty and Personality Grooming. Aparna explains that “the sebaceous glands in the scalp produce oil to lubricate hair but are less active in cold weather and slow down production with age.” She offers suggestions for keeping your hair lustrous in the winter months.

Alvin Hopkinson presents Acid Reflux Diet at The Best Way to Be Acid Free, listing foods to avoid in order to prevent acid reflux or heartburn.

Isaac Yassar presents You Are Your Habits at Isaac Yassar .com.

Super Saver presents The Bright Side for my 2008 at My Wealth Builder.

Matthew presents Allergy to Latex at Fast Medical Information.

Family Spirituality/Belief/Worship

Leticia Velasquez presents Merry Christmas from Connecticut at cause of our joy.

luvmy4sons presents Just Think… at Do You Weary Like I Do?. “Just think — He came to us,” she writes.

luvmy4sons presents Mary at Do You Weary Like I Do?, observing, “To be Mary . . . wow!”

Family Travel

Ruth presents Camp For Free or Nearly Free! at Camping Tips. “There are more places than you’d think where you camp for free or nearly free,” Ruth writes.

Marilyn Terrell presents Jenss Family Travels: Harris Hill Farm at Intelligent Travel Blog, detailing “the Jensss family’s stop in New Zealand on their year-long round-the-world adventure.” They had fun on a farm!

The Smarter Wallet presents Plan Your Vacation Well: Travel Tips For The Early Bird Traveler at The Smarter Wallet.

Parenting Tips and Advice

Chief Family Officer presents Review: Graco Nautilus at Chief Family Officer.

Kevin presents Family New Years Resolutions at More4kids.

Brip Blap presents how to soothe a crying baby at brip blap, describing “how our crying babies taught us about learning to back off.”

Well, it’s certainly hard to believe that 2009 is here so soon!

Carnival of Family Life 2009

The Carnival will kick off 2009 at Domestic Cents on Monday, January 5, 2009! Click here to submit your family-related posts.

The guidelines and other information about the Carnival is available here. Would you like to host a future edition? The hosting schedule can be viewed here. Then drop a line advising which week you would like the Carnival to visit your site.

THANK YOU for coming to the party so that we could all ring in 2009 together. Hope you had a great time and enjoy a healthy, happy, prosperous, and gratifying New Year!

]]> https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/new-year-carnival-of-family-life/feed/ 10 562 https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/simply-the-best-2008/ https://www.mixedmetaphor.net/simply-the-best-2008/#comments Mon, 29 Dec 2008 06:22:00 +0000 http://www.mixedmetaphor.net/?p=573 Confident Writing sponsored an end-of-the-year Group Writing Project to which authors were asked to submit a single post representing their best 2008 work. I selected An Unexpected Independence Day Celebration because I believe it is one of my best-crafted short stories. It is based not upon one particular person, but, rather, several people who are dear to me, including a special couple in whose honor I wrote the piece as a way of demonstrating my affection for them upon the occasion of their wedding. My second choice for 2008 is The Keys to Her Future.

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