Prompt: "You wake up to find a dead body on the floor – and a bloody knife in your hands. You can’t remember exactly what happened, so you piece together the clues."
Erica stood stalk still for a solid minute screaming her head off. When her vision began to sway she bent over leaning on her knees trying to breathe slowly in order to prevent another fall. Her apron was covered in blood and the large knife she held in her hand was crimson as well.
"Breathe, breathe," she commanded herself. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as if that would block out the image of the heavy older woman laying motionless on her carpet.
Erica straightened up and opened one eye peering through her lashes hoping that her foggy head was playing tricks on her. But as the dismal realization dawned, that it indeed was not, she allowed her other eye to focus on the scene as well.
Her head was pounding, no doubt from the rather large bump that gave her the sensation of being a bobble-head. She glanced around. No one else seemed to be in the apartment. She couldn’t remember who this woman was or why she was here, or why it would seem, that she had killed her.
She looked into the next room and spied her little dining table. Wincing, she stepped over the woman, whose color was eerily close to matching that of the blue diamond patterns in her throw rug. She walked into the dining room and stared hard at the table. There were four place settings instead of the customary two. She quickly moved to the window and peered out at Bill’s parking spot. Their car was gone but in its place was another car she didn’t recognize.
She turned and slowly walked closer to the body and stood over it.
"I swear she’s changing colors," she mumbled, sure that the bump on her head was sending her into shock. But none of this made sense.
"I am not a murderer!" She whined out loud stomping her foot. And then she stopped as a thought suddenly hit her.
"Or am I? Ooooh, I knew those Junior High days would give me severe emotional trauma!"
Through her hair she rubbed at the growing tennis ball of a lump and decided she should get some ice on it. She turned the corner into the kitchen. Reaching for the freezer door Erica noticed the bloody knife still in her hand. She whirled around and dropped it next to the cutting board. She ran to the sink and frantically tried to wash the blood from her hands.
Erica froze mid scrub and peered at the bits of flesh and splatters of blood which covered the stainless steel bowl. She felt her stomach do a pop wheelie as the reality that she had just murdered and begun to carve this mysterious woman hit her! Her eyes went hazy and her weight tripled as her legs began to crumble beneath her.
Somewhere in the distance of her conscious mind she heard Bill’s voice announcing that he and his father were back from the store. His father? That’s right! Erica remembered. She was cooking dinner for Bill’s father and mother tonight. Blackness.
Voices. Smell of alcohol. Bright light. Heaven? No. Paramedics.
"Erica, can you hear me!?"
Erica opened her eyes slowly and peered past Bill’s shoulder as he hugged her. She heard someone say something about an anaphylactic allergic reaction and it being too late. Turning her head she saw a lavender sheet (her favorite silk one) covering the body. She bolted up only to have Bill catch her as everything swung around in circles like a merry-go-round.
Once it stopped and let her off, she remembered the pot roast. She had been cutting it when she heard the gasping noises squeaking out of her mother-in- law like a mouse stuck in a trap. She remembered trying to do the Heimlich maneuver and being unable to get her arms around the large woman.
She remembered her mother-in-law’s heavy panicked blow to her head which threw her off like a leaf fighting windshield wipers.
The almonds!
She remembered the almonds she had put in the hors d'oeuvres! The almonds she had cut up so carefully so they couldn’t be detected!
She buried her smile into Bill’s chest.
She remembered the constant criticism.
Yes, she remembered now.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Warm Cookies! Warm memories!
(True Story 4/26/10)
So this is not the first time I made cookies with a four year old and a two year old!
However the big difference this time, is that they are my daughters, not my sons!
While I am sure I have had them help before, they are actually going to make the cookies this time.
It all started this morning when my son announced he would like home-made chocolate chip cookies with M&Ms in them for the treat for Family Home Evening night tonight.
Sure, why not.
I glance out the window to see that the clouds have won their argument over the sun but tears of discontent are falling. The clouds are never satisfied. All in all...gloomy! A perfect day to stay in and feel domestic.
“Come my little prodigies, let’s bond!”
First step, we put on mother-made aprons and compliment each other on how cute we all look.
Second, we gather the bowl. This is Lucie, my two year old’s, job and she does it with great proficiency (it only takes a minute to pick up the other six bowls that end up on the floor).
Third, Sarah helps gather all the ingredients stopping to ask why “this butter is in a can?” pointing to a picture of butter on the shortening.
I explain very carefully that it is shortening, NEVER to be confused with heavenly, REAL butter. This is a ‘must know.’ As a matter-of-fact, I explain knowingly, that I only use it for this recipe and pie crusts sometime.
Up on two chairs they climb, Lucie’s wild curls springing with each excited jump (and my heart pounding as I catch her before she leaps right off the chair....(calm, child, calm!)
I regret that I didn’t do their hair as I notice Sarah’s wild blond, bed-head bangs sticking straight up in an electrocuted stance.
Ah well, what is beauty when there are cookies to be made?
One egg is sacrificed as Lu grabs it and cracks it to pieces on the side of the bowl (who taught her to do that?)
I calm Sarah’s hysterical, “Lucie broke the egg mom! Oh no! The egg!” and explain to Lucie its not time yet.
She glares at her sister with a “Oh, will you just chill?!” look.
Lucie takes her post with a wood spoon stirring everything that goes into ‘her’ bowl.
Once she realizes she will get the bowl back, she willingly allows me to move it over to Sarah who is measuring and dumping.
Sarah is very careful in her measurements and they are so cute gabbing away about ‘this’ and ‘that’.
I turn to take the bowl so I can ‘properly’ stir everything together only to find that Lucie has done an incredible job! What an arm!! She beat that dough better than a session in the wood shed! (Calm down, I don’t even HAVE a woodshed).
It is a joint effort putting the chocolate chips and M&Ms in (I don’t think they all made it in though, proved by blue and orange tounges).
Then I pull out the baking sheets and announce that it is my turn because I need to make sure that the cookies are the correct size.
Despite my declaration both girls scurry down and get spoons of their own.
Like the constant dripping of water on a rock, they beg to help make the ‘balls’.
I try to distract them and ask, “Sarah, what is your favorite part of making cookies?”
She stares at me with a painful look, not being able to scoop out the dough is such agony.
Through adorable, kissable pouty lips she whines, “I like making cookies with you.”
Ahhhh, my sweet little angel faced daughter! Her favorite part is making cookies WITH ME?!
I need another dose of that so I ask again, “What do you like doing best?”
She looks at me waving her empty spoon, scrunching her nose just a tad and says loudly, “I like doing to taste them!!”
I am shattered! So much so, that I try very hard not to laugh.
Both girls are sitting on the table with their empty spoons and such looks of apprehension and longing! I cannot help but smile and shove the bowl toward them and ask if they want to help put the cookies on the sheet.
Shouts of joy and accolades!
They dig in with no reserve and proceed to plop various sized lumps of dough onto the sheet in a myriad of designs. I scoop and teach and show but basically shrug, what does it matter?
I show Sarah where to put her spoonful and then I look to Lucie and see that she is doing a “one scoop to the pan”, “one scoop to her mouth pattern!!”
I tell them they may lick the spoon and scrape the bowl as I pop the cookie sheets into the pre-warmed oven.
After a moment I very seriously explain that part of cooking is cleaning up so when they are done licking the bowl they need to clean up.
Sarah, who is holding the bowl as they scrape it with their spoons, looks up at me questioning.
“Lick the bowl?” She looks at Lucie then puts her whole head inside the bowl and begins to lick it out!
Lucie hollers and grabs it and starts licking also!
Quickly I diffuse the building rage by taking the bowl and telling Lucie she needs to wash it.
What? A bowl full of water and a soapy brush to boot? How can anyone say this isn’t fun?!!
To Sarah I hand a washrag and instruct that she wipe the table off which she does with great gusto (Um, note to self...sweep the floor when she's done!).
We all ooh and ahh over the golden, multi-colored cookies I pull out of the oven. What warmth of memory fill our souls. Now for one little, or uh, big bite!
Squeals of delight!
So this is not the first time I made cookies with a four year old and a two year old!
However the big difference this time, is that they are my daughters, not my sons!
While I am sure I have had them help before, they are actually going to make the cookies this time.
It all started this morning when my son announced he would like home-made chocolate chip cookies with M&Ms in them for the treat for Family Home Evening night tonight.
Sure, why not.
I glance out the window to see that the clouds have won their argument over the sun but tears of discontent are falling. The clouds are never satisfied. All in all...gloomy! A perfect day to stay in and feel domestic.
“Come my little prodigies, let’s bond!”
First step, we put on mother-made aprons and compliment each other on how cute we all look.
Second, we gather the bowl. This is Lucie, my two year old’s, job and she does it with great proficiency (it only takes a minute to pick up the other six bowls that end up on the floor).
Third, Sarah helps gather all the ingredients stopping to ask why “this butter is in a can?” pointing to a picture of butter on the shortening.
I explain very carefully that it is shortening, NEVER to be confused with heavenly, REAL butter. This is a ‘must know.’ As a matter-of-fact, I explain knowingly, that I only use it for this recipe and pie crusts sometime.
Up on two chairs they climb, Lucie’s wild curls springing with each excited jump (and my heart pounding as I catch her before she leaps right off the chair....(calm, child, calm!)
I regret that I didn’t do their hair as I notice Sarah’s wild blond, bed-head bangs sticking straight up in an electrocuted stance.
Ah well, what is beauty when there are cookies to be made?
One egg is sacrificed as Lu grabs it and cracks it to pieces on the side of the bowl (who taught her to do that?)
I calm Sarah’s hysterical, “Lucie broke the egg mom! Oh no! The egg!” and explain to Lucie its not time yet.
She glares at her sister with a “Oh, will you just chill?!” look.
Lucie takes her post with a wood spoon stirring everything that goes into ‘her’ bowl.
Once she realizes she will get the bowl back, she willingly allows me to move it over to Sarah who is measuring and dumping.
Sarah is very careful in her measurements and they are so cute gabbing away about ‘this’ and ‘that’.
I turn to take the bowl so I can ‘properly’ stir everything together only to find that Lucie has done an incredible job! What an arm!! She beat that dough better than a session in the wood shed! (Calm down, I don’t even HAVE a woodshed).
It is a joint effort putting the chocolate chips and M&Ms in (I don’t think they all made it in though, proved by blue and orange tounges).
Then I pull out the baking sheets and announce that it is my turn because I need to make sure that the cookies are the correct size.
Despite my declaration both girls scurry down and get spoons of their own.
Like the constant dripping of water on a rock, they beg to help make the ‘balls’.
I try to distract them and ask, “Sarah, what is your favorite part of making cookies?”
She stares at me with a painful look, not being able to scoop out the dough is such agony.
Through adorable, kissable pouty lips she whines, “I like making cookies with you.”
Ahhhh, my sweet little angel faced daughter! Her favorite part is making cookies WITH ME?!
I need another dose of that so I ask again, “What do you like doing best?”
She looks at me waving her empty spoon, scrunching her nose just a tad and says loudly, “I like doing to taste them!!”
I am shattered! So much so, that I try very hard not to laugh.
Both girls are sitting on the table with their empty spoons and such looks of apprehension and longing! I cannot help but smile and shove the bowl toward them and ask if they want to help put the cookies on the sheet.
Shouts of joy and accolades!
They dig in with no reserve and proceed to plop various sized lumps of dough onto the sheet in a myriad of designs. I scoop and teach and show but basically shrug, what does it matter?
I show Sarah where to put her spoonful and then I look to Lucie and see that she is doing a “one scoop to the pan”, “one scoop to her mouth pattern!!”
I tell them they may lick the spoon and scrape the bowl as I pop the cookie sheets into the pre-warmed oven.
After a moment I very seriously explain that part of cooking is cleaning up so when they are done licking the bowl they need to clean up.
Sarah, who is holding the bowl as they scrape it with their spoons, looks up at me questioning.
“Lick the bowl?” She looks at Lucie then puts her whole head inside the bowl and begins to lick it out!
Lucie hollers and grabs it and starts licking also!
Quickly I diffuse the building rage by taking the bowl and telling Lucie she needs to wash it.
What? A bowl full of water and a soapy brush to boot? How can anyone say this isn’t fun?!!
To Sarah I hand a washrag and instruct that she wipe the table off which she does with great gusto (Um, note to self...sweep the floor when she's done!).
We all ooh and ahh over the golden, multi-colored cookies I pull out of the oven. What warmth of memory fill our souls. Now for one little, or uh, big bite!
Squeals of delight!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Disability
I have decided that I have a disability.
You've heard of the saying “use it or lose it”?
Well that’s truly how it is with me, no doubt. If I do not drive to a certain place at least once a week I have to make a conscious effort to remember how to get there. If it has been longer than a month I normally have to get directions written out for me. Weird huh?
I think that’s why I was never much good at math or piano or spelling or anything you have to practice a lot at.
I don’t have the time to do a lot of practicing so it just goes right out of my brain.
I am sure it leaves to make room for something more important, but I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet. Something genius though.
Do you know how many times I have taught myself how to knit and crochet? Granted it doesn't go away completely, once I see it again I remember faster. Or once I read it again, or drive it again things are familiar to me.
However a couple good points in not having a very good memory is that I can re-read books many times cuz I can never remember them (even the ones I write…they are so exciting!)
I also never hold a grudge long. First of all I have to ‘deal’ with bad feelings because I can’t function with them weighing me down. And then because of my wonderful memory it just leaves me. I can honestly say at this moment I do not hate anyone or even have bad feelings toward anyone. I probably should, but just can’t remember who or why!
So while I struggle and feel at a disadvantage in a lot of things because of this self diagnosed disability, there is a lot of good that can come from it. I have always felt compelled to keep a journal and I have ever since I was a young girl.
I LOVED Little House on the Prairie books and thought for sure someday I would write my life story like that too…uh, dunno about that…but I am glad for the record because I would have forgotten a lot of important things that have gone on in my extremely not ordinary life.
That leads me to my habitual list making. I have to make lists for everything otherwise I will stress about what I am 'forgetting.'
My almost two year old daughter erased my “list” on my grease board the other day and I about had a hernia!
If I didn’t write things down I would constantly be stressed and worried about forgetting something. My husband thought it was pretty funny because I was freaking out trying to remember what was erased.
Well, it won’t be so funny when I forget to do something he asked me to do :)
Ahhhh...my poor memory!
You've heard of the saying “use it or lose it”?
Well that’s truly how it is with me, no doubt. If I do not drive to a certain place at least once a week I have to make a conscious effort to remember how to get there. If it has been longer than a month I normally have to get directions written out for me. Weird huh?
I think that’s why I was never much good at math or piano or spelling or anything you have to practice a lot at.
I don’t have the time to do a lot of practicing so it just goes right out of my brain.
I am sure it leaves to make room for something more important, but I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet. Something genius though.
Do you know how many times I have taught myself how to knit and crochet? Granted it doesn't go away completely, once I see it again I remember faster. Or once I read it again, or drive it again things are familiar to me.
However a couple good points in not having a very good memory is that I can re-read books many times cuz I can never remember them (even the ones I write…they are so exciting!)
I also never hold a grudge long. First of all I have to ‘deal’ with bad feelings because I can’t function with them weighing me down. And then because of my wonderful memory it just leaves me. I can honestly say at this moment I do not hate anyone or even have bad feelings toward anyone. I probably should, but just can’t remember who or why!
So while I struggle and feel at a disadvantage in a lot of things because of this self diagnosed disability, there is a lot of good that can come from it. I have always felt compelled to keep a journal and I have ever since I was a young girl.
I LOVED Little House on the Prairie books and thought for sure someday I would write my life story like that too…uh, dunno about that…but I am glad for the record because I would have forgotten a lot of important things that have gone on in my extremely not ordinary life.
That leads me to my habitual list making. I have to make lists for everything otherwise I will stress about what I am 'forgetting.'
My almost two year old daughter erased my “list” on my grease board the other day and I about had a hernia!
If I didn’t write things down I would constantly be stressed and worried about forgetting something. My husband thought it was pretty funny because I was freaking out trying to remember what was erased.
Well, it won’t be so funny when I forget to do something he asked me to do :)
Ahhhh...my poor memory!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Dream Laughter
OK, so I have a somewhat silly question. Whom, out of all of you (millions I am sure) that are reading this post, dream?
OK, put your hands down, seriously, are we in a classroom?
Granted, that everyone dreams but not everyone remembers their dreams.
I happen to be one of the lucky few who remembers (and emotionally experiences) her dreams most the time, for good or for terrifying.
So I had an experience a few weeks ago and again last night where I was sound asleep dreaming and I woke up laughing!!!
For real! Laughing out loud because of something that happened in my dream!
Then of course when I realized why I was laughing I had to giggle at myself and look to see if I woke my hubby up (no worries there).
Normally I am not someone who you might call a "Sleeping Beauty" or a "Snow White" lying there beautiful with a heart full of desire to be awakened. Although I often feel like I am coming out of some kind of spell when I wake up (but I look more like Medusa than a princess and boy, can I turn people into stone with just one glare!)
I do not normally arise with a smile on my face and singing in my heart...as a matter-of-fact my husband's reflexes have got really good as he wakes me up and jumps back into a defensive position.
However, when I have had the completely refreshing experience of waking up laughing, that is an entirely different story (one to rival Disney princesses minus the snake hair).
I have been a vivid dreamer my entire life and have only experienced this about three times and all this year (it beats waking up crying or screaming or punching).
Hmmm, sounds like a set up for an analyzation of my life, I'll spare you though.
Laughing makes me happy, (you say duh) but what I mean is, even if I don't feel happy, or everything is completely going wrong (or if I have to wake up), if I can laugh, things brighten up and my emotions are actually changed! (Yeah I know, there's some scientific explanation for it all but, whatever...I'm talking about me here.)
So why do we, I, fight so hard to stay mad and not laugh or smile sometimes? I dunno, but it sure feels great when that smile wins and breaks through and the laughter bubbles out after it!
Can't think of anything that will make you smile or laugh? Grab the nearest child (a relative preferably as to not cause any law suits) and start tickling them! It's contagious! Better yet, get a baby to laugh. Works every time!
Laugh!
aeb
ps. I do realize that most people do not see "analyzation" as a real word. But I decided it is, hence my use of it. Just fyi.
OK, put your hands down, seriously, are we in a classroom?
Granted, that everyone dreams but not everyone remembers their dreams.
I happen to be one of the lucky few who remembers (and emotionally experiences) her dreams most the time, for good or for terrifying.
So I had an experience a few weeks ago and again last night where I was sound asleep dreaming and I woke up laughing!!!
For real! Laughing out loud because of something that happened in my dream!
Then of course when I realized why I was laughing I had to giggle at myself and look to see if I woke my hubby up (no worries there).
Normally I am not someone who you might call a "Sleeping Beauty" or a "Snow White" lying there beautiful with a heart full of desire to be awakened. Although I often feel like I am coming out of some kind of spell when I wake up (but I look more like Medusa than a princess and boy, can I turn people into stone with just one glare!)
I do not normally arise with a smile on my face and singing in my heart...as a matter-of-fact my husband's reflexes have got really good as he wakes me up and jumps back into a defensive position.
However, when I have had the completely refreshing experience of waking up laughing, that is an entirely different story (one to rival Disney princesses minus the snake hair).
I have been a vivid dreamer my entire life and have only experienced this about three times and all this year (it beats waking up crying or screaming or punching).
Hmmm, sounds like a set up for an analyzation of my life, I'll spare you though.
Laughing makes me happy, (you say duh) but what I mean is, even if I don't feel happy, or everything is completely going wrong (or if I have to wake up), if I can laugh, things brighten up and my emotions are actually changed! (Yeah I know, there's some scientific explanation for it all but, whatever...I'm talking about me here.)
So why do we, I, fight so hard to stay mad and not laugh or smile sometimes? I dunno, but it sure feels great when that smile wins and breaks through and the laughter bubbles out after it!
Can't think of anything that will make you smile or laugh? Grab the nearest child (a relative preferably as to not cause any law suits) and start tickling them! It's contagious! Better yet, get a baby to laugh. Works every time!
Laugh!
aeb
ps. I do realize that most people do not see "analyzation" as a real word. But I decided it is, hence my use of it. Just fyi.
Smell (January 30, 2010)
January 30, 2010
I think many times we forget to be thankful for the little things like our sense of smell. I have always had a very sensitive sense of smell, but one of my sisters doesn't have one at all. She said that’s probably why she can eat almost anything Granted, things taste a lot stronger to me than her because of that sense of smell. Have you ever tried to eat chocolate with your nose plugged? Yuck! And yet, add smell and it’s heavenly (to most of us anyway.).
Interestingly enough, smell is one of the strongest ‘memory keepers’ I have. Smells bring back such strong memories or feelings from events long past. Whenever I smell Lemons I remember a dream I had when I was about 5 years old.
I was dressed in a white cotton lace sundress walking through a beautiful grassy orchard of lemon trees. Everything was bright and the scent of lemons was strong! The grass was brilliant green and the sky majestic blue. It was complete peace. So when I smell lemons, it calms me.
When I smell wet, hot asphalt I remember walking along our newly paved driveway in Oregon with my brothers and sisters and telling them a made up story as we went.
When I smell coffee, I think of my Grandparents and their smile and love.
The smell of daffodils brings me back to my childhood picking flowers; the smell of pine trees, when I used to climb the Ponderosa pines in Oregon. There are so many more, but I bore you. I am just thankful for my senses.
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