The Giggling Truckers Wife Writes

The Diary

2016-03-01T11:05:00.000-05:00

“Please read my diary, look through my things and figure me out.” Kurt Cobain

Image by Dwayne Blee of www.freeimages.com

Grace received her first diary years ago for Christmas from her Aunt Marge. She had been twelve at the time and she had regarded the shiny red cover wondering what she would do with it. She didn’t like to write. Of course, she tried to act thrilled. She didn’t want to hurt Aunt Marge’s feelings. Her mother would have been livid if she had and there would have been hell to pay. Not long after, Aunt Marge died in a tragic car accident. She remembered the day in exact, glaring detail. Snowy, treacherous roads and a bit of ice had sealed Aunt Marge’s destiny. The accident set a series of events in motion that would change Grace’s life forever. One by one her family left. First her mother died, and then her dad. Finally, her little brother had fallen through the ice one fateful day while ice skating. By the time she was 20, they were all gone leaving Grace alone to conquer the world.

She met Rob by accident. A dear friend had set her up on a blind date. The weirdest thing happened, though. Her date couldn’t come. Instead, he sent flowers with his apology. Rob delivered the flowers and they connected immediately. Compelled to see her again, he sent flowers to her and delivered them himself. A whirlwind romance followed which culminated in a marriage proposal. Grace said yes before Rob even finished what he had to say. Since Grace no longer had any family to speak of, she was eager to start a family of her own. Just a little over a year later she welcomed a son who became her pride and joy. A daughter soon followed, and soon it seemed her dreams of a family were complete.

The years passed. Her son enlisted in the navy when war broke out, and at the tender age of 19, died in battle. Grace's heart shattered into a million pieces. Her grief palpable, she remained inconsolable. Her diary filled to overflowing with tear stained prose.

Still her daughter remained. Soon, Grace’s diary focused revolved around Elise and Rob's comings and goings. Somewhere along the way, Grace ceased to exist. Her life ceased to matter. Her feelings were never discussed within the pages of her most recent diary. In her mind, she was insignificant. They were her whole world.

After another joyous Christmas celebration, Rob suffered a fatal heart attack. One minute he was at her side, the next he was gone. Grace wrote pages and pages in her diary as she coped. She mourned her life partner, and once again the pages became smudged and tear stained. Her daughter did all she could to see to Grace's needs, but then life stepped in once again. Her daughter accepted a wonderful job thousands of miles away. Grace mustered her strength, put a brave face on it, and saying goodbye, wished her well.

Years passed. With each passing year, Grace withdrew a bit farther into herself. She stopped associating with the outside world and became a modern day recluse. Those she loved most in life had gone leaving her behind. She longed to join them. She longed to be free of her lonely life. She played her music. She created her art. She survived, a prisoner of her dark thoughts and feelings of helplessness. She put on a brave, showed the world giggles and smiles because that is what she thought the world wanted to see. She confided only in her diary. She prayed that when her time was up, that whoever found her diaries would read them and understand.

Sleep Haiku

2016-01-24T17:04:00.000-05:00

rest for the weary

escape from reality

the soul's siesta

Inspired by the prompt at

#Monday Musings

2016-01-18T11:58:00.000-05:00

It’s Monday. It’s Martin Luther King Day. Wow. I haven’t written anything since November 11, 2015. That is a long time. Do I even still remember how to write? We will see, won’t we? Where have I been? Sick. I have been sick with pneumonia all this time. My husband had pneumonia which led to him being unable to work for two weeks. The only blessing was that the kids never got sick once. He got better. I didn’t. Go figure. I mean, I have no trains to catch, no job outside the home, so who truly gives a rat’s ass if I ever get well? It has been a long, depressing road. We survived the holidays. The internet was off at our house all this time. I had the internet on my phone, but nowhere else. Honestly, I didn’t feel well enough to waddle from my bed to the bathroom, let alone write. I kept a low profile and flew under the radar battling depression, my own demons, and making a minute by minute attempt to literally cough up my vagina and every bodily fluid I could possibly possess. Have you ever coughed so hard that you literally peed your pants? Or worse? I have been there and done that and, this time, didn’t even have the joyous excuse of being pregnant.

So here I am! For those of you that wondered if I died, you didn’t get that lucky. I am still struggling along somehow with my messed up humor and special brand of sarcasm very much intact. With that said I’ll be giving this writing thing another go. I am older, struggling with mental-pause hormones. The up- side is that my doctor finally figured out that perhaps I needed a bit of medicinal help with that situation when I shared that I normally step out on my back stoop in subzero temps in my underwear, barefoot…in the snow, because I am sweating my ass off. Behavior like that doesn’t really help the whole attempt to get over pneumonia.

I have discovered a few things about myself during this time period, though. The first, and perhaps the most important is that I giggle when I am nervous and uncomfortable. It isn’t because I am particularly happy. I also laugh hysterically when I am amused, which still happens quite regularly. I talk entirely too much when prompted. I probably share things I relate with and am amused by entirely too much on Facebook. I am perhaps a bit too honest for most people’s tastes and probably a whole lot inappropriate. I am convinced that it is a public service for me to isolate myself as much as possible which is why I hide behind writing fiction and haiku. I also realize that I am just not that great of a writer, but I am OK with that now. I will write for the fun of it and see how it goes and have absolutely no illusions that I belong at the top of any writing heap. Sometimes you just need to let it out and vent. Sometimes you simply have to realize that God never abandoned you after all and you are OK. And then sometimes, you need to quit caring so much, and simply try again. That is what I am attempting to do.

My Heart Goes On

2015-11-11T10:41:00.000-05:00

Pulsating within me, throughout life pieces are given. Sealed with a kiss, I promised forever to my husband. Unconditional pieces given at first glimpse to my daughter, then to my son. Each piece pulsating deep within them, living again through their memories.

Knock, Knock

2015-11-04T11:01:00.000-05:00

Knock, knock. She coughed, fresh blood peppering her handkerchief. Bone weary, rankled with pain, her breaths shallow and spare. Knock, knock. Persistent knocking, rattling her brains. Enough! Flinging open the door, embracing death, welcoming everlasting life. The valiant warrior succumbs. Sweet relief.

Choices

2015-10-28T14:27:00.000-04:00

Envious of her physique, I assess my own. I would kill for her ass. Sigh. Elect torture courtesy of a local gym, or find a superb plastic surgeon in New York? Contemplating my pizza, I resign myself to hereditary genetics. Life’s choices.

Sweet Revenge

2015-10-21T14:11:00.000-04:00

Vicious nuisance, slaughtering her chickens. Once ensnared, she slaughtered him. He simmers in a bath of red wine and spices. Vengeance feels good. Wiping blood that has trickled from her mouth, she licks the spoon. Revenge tastes sweeter with pinches of salt.

Silent Haiku

2015-10-20T10:49:00.000-04:00

interrupted sighs

laughter, voices, noise extinct

sensual vibrations

Inspired by the prompt at

The Model

2015-10-14T13:29:00.000-04:00

Twenty pairs of inquisitive eyes scrutinize as my kimono pools at my feet. I model. Damn goose flesh! Blushing, I avert my eyes. Rustling newsprint. Their eyes dissect me inch by unforgiving inch. Focused. Determined to capture my essence in two dimensions.

#MondayMusings

2015-10-12T13:46:00.000-04:00

It’s Monday, so it’s time to muse! Today I am rocking out to pure nostalgia. Anyone who knows me at all knows I am passionate about music, and if you know that much about me, you might also know that I love movies and own a vast collection. This weekend I indulged myself and updated my collection with a DVD of “Dirty Dancing”. While I have the video cassette, I no longer have a VCR. Because of that fact, I have been steadily beefing up my DVD collection with some of the titles I love that I have on VHS so I can actually watch them again!

With “Dirty Dancing”, I get the best of both worlds…amazing music and a coming of age romance that tugs at the ole heart strings for the bargain price of $5.00. Now you can see why I couldn’t simply walk past this one. I LOVE this movie. It was released in 1987, a year after I graduated from high school. My daughter and I sang along to all the songs, and I find myself still singing them today. I have them cranked to full blast on Spotify as I write this. If you haven’t seen it, you must! If you have seen it, you must see it again. It is well worth the effort.

It was one lazy ass weekend at my house, staying up late watching movies, playing cards, and sleeping in until late into the afternoon. Saturday was made better with a Notre Dame win, and Sunday was dominated with grocery shopping, dishes, house cleaning, and laundry. I even managed to get a bit of knitting done! Thanks to 4-H and my tutelage, my daughter is quite the baker so while I cleaned, my daughter made bread bowls which were filled more than once with homemade steaming hot chili topped with melted cheddar cheese and then promptly devoured. I love weekends. There is nothing I look forward to more, and unfortunately, there is nothing that passes quicker than a weekend.

Over Haiku

2015-10-12T09:53:00.001-04:00

passionate kisses

bygone tender interludes

ancient history

Inspired by the prompt at

Freedom

2015-10-07T12:55:00.000-04:00

“You left college,

forfeited your marriage,

your friends,
and your life…

to care for me.”

Damn tears! Cancer sucks!

Mama pleaded, grasping my hand.

“Promise me...

to live life,
chase dreams,

love.
Experience everything...”

Sighing,
she relaxed and welcomed eternity with grace.

Who's the Cook?

2015-10-06T15:27:00.000-04:00

Food. Everybody loves food to a certain degree. We all eat it to survive. There are others who eat it for pleasure. The question is who cooks it? At my house, that would be me. I take full chef honors. There used to be a time when my husband ruled as Lord of the barbecue grill, and my realm was confined to the kitchen. My kids and I would wait, with baited breath and growing appetites, for him to come home and cook something, anything, on the grill.

One day my husband decided I needed to master the barbecue grill as well. The skill was on the list of things that he should do and could do, but unfortunately hardly ever came home to do and didn’t want to be bothered with when home. If I wanted the taste of barbecued meat grilled to perfection, I needed to learn. So I did, all the time with the nagging thought in the back reaches of my brain that I was being prepared for a life without him. Is he trying to tell me something? Probably not, I am just a tinge paranoid. I am a strong, independent woman, whether I want to be or not. This life as a trucker’s wife has made me that way.

Growing up, it was the same scenario on the most part, since my dad was also an over the road truck driver like my husband. While he was away, Mom ruled the kitchen and did all the cooking. When Dad came home, he not only presided over the barbecue grill, but also dazzled us with his skills in the kitchen. Crazy enough, it was my Dad that attempted to teach me how to cook and insisted on me helping. He taught me how to cook breakfast: eggs, pancakes, french toast, you name it. He showed me how to make his spaghetti and his barbecue chicken. My Dad actually had a huge collection of recipes that he began accumulating after my mom died, and I got that little gold mine when he died in 2004.

Even though I watch “Master Chef” avidly and am openly in awe of Gordon Ramsay, and secretly scared shitless of him, I have no delusions that I could compete in the Master Chef kitchen, nor would I desire to. However, we don’t starve, and there are a few dishes I am damn proud to claim as my own concoctions. Yes, I cooked that. My mantra has always been and always will be: if you can read, you can cook.

Storm Haiku

2015-10-05T10:18:00.000-04:00

torrential downpour

crash of thunder, lightning strikes

glimpse Nature’s fury

Inspired by the prompt at

The Dare

2015-09-30T11:00:00.000-04:00

“I triple dog dare you, eat it!”

Squeamish, Tommy screwed his eyes tightly shut, and dropped the wiggly worm into his mouth, gulped, and shuddered, grimacing.

“Well?”

“Blech! Slimy, salty, disgusting bit of nastiness!”

Huh, Google claims worms taste like bacon.

“Really?”

Between Haiku

2015-09-29T10:58:00.000-04:00

full comprehension

subliminal messages

linking you and me

Inspired by the prompt at

#MondayMusings

2015-09-28T20:08:00.000-04:00

A little late in the day, but not too late for a little musing this Monday. 15 years ago today I was eagerly anticipating my cesarean section scheduled for the next morning with a twinge of fear and a whole lot of excitement. I had never had a baby before and even though I had taken the childbirth classes at the hospital, I still felt ill equipped for what was to come. Besides, I spent 99.9% of the movie shown the expectant parents about childbirth and cesareans cringing horrified behind my pillow.

I endured a tough pregnancy with my first
born. Let’s just say, I don’t do pregnancy well. I was not one of those fabled expectant mothers who simply glowed. Tinged a sickly, pasty, green, I struggled through every minute of my pregnancy plagued with nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, riding on the hellacious roller coaster ride of hormones, high blood pressure, and gestational diabetes. To be honest, by the time it was time to go under the knife I simply wanted the pregnancy to be over. I simply could not imagine the reality of the baby, I would soon have. I had no idea whether the baby would be a boy or a girl.

Fast forward 15 years and here I am preparing to celebrate the beautiful and smart girl I was blessed with by blowing up bunches of balloons, suspending them from the ceiling, and stringing a “Happy Birthday” banner in their midst. The real celebration won’t commence until this weekend when my husband comes home. Still, I couldn’t let my little girl’s day pass unnoticed. Tomorrow I will bake cupcakes, a simple precursor to the birthday cake she will have this weekend. She will get to blow candles out on both occasions, because really a person cannot have too many wishes! Then, once both kids are home from school, away we will go to the local pizza place to inhale as much pizza, pasta, salad, and bread sticks that are earthly possible to inhale without exploding.

Only a handful of hours to go until her fourteenth year will be gone and her fifteenth year will dawn. No matter how old either of us get, she will always be my sweet baby girl and I will always be her mommy and for that I will always be eternally grateful.

The Last Request

2015-09-24T13:32:00.000-04:00

Photo Credits: Geetika Gupta

Would his heart race, then jolt to a stop?

Would death be excruciatingly painful?

Terrifying thoughts plagued him ever since the conviction. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t killed her, couldn’t kill her.

No one believed him.

Failed appeals, endless testimonies, and the meager evidence: in the end, no one had been convinced. As far as the world was concerned, he had brutally murdered her. The mighty hand of justice had failed him.

Fast forward to his last request:

watching the sunset while sipping a final glass of wine, resigned, eager for the peace and freedom only death could provide.

#MondayMusings

2015-09-21T16:47:00.000-04:00

I never really pay attention to blogging anniversaries or how many posts I have actually put up. Sure, I have seen other bloggers happily sharing how they have made it to this milestone or that silently because I usually have my head lodged so far up my ass that I miss when things like that happen.

Well, guess what? For some reason, I woke up and literally smelled the coffee today and realized that I have published 900 posts on the Giggling Trucker’s Wife Writes!!! This happy mess of Monday Musing is number 901! So before this moment completely passes by without any acknowledgement at all, I will take this moment to jump up and down, and say “Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I special?”

Why do I write? It’s something to do, and let’s face it, it is way more fun than doing dishes, folding laundry, or housework. Let’s be quite clear, I DO THAT TOO!! I am a stay at home mom, but yes, I do more than just sit on my duff and take up space. I cook, clean, crochet, knit, play piano, and play games, all sorts! I also juggle kids and dogs, literally. I make the dogs do their duty outside and make the kids do their homework. Yes, I do! I also am honorary chauffeur to every after school activity event. I cook too, which explains where all the dirty dishes come from. Just as soon as I get them clean another heap appears. It is a vicious cycle and an evil conspiracy that I will never be able to explain to you.

So for all you folks that have taken the time to stop by and read the literal stream of BS that I have spewed, marveled at my haiku, and commented on my stories, thank you. I love you guys. You are proof that I am not completely wasting my time. I will do my best to continue to deserve your devotion!

After Haiku

2015-09-20T08:30:00.000-04:00

a spark ignited

flames fanned, blazing inferno

charred devastation

Inspired by the prompt at

All About Higher Learning

2015-09-18T17:55:00.000-04:00

Let’s talk about school, because I can! The one school that I have coveted and would have LOVED to attend is the University of Notre Dame. Unfortunately, it has always been a bit out of reach even though I did win a scholarship to Notre Dame when I was in high school. It was for science of all things. Can you imagine? I was hell-bent at the time on going to Belmont University and studying music business, which is what I did. That didn’t last, of course, because it was a passing fancy. Ever since I was little I wanted to be an artist. That was my pipe dream, so there is little wonder I ended up studying graphic design at Indiana Vocational Technical College. Still my heart will always belong to Notre Dame. When I walk around campus there, I am home.

What about Hogwarts? Who wouldn’t want to go to the school of wizardry and witchcraft? Wouldn’t it be awesome to be able to do magic, hex someone, or visit Diagon Alley for supplies? If I had been lucky enough to study at Hogwarts, I would most definitely be in Ravenclaw for my intelligence, wit, and my ability to think outside the box. I had to study up on the characteristics of all houses and go to Pottermore and face the sorting hat. The sorting hat placed me in Ravenclaw! I could never be a Gryffindor because not only am I afraid of heights, I am not keen on trying new things and am scared shitless of things like roller coasters. No way in God’s green earth would you ever catch me flying on a broom or a hippogriff. While I can be loyal, protective, and hardworking like a Hufflepuff, if I get a hair across my ass the wrong way, I am capable of cutting people out of my life forever without a backwards glance. Sad but true. Finally, while I am all about self-preservation, I simply am not ambitious enough to belong in Slytherin.

If you are following the prompts from NaBloPoMo, you will probably be scratching your head about now thinking, didn’t she combine two prompts? Ten points to you, that would be correct!

The Flood

2015-09-16T16:17:00.000-04:00

Ring!

“Sorry, wrong number.”

“Sofia?”

Silence.

Her toys lay abandoned.

Where did she go?

The search, then utter horror.

Amid a sea of flowing toilet paper, stood my darling toddler, happily drenched, cramming every last roll we possessed into the overflowing toilet.

Before Haiku

2015-09-15T10:39:00.000-04:00

stars twinkle, moon shines

iridescent radiance

preceding the dawn

Inspired by the prompt at

#MondayMusings

2015-09-14T16:04:00.000-04:00

This last weekend was a bit busy, which is why I simply didn’t get around to posting Friday. Life stepped in, asked me to dance, and I obliged. Saturday marked my husband and my 18^th wedding anniversary. A lot of anniversaries have come and gone without much fanfare. This one, we made plans, and followed through. We took the kids to the Indianapolis Children’s Museum for the day and had a ball.

So much to see, so much to do, so much to learn, and tons of pictures to take! I actually took over 200 pictures. I wasn’t the only one snapping pictures. My daughter and husband took pictures with their phones too so we have a lot of photos to document the day.

Highlights of the day included getting up close and personal with dinosaurs, the transformers Bumblebee and Optimus Prime, taking a trip to China, learning all about religions from all over the world, and goggling amazed at a 43 foot tower of colorful blown glass. As much as I hate waiting for trains to pass, I still managed to enjoy the train exhibit they had that included vintage toy trains and a life size replica you could climb aboard and experience a simulation of traveling down the tracks. Another favorite from the day was the show we took in at the museum’s planetarium. Very cool to sit back and travel through the galaxies and catch a glimpse at how the universe formed, the planets of solar system, and the millions of stars.

Indianapolis is about a 3 hour drive from where we live. On the way home, we stopped at Grissom Air Force Base and took in some of the airplanes they have on display outside. Unfortunately, the museum itself was already closed for the day but we still got to see some pretty cool planes.

Sunday we took the swimming pool down and put it away until next summer. Even though the days are fairly warm, the nights are reaching the 40’s so the days of lazily floating in the pool were numbered anyways. The rest of the day was spent with being lazy, napping, watching movies, laundry, and a run to the grocery store. I was happy to discover that the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame won their football game this week, but unhappy to learn that their starting quarterback, Malik Zaire, was injured and will be out for the rest of the season. Hopefully Coach Brian Kelly has another amazing quarter back to take the reins and lead NotreDame to victory for the rest of the season. GO IRISH!!

Never Again

2015-09-10T13:36:00.000-04:00

Tears fell as Kara packed her bag. Another trip to the emergency room revealed her husband had broken her arm, split her lip, and given her another black eye this time.

“Damn woman, you are always sick. You really are a worthless bitch.” He taunted before hurling a beer bottle at her. She couldn’t help the allergies that had plagued her since childhood. A quick apology only egged him on.

As she picked herself up, she spied her 5 year old cowering in the corner and vowed this would end for her son’s sake, and her own.

Never again.