Short Circuits

The Gift

mcwhittle — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 14:44:46 +0000

Smack in the middle of January’s brash bluster, a rare 68 degree day had cropped up out of nowhere and she was taking advantage of the gift, one she took as a personal sign of a subtle Happy New Year greeting from Mother Nature. The french doors were wide open allowing a balmy breeze to invade the room. Both cats had come out of hiding from under her bed to languish in the however brief respite from the winter norm and they were tucked up under her arms, coiled in circles, creating feline pillows emitting with each purring breath a slight hint of canned salmon.

An attempt to read had long given sway to the whisper of drowsiness which had crept up upon her. The flannel throw was loosely draped over her bare toes, which twitched ever slightly as if imagining the feel of sandy beaches soon to be explored in the coming spring. Her eyes remained closed as her mind waxed and waned thru inconsequential and mostly trivial thoughts settling finally on what she decided was the one true fact of the moment; that naps were truly a most under rated phenomenon.

The 6S Social Network

What can YOU say in six sentences?

The Fall

mcwhittle — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 20:27:46 +0000

People watched me. I could feel their eyes and the under the breath sarcasm. “What a disaster. What a mess.” those were the nicer things I imagined. Were those words about the broken bag with it’s contents rolling about the sidewalk, or were they directed at me personally? One could never really know.

I rolled onto my butt and sat up slowly, taking a long hard look at the blood starting to rise to the surface on my scuffed knees. God, you would think I was back in elementary school, falling in the playground, feeling the tears start to well up but being too scared to attract attention of the kids who would knowingly laugh and point. What an embarrassment. Even back then I could feel their eyes.

My nose was running now and I started to pick the gravel bits out of the palm of my hands before I began a search thru my pocketbook for what was sure to be a non-existent tissue or even a more imaginary wet-nap. I was never prepared for anything.

The grocery bag was split down the side and thru the bottom so everything had busted, of course. There was pickle juice and orange juice co-existing in what was surely to become a nasty tasting brew to the line of ants that was starting to head in my direction. Did they stay constantly alert for any sign of a food source within their reach or was it just dumb luck that they happened to be marching by? Gods plan perhaps or they were just watching too. It made we wonder.

I didn’t dare look up as I didn’t want to see the faces. Embarrassment could never be hid especially when one could feel the redness creeping up one’s neck. The rosiness in my cheeks had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with my personal and ever present knowledge of all the inane things that I did on a daily basis.

Slowly I began to pick up the shards of glass, a stray olive here, a soggy loaf of bread there. Of course no one bothered to help. There were no volunteers, no voicing of concern. Just their eyes, ever watching, ever condescending.

I slowly eased into a shaky but tolerable standing mode, smoothing my skirt and making a feeble attempt to tuck in my shirt. Desperate to display some sort of normalcy in my appearance so that the eyes would stop. It was then that I realized, I was in the city. The land where no ones cares or if they do, admittance is frowned upon. There had been no need for my mortification, none what so ever. None of this mattered as there were no eyes. No one watched…me.

Thinking Ten: Tuesday, Take it away: People watched me…

A Little Christmas Eve Tale.

mcwhittle — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 14:49:07 +0000

Timothy was what you could call a Free-Range mouse, since he was originally a pet for Michael, who as a typical ten-year old boy with the attention span of a gnat, had forgotten to latch his cage. Traps were not allowed in the house since that breakout and even Micheal’s mom now only rarely jumped when he skittered across den floor looking for dropped treats: a crumb for some, constituted a meal for one very small rodent with a darling black nose and grey fur as soft as, well a mouse.

Living quite comfortably in the wall behind the sofa, Timothy was always on the alert having noted that football Sundays were especially bountiful as they usually provided him with a kernel of popcorn or a salted Planters peanut, which he would politely remove from under the coffee table, and place in his larder, for those days when Mom in a frenzy would actually run the vacuum thus removing any potential meals within a 12 by 12 radius of his cubby hole.

On this evening however things were beginning to look up for the little mouse. There was definitely something going on in the sphere which constituted his world: a tree with colorful lights now stood in the corner of the den, stockings hung over the mantle, like laundry after a Monday morning wash and a plate of cookies and a glass of milk had actually been left out on the coffee table, giving him the distinct impression that after that man in red finished his delivery, had a polite taste of a cookie and finally vacated the premises via the chimney, there would be sufficient sugar crumbs to make his Christmas dinner a fine one. What more could a mouse wish for on this Hallowed Eve.

The 6S Social Network

What can YOU say in six sentences?

A Time of Many Firsts.

mcwhittle — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 21:36:59 +0000

There seemed to be a lot of “firsts” going on. Mom was busy in the kitchen, which was extremely rare any time of year, but proving there is always “hope”. His two legged siblings were behaving, quite out of character yet sorta neat, for a change (no tail pulling?), and his Dad had actually brought a Tree..Inside..A Real Live Tree..Inside..I mean how exciting was that! Not withstanding that he had been yelled at when attempting to inaugurate it, ya can’t blame a fella for trying to be helpful can ya? Yep, there was something very fishy going on and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

It was somewhat disconcerting, in a wait for the other shoe to drop sorta way, how everyone was being so very nice to one another too. No yelling (well except for that whole “don’t lift your leg” thing). That they all were talking with “inside voices” took some getting use to as well, when that was not the norm in the household. Usually home was full of slams and bams, hoops and hollers, and general chaos seemed to be all his family knew and faithfully practiced. But recently, that had changed..Very confusing to a guy not quite a year old. (six and a half in dog years)

He was really getting a work out at his job too. For some reason, those monster-men in their short pants and large brown trucks kept coming up His driveway, making quite a racket too… opening that large door on the back and hauling package after package to His door. The nerve of them, ringing His doorbell, day after day. Leaving boxes of who knows what on His front porch. Where was Homeland Security when you needed um? Try as he might to alert the family of these dastardly deeds being transgressed on His property, their response was to momentarily break out of their “inside voices” yelling at him to “shut the hell up”. My god, he was just trying to protect them…geez…

Then there was the whole “DROP THE BALL” thing too. I mean hadn’t they spent countless hours teaching him to run and fetch? Yet, when he attempted to grab one of the many colored orbs they had hung on the “INSIDE TREE” they all went into hyper-drive grabbing them out of his mouth before he ever had a chance to give one a good chomp… very contradictory, if he said so himself.

The final icing on the cake came when just this very morning he started to go outside. Dad had come down first, as usual, made coffee and started cooking some bacon (that’s why he loved Dad the best). After some quick one-on-one commune time highlighted with some back scratches, Dad had opened the back door and a blast of freezing air practically blew his ears off. Then on top of that, not only had someone forgot to keep the heat on outside,..well, someone had put white stuff all over HIS YARD! ” OH MY GOD” he thought to himself, “How could I not have heard this happening in the night? He rushed out to quickly assess the situation and immediately sank into four feet of the coldest, fluffiest stuff he had ever encountered. Talk about “firsts”! His feet were cold, the fluff was in his eyes and sniffing as hard as he could, he could not discern an odor to it. It was the damnedest thing he had ever seen…and yet… boy was it cool. I mean way cool. With leaps and bounds he sprung up and about, all over the yard, not caring if he got blamed for not catching whoever did this but putting on a pretty good show of an investigation, as his Dad stood in the doorway emitting between laughs, calls of ” you get um boy”.

When the cold finally got the best of him and Dad convinced him to come back inside to warmth and a slice of bacon, neither being a hard sell, he settled down on his blanket to ponder the changes in his world. Who knew what would happen next? He had heard talk of someone expected to break into the house, via the chimney and something about reindeer flying and landing on rooftops? It was all just a little much for him to fathom and with the logic that only a dog possesses, he decided he had best take a nap to prepare for more firsts that were possibly just around the tree.

First Time, Friday

Write about the first time…..

Through the Grey

mcwhittle — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:58:13 +0000

The colors of the holidays could not dispel the grey in her soul. Two that she loved had passed during the previous months and their memories seemed to drape, over what should be a glorious time of year, a thin veil of melancholy on her life. Her continual stream of activity: the baking, the shopping, the wrapping, none seemed to enable her to rise above the shroud of what could only be a re-occurrence of mourning; that which she thought she had, if not moved past, at least buried deep beneath the facade of her smiles.

Soon Christmas day would be upon her and the house would be filled with some of the ones that she loved, at least with the ones still left behind. The spirits of those gone would take it upon themselves to return into the corners of her heart and the memories of holidays past would once again begin to fill her with, if not total happiness, with at least some peace.

Those that were gone, would never totally leave her to bear the sadness alone especially during the holidays, for in their lives they had been there for her and in their deaths their love was enough to carry and sustain her through the grey.

A portion of a day in the life….

mcwhittle — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 22:30:40 +0000

So I’m sitting in my hotel room, eating take out on the bed ( I envision the nodding and murmurs -”been there done that “from fellow road warriors out there) and while thankful for another days work… very damn glad that it’s over for the day anyway.

Being out on the road has its pros and cons, as all jobs do, but one of the most enjoyable is the ability to become a complete slob in your hotel room after work. Each and every morning ( or evening) depending on one’s shift, ya gotta put on that smiley face, dress in what the various companies that I work for call “professional casual”,( which is somewhere between being really comfortable ie: no jeans or sweat pants, and having to wear clothes your Mother would deem appropriate for Sunday-go-to meetin-day) and shlep (I was in NJ way too long this year) out to meet the world.

Getting back to ones hotel it’s Kattie bar-the -door…pj’s and sweatshirts are the norm, perhaps a pair of fuzzy slippers for the tired feet, off goes the makeup,up goes the hair in a pony tail and out comes whatever was meal was closest, cheapish and portable that could be brought back to “the sanctuary”. Reruns of Seinfield, which never bore, or a Fox news recap (over and over) or if feeling particularly brain dead, watching the weather channel and their redundant forecasts or tales of THIS COULD HAPPEN IN (insert whatever town you happen to be in), where one can watch houses be blown or washed away…repeatedly are entertainment choices. So much to watch so little time before I fall asleep. ( well it was a 10 hour damn day)

Forgot napkins, well there are wash cloths available. Need salt and pepper? Borrow them from the front desk, they always have some there. Forgot desert?, There is always extra yogurt, banana or even a cinnamon bun squirreled away from the “free morning breakfast”. No prep or dish-washing necessary. Life is good ( not all the time cheap if you don’t want to eat burgers every night) but all in all it’s good.

So while I’m re-nuking desert, I thought I’d just share for a moment….

We were just in NJ and I thought folks might enjoy some of of the burning questions that I had to answer from the folks that I met.

In an effort to provide insight to all of those inquisitive minds yet, in the interest of time saving, ( surely there is something good to watch on TV) only the answers will be provided here.

1. ” Why yes I’ll have dessert. The canolli please.” (alternate answer, ” Yes I’ll have the cheese cake” or Yes I’ll have the taramisu”

2. “Why no, I’m not from around here, and I love your accent too.”

3. “Pawleys Island, South Carolina”

4. “No, that’s not near Appalachia”

5. “Yes our property taxes are quite a bit lower than yours”

6, “No, our suburbs aren’t in the middle of nowhere.”

7. “Yes we have sidewalks and streetlights”

8. “Yes, we even have sewer systems”

9. “Yes, we’re allowed to turn left in South Carolina”

______________

I think there were more answers, however that ding you heard was the mini microwave reheating my cinnamon bun…. and dang, Jerry is on…Where in the hell are my slippers..? Poke me with a fork I’m done for the day..

Fade to Black

mcwhittle — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 04:00:53 +0000

She finished the painting and stood in the middle of the room gazing at her hard work. It had not been an easy job, lots of attention to detail and she was such a stickler for detail. It had to be right this time around; the perfect room to reflect her innermost self. Colors had always played an important part in her life and she was, at least in her own mind, one of the few people alive that could properly express their true inner feelings via Sherman Williams Latex,Satin or Gloss.

When they had bought the house so many years ago, the first thing she had done was begin the restoration, a transformation really. Paint cans, drop cloths, brushes, containers of turpentine had been scattered about the house. Being a slight bit A.D.D, finishing one room at time was just not within her scope of reality. Her husband had realized that fact from early on, so he just tried to stay out of her way as she moved from room to room, wall to wall, painting the pastel colors of pink, teal, and cream to reflect her contentment with her life. Things were calm back then, smooth was her life; smooth as the satin coating on the chair rail.

Years passed quickly, as they are often apt to do. Her life became a whirlwind of activity. Kids, social butterflying, working toward being a supermom like all of her friends, “frantic is the way” became her mantra. She stretched herself thin so to create a decorum of perfection. She had to show the world just how vibrant her life had become, again mostly in her own mind. Out came the paint paraphernalia and the interior of her house now assumed the colors of her life. Bold reds, shocking blues, vibrant greens and small splashes of delusional orange, just enough to catch your eye and make you start to wonder, “Was her life really all it was cracked up to be?” Perception is reality for some, but especially for her, reality was defined in the colors of her life.

Little by little as time marched on it did to her as it does to everyone; create a vacuum. Kids grow up and away, friends slide to the peripheral and her whorl-wind of the moment in primary colors began to fade. The tints began to separate as loved ones near and dear began to fall by the wayside. Life now had become more than she could bear and once again it was time to repaint the house and change the final hue of her humanity.

She stood old and gray, alone with her sadness, paint brush in hand, it hung at her side. The windows were shut so not a breeze kissed her face as she allowed her eyes to gaze at the walls. Black was the paint, flat and cold, perhaps a true reflection of all that there was left in her life. From the ceiling to the floor the color wrapped her in the starkness of being alone. It had been a good life but for her she knew it was soon to be over, The proof was on the walls, the colors were all gone.

Thinking Ten: Plot Thickens, Thursday:

…black paint…

Moving Sidewalks

mcwhittle — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 16:30:38 +0000

The moving sidewalks kept the two parallel lines orderly. No pushing and shoving allowed. I looked around for a familiar face but as the queues stretched before and aft for what seemed eternity, I had no luck. Letting my mind wander to the events that had brought me to this place, I wanted to smile. Justice had been served for all parties involved. I had wielded the ax high and hard into Jacks’ head to insure he would never hurt anyone ever again. The state had welded it’s gavel just as sure and almost as swiftly, in order to satisfy the blood thirsty thongs outside the courthouse. The blind lady’s scale remained even. With a sigh, I thought to myself, “Oh my”.

Where we were headed was anyone’s guess, but I could see on the horizon a fork in the road where the sidewalks seemed to peel away from one another. Looking to my right, at my parallel traveler, she seemed content and at peace. When I raised my eyebrows in a questioning manner, she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say. ” Who knows?”. I nodded back ” Oh well”.

The sidewalks began to split apart and looking over my shoulder I waved farewell to the quiet women that had traveled by my side. Facing towards our new destination I could make out the light in the distance and noticed that the surrounding atmosphere was starting to warm up considerately. A sliver of fear stabbed my heart and I thought to myself “Oh Hell.”

Brain Freeze

mcwhittle — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 20:58:53 +0000

“Ohmagod, ohmagod, ohmagod… he’s coming…damn, damn, 2..1..3..5..7,

“Ohmagod, ohmagod, ohmagod…like totally ,not ready, not ready.. not yet…….2….1….2….5…5..

“Ohmagod, ohmagod…. like, chill… damn it….hurry..hurry, hurry …..2…1….3….5….6. I got it……

Cha-Clang… !!!!!

“Dammit Sara, Stop slinging your locker door in my face……… Bitch….”

“Mind yer own business, boo, I got a face to put on and hair to fluff on in less than 30 seconds.”

…tick-toc..

………”Hi Chad”…………..

Thinking Ten’s Prompt Today

Friday Challenge:

2…1…3…5…6

The Final Battle

mcwhittle — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 13:24:31 +0000

She reigned supreme from her position in the main room. Wrapped tightly in a blanket of power, surrounded by potions and balms, some crafted by her own hand, others brought in from the outside to aid in the battle in which she was the general. She had worked thru the dark hours and planned her strategy to continue leading the charge in the defeat of the enemy

Nights had come and gone, sounds of what seemed like death rattles plagued the kingdom. Those unnerving sounds of the war waxed and waned, making her loyal subjects concerned if or when it would finally come to an end. Cold winds alternating with hot, had kept her mind in a state of confusion and having to continue fighting thru what were her mandatory duties seemed to make every bone in her body cry out, ” No more, no more”. She had a strong constitution however and even while she could feel the enemies gathering for their final rally, she knew in her heart that she would get them all thru this and she and she alone would bring relief and comfort to her subjects.

As the early morning sun began to peak thru her window, a ray of light danced across her face as if to say, today is the day, the tide will turn and things will begin to look up for all of her subjects. She threw off the blanket in which she had been wrapped and as a surge of energy coursed thru her veins she new that she no longer needed the warmth of that cocoon.

Gathering up her potions and balms , she made her way down the drafty hallway, knocking on doors, calling out to her subjects for the final rally Head held high, she was ready to continue to lead and fight for the rest of them. She had regained her strength and finally she had the knowledge and the right combination of potions. She would guide them all out of what must surely seem to be the lowest depths of hell. Summer colds were just a bitch.

Plot Thickens, Thursday

Wrapped in a blanket