A Day at a Time

One Day at a Time

Seventy-year-old Alice took a tumble down the stairs at home and had undergo major surgery to repair broken bones. From what different friends shared when they came to visit her in the hospital, she realized it was going to take her months to fully recover.  A few weeks of being immobilized, then taking it easy for weeks after.

She sighed when she realized she’d need to get a Home Care worker in help her with her own needs and depend on her family to take care of her home. After a few days she felt overwhelmed and depressed. The next time her doctor came around to check on her, she was almost in tears. “How long will I have to be so helpless?”

The doctor answered cheerfully, “Only one day at a time, dear.”

His comforting words dispelled the dark cloud that had settled on her. She didn’t have to be “down and out” for months but rather one day at a time. The thought gave her courage to face the days ahead. She had to remind herself of his words many times, though, during her recovery.

Trust today and leave tomorrow;
each day has enough of care;
so whate’er may be thy burden,
God will give thee strength to bear.
–Anon

Gifts and Children’s Whims

Seasons greetings to all my Readers and Followers.

Is everyone in a “holly jolly Christmas” mood? I wish for you one and all happy holidays with lots of sweet getting-together times. We’re planning to enjoy Christmas dinner with our children and grandchildren and have a gift exchange in the afternoon.

Seems we’re going to have a white Christmas after all. We’ve come through a spell of unseasonably mild temperatures and the snow that fell in November slowly disappeared. In the last few days we’ve gotten a bit more and the temp is dropping.

I haven’t posted anything for a week, trying to get through an un-jolly blue funk. I sometimes feel like I’m swimming through mud, wishing I had lots of energy and enthusiasm but rather feeling exhaustion and depression. Getting stuck in a mire about what little I’ve accomplished versus what all I should be doing.

I find it heartwarming to hear those cheery old Christmas carols like “Joy to the World.” I realize that feelings come and go, will drag us down at times, but the world is singing of great Joy: our God remembers us in all our trials and has sent us a Counselor and Guide. I’ll never be all I should be or do all I should do, but Christmas comes every year to remind us God is ever merciful.

On a happier note, for Friday Fictioneers this week I wrote this story to go with the photo prompt: “The Princess and the Pea Green Hat.” Now I offer a “choose your own ending” for this tale. Read the story and choose which ending you like best of those below. Or add your own in the comments. 🙂

1) Princess loved the hat and wore it everywhere until she outgrew it.

2) She loved it, wore it on their holiday trip, and left it at a MacDonalds 1500 miles from home.

3) She wore it to school once but no one else was wearing a hat like this. Being a sensitive child she refused to wear it again and be called weird.

4) She wore it to school, but so many others were wearing a hat like this, hers wasn’t a novelty at all. Being a sensitive child, she refused to wear it again and look like everybody else.

5) She had a fight with her friend Tiannia, whose Mom knitted the hat, and tossed the thing in a dumpster for spite.

6) She felt sorry for all the poor children who have no hats, so she donated it to a charity.

♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬

I can sympathize with Princess, her eager-to-please mother and long-suffering father. When it came to Christmas gifts, I was an odd child — or a normal one with very indulgent Aunt & Uncle. (I grew up with them as my parents.) I asked for some ridiculous things, on a whim more or less, and Mom & Dad F (read “Dad” here) bought them for me.

Like when I asked for a typewriter when I was nine, or a microscope when I was ten. Whatever possessed me!? Of course these items were a novelty for a few days after Christmas, then I put them away and seldom looked at them again. (What an ungrateful wretch!)

Much to my parents’ dismay. “You wanted this thing and now you’ve got it and you never play with it!” I felt bad, but I’d completely lost interest. Mom & Dad F were just scraping by; Dad had serious health issues after the War and missed a lot of work for awhile. Only as an adult did I realize the sacrifice they made to get me those things. To top it off, my siblings (raised by our parents) consequently often griped that “Whatever you ask for Uncle Fred buys you.”

Children have such brilliant — but fleeting — whims. For my folks’ sake I wish they’d said, “Forget it. Here’s a doll.” Or I’d had some smarts myself and not asked for expensive novelties. (Though the typewriter did get some use several years later when I was in high school.)

Mind you, they usually gave me the book I wanted, too — often the current Nancy Drew Mystery — and those I appreciated for years. So I have lots of good Christmas memories in addition to a few guilt-trippy ones. 🙂

All I can say now is, give your children and grandchildren whatever you want, but don’t expect undying appreciation. They are children.

She’s Somewhere Else

Dementia

Grandma’s somewhere else
though she sits beside me.
Though I hold her hand
and we chat about little things
she might remember.

I didn’t tell her
it rained again last night,
that fall is here; the trees are bare.

Today’s rain can’t touch her;
Grandma’s somewhere else
where the trees are ever green–
where she barely hears my voice.

— C.G. (2013)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this story as my Friday Flash Fiction contribution this week.
The exactly-100-words story posted was yesterday on Friday Tales:

A LIGHT LOOK

That streetlight looks so familiar, Adina thought. But where’s Henry? Why has he left me here?

“Mom. Stop!” Adina turned and saw Judy running down the sidewalk toward her.

“You were to stay in the house and wait for me, Mom.”

“But I have to find Dad. We’re supposed to go somewhere.”

Judy took her by the arm. “You have an appointment, remember. I’m taking you. I just stopped for a quick pee first.”

Adina chuckled. “You’re too old to pee, Judy.”

Judy burst out laughing, wiping away a tear. “Come on. Let’s get in the car.”

Why does she cry when she laughs? Adina wondered. What’s wrong with that girl?

 

When Tales, Like Mice, Scurry Through

HELP!

Can you share a bit of your wisdom and experience with me, dear Readers? ‘Cause I really need some guidance in managing my attention deficit disorder (or whatever it is?) as I prepare for NanoWrimo.

I’ve always had trouble making decisions, nothing new about having six suggestions pop up to fill one morning and not knowing where to start. Since I had chemo-therapy my brain seems fuzzier than ever; some mornings I feel like a dozen worthwhile ideas are scurrying through my mind and I just can’t grab one and hold it still long enough to execute the task.

Kind of like mice in a cheese factory.

Saturday I re-read a book on how to become a faster writer. (Will do a book review in my next post.) Practice, he says. Time yourself. Every day; keep on track. By using this system he’s trained himself to write 5000 WORDS PER HOUR — the title of his book.

When Tales, Like Mice, Scurry Through

So I sat down to do one of the sprints he recommended and … um… what should I write? I can think of a lot of little tales and experiences I could relate. Alas! Here’s where my ADD comes in. I’m giving myself permission to sit at the computer and type straight time for fifteen minutes, and I reach to grab one of those tales I’ve always wanted to tell. Suddenly four others run across my mind, squeaking, “NO! Write ME!”

Now how to catch and nail down one of these speedy little inspiration flashes and actually get something written? Like most writers I’ve stored up a number of short stories I want to write and like mice, they all pop out of the holes in my brain as if someone had yelled, Cheese! Come and get it.”

But when I grab for one, they all dodge. I get hold of one and it evaporates while several others run across my hand. I see one but before I’ve got it by the tail it’s into some dark hole where I can’t reach it. Does anyone else have this problem? How do you solve it?

Annoying as it is, this isn’t such a big thing. Finally I do sit down and write something and it doesn’t much matter what because this is, after all, just a practice.

NaNoWriMo Challenge

My problem is that NaNoWriMo is coming up in November and I really want to do it this year. But I’m in the same predicament. Half a dozen mice are jiving around my brain, wanting to be written. How do you decide, when you can think of at least four books you’ve always wanted to write? Toss the titles in a hat and pull one out?

I did decide on one, but it’s the fuzziest idea in the bunch. Several book are resting in my “Someday Box” as I sit here, waiting to see the light of day. I’ve worked them through in my mind over the years and could just sit down and write. Yet I’ve picked the vaguest one, planning to flesh it out as I go along. Hit by a wave of cold feet now. Will I be able to?

It a challenge, right? At present this story-line is like a skeleton whose larger bones are lying at my feet, but all the small bones are scattered and must be gathered up this week. Bits and pieces are coming to me. But there are so many other stories I could start on. Or some more short tales about Winnie and Raylene. I’ve been wanting to do a short humorous book featuring those two friends. Another mouse joins the party in my mind.

If you’ve ever wondered what living with attention deficit is like, now you know. Any suggestions?

PS:
I did this bit and the book review as my first exercise, managed to write 650 words in 15 minutes, knowing exactly what I wanted to say. I wrote one scene from my upcoming book as the next day’s exercise and did 450 words in 15 minutes. The difference between knowing exactly what I wanted to say and having to plan as I write. I won’t be doing 5000 words per hour next month. 🙂

 

Committed to Optimism

Arthur Tennyson, brother of the famous poet Alfred, developed cataracts in his later years and gradually went blind as a result. Nevertheless, his determination to look on the bright side was an inspiration to those who knew him. Discussing his loss of vision with a friend one day he said, “God has sent me to His night school.”

Arthur lived to be 85 and, though his sight was gone, he used his other senses to observe his surroundings. He was enjoying a walk one spring morning when he met up with a friend, to whom he expressed how excited he was by all the joys of spring he could hear and feel around him.

Modern medicine has done wonders to increase the pleasure of our older years, but nothing beats a positive outlook.

Free Book: Rescuing Finley

I have great news for readers who like an inspiring contemporary fiction story. Dan Walsh is one of my favorite writers and I see that his book, Rescuing Finley, is FREE today on Amazon.

Here’s my review of Rescuing Finley

Amy Wallace was a recovering meth addict, who lost her job and needed friends. Sad to say, two “friends” had in mind some shoplifting: they wanted to steal an expensive ring from a department store’s jewellery section. And they had in mind Amy should be the one to pocket the goods. Which meant Amy was the one who got caught and sent to prison.

Ever since he finished high school Chaz wanted to sign up with the Marine Corps. His mother protested angrily when he told her, “I signed up today. It’s for two years — but they’ll go fast.” She needed him to help her survive. And what about Finley?

Chaz was Finley’s whole world, the one human who loved him. Chaz’s mother barely tolerated Finley in her small apartment. We understand through his eyes how abandoned and confused he was when Chaz left — and never returned. Finley couldn’t know his master’s life ended on a battlefield, but he knew something was very wrong. Lost in her own grief Chaz’s mother couldn’t deal with a dog — especially a huge one like Finley. Feeling guilty but desperate, she dropped him off at an animal shelter.

Chris Seger’s life as he knew it also ended while on a mission in Afghanistan, when he stepped on a land mine. A permanent ticket home — minus one leg. Stateside, after months of therapy, he found work with an understanding and flexible employer, but he wrestled constantly with PTSD, depression and the nightmares. Then a pal suggested he look into this new program: service dogs for the disabled.

Dan Walsh does an excellent job of taking us through Chris, Finley, and Amy’s lives as they struggle to start again. Then he brings them together in a winning story of forgiveness and healing. At the same time he walks readers through a great program where prisoners work with dogs, training them as companions for veterans with PTSD.

I found this a terrific, heart-touching book and shed quite a few tears as I watched the story unfold. Five stars from me.

Stroke of Bad Luck

Levi groaned and shifted in bed. Groggily he opened his eyes. Man, the light hurt! Then he was jolted awake by the realization that someone was lying beside him.

He turned to see who it was and his eyes opened wide. Who was SHE? He sat up and looked around the strange room. Was he drunk? Why did his head feel so funny? He rubbed his face with his hands and noticed…a wedding ring!

Whoever she was sat up and kissed his cheek. “Morning, love.”

He rolled out of bed and stood, gripping the corner of a dresser. His glance fell on a studio photo, a wedding picture. Him and her. When? Why couldn’t he remember? He touched the picture. “Uh, how long have we been…married?”

He heard a little gasp. “It was two years last month. Levi, are you okay? Is your headache worse?”

“Headache?” he echoed and shook his head.

“You went to bed with a headache last night, remember?”

He felt no pain now but something wasn’t right. Nothing in the room looked familiar. He eyed the picture. At least he’d picked a pretty wife. Her voice was nice, too. What was her name?

He glanced out the window and the whiteness startled him. “It’s winter!”

“Maybe you should lie down again, Honey.” She sounded hesitant, worried.

Carefully he turned toward her. “My parents? Where are they? I need to see them.” Were they even still alive?

“Dad will be leaving for work about now, but Mom’ll be there at home.” She stood up and looked at him, her dark eyes reflecting her fear. “Sure. Let’s go see her. And maybe you should see a doctor, too?” She grabbed a robe and left the room.

Levi found the bathroom and had a shower. Then he hunted through dresser drawers to find clothes. He picked out some familiar ones and put them on.

When he found his way to the kitchen later he saw a laptop on the table, open to a screen headed “Signs of Stroke.” He pondered that word. Is that what had happened to him?

Writer’s note:

The dialogue is fiction, but a friend told me about a 30-year-old neighbour of hers who had a stroke in the night and five years of his life’s memory banks were completely wiped out. Not only had he gotten married a couple of years before and bought a little house, but he’d also started a business. Life can hand you a real whammy sometimes.