Flutterby Butterfly

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Let me get a couple of administrative details out of the way first.

1) If you’d like to read my short story “End of the Line”, then you need to go buy a copy of Idea Gems Tough Lit VI.  It costs a dollar to download (and you can download it to your PC if you don’t have a Kindle). (And if you’re really interested, you can buy it in physical touchy-feely format for $8.50.) Yes! I’m SO excited to have a piece in a publication that people actually have to pay MONEY to read! Please, go check it out.

2) The following is my entry for Velvet Verbosity’s 100 word challenge, where the word of the week is Fragile.

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Butterflies get credit for grace thanks to their intricate, crystalline bodies. But whenever I try to photograph them, I  realize how jagged their flight patterns are. They skirt and dodge and return to the same plant in a genetically imprinted dance of predator avoidance.

 

They protect those fragile wings with unceasing motion, rarely stopping to enjoy more than a sip at any one flower. Watching them is exhausting. But I can’t look away. Because in those flicks and flashes, they hide brilliant colors and extraordinary patterns. If I turn my head, I risk overlooking the most stunning beauty in nature.

 

Yes, there is a dragonfly here


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Trouble came easy in those days. Cassandra remembered sitting on Tyree’s stoop when Stoney Hamilton sloshed down Scoville swearing and firing a handgun. “Goddamn, cunt, bitch, asshole, hoebag, fuck!” And at ‘fuck’, he pointed his gun straight in the air and staggered forward a few more steps.

“Listen at him.”  Tyree rose to watch. Cassandra joined him.

Cassandra said, “That’s not going to stand.”

Stoney swiveled until he found them. “Goddamn, cunt, bitch…”

“Yeah, I know, hoebag and all that dumb shit. Put down that gun before you hurt somebody.” As Cassandra resumed her seat, Stoney aimed at her and pulled the trigger. The roaring report set him off balance.

“Jesus Christ, what you doing?” Tyree screamed.

Stoney shot at him too, then stumbled around the corner to 59th.

“You OK?”

Cassandra ran her hand along her scalp. It came away red. “He grazed me!” she said.

Tyree looked behind her. Both bullets had passed through the siding and into the apartment. “I think you  need stitches.”

“Naw. Scalp wounds are just messy is all.” A double trickle of blood seeped down her forehead, just above her left eye. She wiped it away and looked out to the street. In the place where Stoney had been, she suddenly saw herself.  Her scalp burned, the blood was in her eye, and she looked down her years to a future defined by this one street, this one scar.

She got up off of Tyree’s stoop and headed out the gate. “Where you going?” Tyree shouted.

“It’s time for me to be somebody else.”

“Wait! “ Let me get you a towel!”

She did not wait. She turned onto Scoville and walked towards Shiloh Baptist, wiping blood from her face.  She looked back twice on her way up the street, half hoping to see Tyree behind her. But he did not come. Her feet propelled her away from him, away from the ghost of her future, away from the crossroads of Scoville and 59th.

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This week at Trifecta, we are being asked to use the 3rd definition of the word ‘trouble’. Come play with us if you have a moment.

Houseguests Part III (final)

Posted on by February 25, 2020

It happened so fast, and exactly on the day we had to let Fudge go. It was this one bright, beautiful spot on a sad day. And I was too full right then to blog about it.  Exactly seven days after the first of the caterpillars went into their chrysalides, those four all emerged. Caroline made a remark walking out the door that she thought we might have butterflies today, and an hour after she was gone, I looked behind me to see that POOF they had arrived. They came soundlessly, and the only warning we had was darkening of the crysalides, which I was too slow to photograph. This is how they looked in their first hours, all four of them clinging to the paper they emerged upon. The red stuff is meconium. It shares its name with a baby’s first poop, and basically it’s the same thing. It’s not blood at all, just goo left over from the metamorphosis. (Keep in mind, these guys completely liquefy when they transform. This isn’t just somebody growing on random wings.)  It’s odorless and quite harmless. The next day, the fifth guy popped on out. (We had six caterpillars, but one didn’t survive into his chrysalis.)   We admired them all week long, and I even posted about them on Friday, after they got jiggy with it. Because I only had 33 words to discuss the house guests in my Trifecta entry, I didn’t spend nearly enough time talking about their emergence. (I was to interested in butterfly sex. I’ll be admitted to rehab soon for my butterfly porn problems, I’m sure.)

As soon as the first one emerged, Sam said, “Let’s release them in Callaway Gardens.” It seemed like the perfect thing to do. We already knew we wanted to go away for a few days after Fudge was gone. It made the empty house on Sunday seem normal, since we often had to wait  a day to pick him up from the vet. It was an illusion, of course, and we couldn’t go get him from anywhere yesterday.  But going away for the weekend and setting the butterflies free gave us a lot of peace. It was a symbolic release, as well as a physical one.

However, it was NOT a particularly pictoral one. I had hoped for angelic pictures of the butterflies alighting on my children. No go. It was more like they all yelled FREEDOMMMMM and bolted for the skies. I got two hasty shots in before they were all gone. After they flitted off, I did, however, get one spectacular picture. I have no idea what’s going on with this guy’s wing. It was perfectly fine, and he (or she – even having viewed butterfly sex, I wouldn’t know girl from boy if they coated me with pheromones) flitted magically from flower to flower. I was lucky to get this shot in, and I didn’t think it had taken until I got home and examined the results on my camera. Anyway, we went around the butterfly gardens (indoor and out) and I got some more marvelous pictures, but they are for tomorrow’s post. For today, the house guests are gone, but we hope to invite more like them in the very near future.

Memories Captured May: Once Upon A Train

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Once more this month, I’m linking up with Galit Breen of These Little Waves and Alison of Mama Wants This for their monthly Memories Captured Link-up. I think my favorite thing about this meme is the way it invites me to explore an entirely different style of writing. It’s WAY outside my comfort zone, and I’m always challenged to truly capture an authentic memory in my own voice.

Mother’s Day From Authors

Posted on by February 25, 2020

And now, allow me to bring you the best and most unexpected guest post ever. I took the kids grocery shopping, and we picked out Sam’s birthday cake for next weekend, and when I got back, Scott had written me a mother’s day card with various quotations of dubious origin. These are things the authors only told him, let me assure you.

But I will share them with you, because I love you like my mother. Or something.

“Fork clang. Shoes on. Love. the trash went out…”  — Joyce

“Love. Pointless. Dying. Alone. Perhaps only partly cloudy.”– Hemingway

“Love, a yes, that, as it spring forth anew each day with the force of a river fed from high in the mountains, from a spring up there…” — Dickens

“Love, the thing that is beautiful just like a rose” — Shakespeare

“A life without love is like a squirrel pie without the squirrel” — William Shakespeare Bocephus.

Beauty and The Beast

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Sam’s Saga starts here:
Sam Part I,

Sam Part II,
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Sam has had a rough year. A rough, rough year. He loves ballet, but he nearly rejected it because he went through a phase of hating everything. And when things were at the utworst, when I thought he was going to have to stop dance, the ballet reached out to him. This was late last year.

They were making a calendar. They needed a little boy to be in a picture, and would Sam please come. OK, let me be clear. They did NOT need a little boy for a picture. Or if they did, they have got two other really cooperative little guys who could have served the role. They asked for Sam because they wanted to engage him when he was so desperately strung out. Did I just write that my four year old was strung out? Jesus.

The day he went, he could not have been less cooperative. Not if he’d tried. He refused to do poses. He refused to dance. He refused to sit still. In the end, they somehow got exactly one picture of the back of his head as he watched a danseur leap. I really didn’t think it would be a good photo. But it was. I certainly didn’t expect them to end up putting it in the calendar. But they did.

When we hung the calendar in his room and he realized HIS picture was in it? The pure joy on his face. I was so thankful.

Now, let’s fast forward to the end of year recital, which was Thursday. I had some forewarning of what was coming, because I’d sat through dress rehearsal, but that recital made me cry. Both kids’ dances were simply beautiful. They’ve both been looking so forward to it. Caroline was a girl in a white dress with a blue satin sash and yes, the song was “My Favorite Things”. She looked so graceful and poised. I wept. I love The Sound of Music. I love that song.

 

But even before she got onstage, I was already crying, because of Sam. I knew his class was doing Disney Fairy Tales. I knew he was “The Beast”, and that the two girls (there are only three in his class) were both Belle. (There are several 4-5 year old classes, and his is by far the smallest.)  I had been bitching my head off about the two songs from Snow White that had just played. (I hate most of the princess films.) I should have been able to connect the dots.

But when Angela Lansbury’s song came on, all my air escaped, and my chest felt like someone was tightening a corset. I love Beauty and The Beast. It’s the only one of the Princess movies that I enjoy without reservation. Belle is a little less sexist than the others. The music has always captivated me. And that song? It hit me where I didn’t expect it.

And then Sam skipped on. All by himself, he completed this elegant spiral, then gestured to the wings with professionalism I would expect of a kid six years older. There’s one girl in his class who we all agree will someday be professional. She’s just so focused and poised. And she’s had a huge influence on Sam and the other little girl. And then, too, with only three kids in the class, Miss Kyana could really concentrate on each of them more. So there are clear reasons why his class was light years ahead of the others in the same age group. But it still took my breath away.

When they did the show for real, it was even more stunning than the night before. There was a moment when all three of them did a graceful little step to the left in perfect synchronization, and the audience ‘ahed’. And Sam’s bow at the end was so solemn. Dear God.

Words fail me. Miss Kyana knows what Sam has been through. She knows how apt the beast to prince characterization is for him right now. (Only, unlike the movie, he goes back and forth between the two personalities.) She gave him this dance as a gift, a profound symbol of how far he has come.

It boils down to this. All year long, Scott and I have felt alone. We have dealt with educators who should have been reasonably expected to give Sam a chance who have, instead, dragged him down. We have worked with teachers who love him very much who just couldn’t help him any more. We have interacted with therapists, and psychologists, and counselors, and psychiatrists who have Sam’s best interests at heart (well, and one who didn’t). They’re the ones who have helped us get him turned around before his little train crashed. But this year, school has failed Sam. Except not ballet school.

We found an unexpected reserve of support where we least expected it. All year long, when there was no reason to think that they would or could extend flexibility to him, his teachers have had Sam’s back. Just like they had Caroline’s back from day one when she knew ‘left’ and ‘right’ but couldn’t turn in either direction no matter how she tried.  In a world traditionally depicted as so conditioned and disciplined that art becomes more important than humanity, we have fallen into a deep well of loving kindness. The Montgomery Ballet has created a haven for my child at a time when he has needed it most.

I am so very grateful.
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The tale continues here:

Sam Part III

Sam Part IV

Fix You

Houseguests Part II

Posted on by February 25, 2020

The houseguests emerged. Butterflies don’t typically breed in captivity, but last night we are pretty sure ours did. We think, in fact, that this weekend we will be releasing an egg-heavy butterfly mother.

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This weekend at Trifextra, we can write whatever we want, but it can only be 33 words long, and it has to include the word mother.

We didn’t take any pictures, but here’s youtube video that looks like it was made by people whose butterflies came from the same place. That habitat looks a lot like ours.

May I just say…it took their butterflies ages to move past ‘mating ritual’ into ‘actual mating’. It took ours …. days? Hours? Not long at all. Caroline came in and said, “I think something is wrong. Two of the butterflies are stuck together.” And yes, two butterflies were pretty much glued to each other. SO I explained butterfly sex. She was … interested. Mostly, she was relieved nothing was wrong.

 

All Fooked Up

Posted on by February 25, 2020

It’s a day of guest posts and fantastic followups for me today.

First, I have a hilarious guest post up on Lynn’s blog, All Fooked Up today. I actually first came to All Fooked Up because another blogger did a guest post. When Missy, The Literal Mom did this post about her favorite word, I followed along to discover other bloggers who adore F-bombs as much as I do. I subscribed immediately, and I haven’t been disappointed.

Lynn runs a regular guest post series called Go Ahead, Amuse Me where she features funnies from other bloggers. She welcomes guest posts, too, you just have to be FUNNY. (You don’t even have to have a blog.) Check out the site, check out my hilarious guest post (in which I explain how to blog and mock my own math deficiencies, then FORGET I HAVE DONE SO in the comments), and fall in love with a fucking funny blogger.

Today is also the second day for the Dumpster Diving Story Circle over at Cameron D. Garriepy’s blog. I wrote the first installment last week, and this week, the story has been picked up by Eric Storch over at I Can’t Brain Today, I Have the Dumb.  The fact that I wrote the first part means nothing. I could never have imagined the terrifying twist Eric would bring to things with today’s installment!!

And, since this entire post is about linking you to other blogs, here’s a gratuitous picture of my kids dressed up for their dance recital dress rehearsal. More about THAT tomorrow.

Communication Gap

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“You are quite the enigma.” Jerilee’s new foster mother studied the smiling girl. This was the child’s third full day in the home. Mama Fernandez moved clean socks from a red to a yellow basket as she tucked pairs together. “It’s certainly pleasant to be in your company,” she continued. “Does the racket bother you here?”

Jerilee went on smiling and began kicking her feet against the bed. Mama Fernandez finished another pair of socks.“I talked to your teacher again today.  She said you got a 100 on the spelling test all three times you turned it in. But she wants you to remember you aren’t responsible for your classmates’ work.”

Possibly, Jerilee bobbed her head. Possibly, she just smiled more. “Anyway,” said Mama Fernandez, “I wondered if I could get your help with some of this folding?” With one foot, she nudged a blue basket of shirts across the floor.

Immediately, Jerilee scrambled backwards on the bed, stretched her legs long, reached out her hands until they wrapped under the soles of her feet, then buried her nose in between her knees.

“That’s very good dear!” Said Mama Fernandez. “But I meant I’d like you to help fold laundry, not yourself.”

Jerilee picked up her head and tilted it without letting go of her feet.

“Here. Can I have your hand?” Mama Fernandez put an unmatched sock back in the red basket.

Jerilee extended her left arm, still without changing her pose. Mama Fernandez put the blue basket on the bed, then gently sat the girl up and guided both of her hands. She moved Jerilee through the motions, then stepped back and smiled as the folding continued without her.

Just a few hours later, though, Mama Fernandez was on the phone to Jerilee’s social worker. “Maggie?” she said, “I know you told me Jerilee likes to do chores, but you forgot to tell me how to make her stop. We’re running out of shirts!”

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This is my submission for this week’s Trifecta competition, where the word of the week is enigma.

Jerilee is a composite of my daughter and several of her friends (on and off the spectrum), with the added quality that Jerilee is completely nonverbal and being shuttled around in foster care.  The story grew out of Caroline’s having to give blood a few weeks ago. The phlebotomist asked for Caroline’s arm, and pointed to the one she wanted.

Caroline gave her the other arm. I said, “You have to be really specific.”

The phlebotomist handed Caroline a red ball and said, “Now pump that fist for me.” Caroline gave her this quizzical look, because she knows ‘fist bump’ but not ‘fist pump’ and wasn’t sure if they were the same. So the phlebotomist demonstrated the motion. Caroline’s eyes lit up, and she pumped her opposite fist. After all, the fist the phlebotomist pumped didn’t have a ball in it.

The lady was actually really patient and she totally got everything on the first try, but Caroline’s efforts to do what was asked of her were running right up against her complete literal mindedness.

Donny’s Pawn Shop

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Three hundred dollars? But the chain is worth a thousand!” Mrs. Gordon tugged at her coat sleeves.

Donny said, “If you’ve got a buyer, go elsewhere.” He stood back from the counter.

Mrs. Gordon leaned in. “You’re offering me less than a third of its appraised value.”

“I’ll be able to sell it for barely half. This isn’t Tiffany’s.”

“That kind of casuistry is exactly what’s wrong with this country.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Mrs. Gordon laid her hand on the chain but didn’t pick it up. Finally, quietly, she said, “I don’t have much choice, you thriftless bastard.”

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I’m SO HAPPY. I found out in January about this 100 word challenge posted by Velvet Verbosity. And also, I found out it was on hiatus as of a couple of weeks before I found it. I wanted to pound my head into something brick! (OK, not really, but hyperbole is an awesome form of communication.) It was another word based challenge like Trifecta. And I missed it.

I really enjoy Lance’s 100 Word Song, and I do not participate in it NEARLY often enough. I love spinning off stories from songs. It’s just that getting a story down to 100 words for me, when I’m trying to capture everything I feel about a song? Yeah. Hard. (Which is good for me. But I don’t get it done often.)

But the word challenges are my favorite. I remember in 8th grade, our teacher tried to have an advanced spelling group, because she had about fifteen of us who belonged in a gifted and talented program, but the best our school could manage was to send the high school Algebra teacher back once a week. Anyway, the spelling group tanked because she was picking random impossible words out of the dictionary, and I think maybe two other students besides me spelled them right ever, and it was screwing up some other straight A averages or some bullshit.

But while it lasted, I loved it. We had to use the words in sentences. I don’t think Fanfic had really gotten wheels yet, not the kind the internet would give it, and I was always paranoid about writing using other people’s characters anyway, so I probably would never have written it. But I cheerfully wrote Tolkien themed spelling sheets. Or Thomas Covenant. Or any number of things. I’m sure that’ s where this love of word challenges comes from and why I’m not so horrible at cutting them down to required lengths.

BUT! To return to my original point (And I’m now far beyond 100 words) Velvet Verbosity is back!! I didn’t miss out! I CAN SUBMIT. This week’s word is Thriftless, and I think we all have until Friday or Saturday to play.