You have walked into my Diary. Welcome! Hopefully, my musings will touch you. Check out my novel "The One That Got Away" on amazon http://tinyurl.com/ljcj8xh

woods

Dear Diary,

Some of you are aware that I have promised a sequel to my novel “The One That Got Away”. I worked on it diligently for several months and then got waylaid by real life causing me to get off track with”Strangers’ Angels”. I have recently recommitted myself to getting up at 4am daily to accomplish this goal. It feels good. I am poised to submit the first three chapters to literary agents in the near future. I will share these with you.

 

Strangers’ Angels Chapter 1

Her eyes were luminous and round with fear. The fear was almost tangible. She began to tremble from the crushing weight of it invading her stamina.

“Cora…Cora, look at me.” Ida Spencer inched herself toward the frightened young woman in the sparse, stubby grass and grabbed Cora’s lovely ebony face between her dirty hands. Ida was grateful that she had worn her oldest gingham housedress tonight. The dirt would be unmercifully ground into the cloth and might be unsalvageable. She made a mental note to wear an apron next time in case this was to happen again. If she was able to get out of this at all, that is. She felt the cold fingers of fear reach out to touch her as well. She immediately chided herself for entertaining such distracting thoughts. This would not do. Fear was crippling.

The two women flinched outwardly when the dog barked again. The beast and his owners sounded closer. Ida pulled them flat to the ground. Cora began to shake uncontrollably.

“Cora,” Ida physically turned the woman’s face to her again, “the worst thing is the fear. Bravery is following through with something when you are scared out of your wits. You must gather your wits. You must continue to be brave or it will all be for naught. Do you want to die right in this spot groveling in the dirt? I certainly do not. You have made a choice to grasp your freedom. You cannot stop now.” Ida pointed in the darkness. “Look to the left. Do you see the grove of trees? Go there. There will be a stream. Cross over the stream to hide your scent and then follow it north for about two miles. You will see a small abandoned house. You must hide there until tomorrow night. There will be food in the hamper. A man named John will come for you after dark.” The older woman paused and carefully raised her head to peek over the concealing bushes. “I don’t see them yet, but they be coming. Now is the time. Go now!”

Cora stayed frozen. The only movement was her eyes, which were blinking rapidly as tears began to well.

“Cora!” Ida hissed and shook the girl roughly. “Pull yourself together. You must be strong. Now fly! Run like the wind!”

A small childlike whimper escaped Cora’s lips before she reset her features and pushed herself up off of the ground. Her face visibly shifted and her supple mouth creased into a firm line. There was no time to risk any last thank you or goodbye. She bolted to the woods like her life depended on it, because it did.

Ida watched the fleeing figure become smaller and blend into the shadow of the trees. She took a steadying breath and sighed jaggedly, trying to quiet her own cantering heart. Now what to do? She lay there in the fleeting stillness and considered her options. She could continue to hide and hope that they did not find her. In fact, they were not really looking for her, they were looking for Cora. They did suspect, however, that she was aiding runaway slaves, but had no proof, until perhaps today. If they did find her, how would one explain a middle-aged widow groveling in the dirt, in her house dress, after midnight, in a field a half a mile from her home? Not very effectively, unless she made up some elaborate story about how she got there. But no, Ida Spencer was not an actress, nor did she have the imagination to spin such a tale. She was a direct and plain sort, driven and stubborn from strongly held moral beliefs. No, as she had just finished telling Cora, she did not want to just lie in the dirt awaiting a fearful fate. It made the most sense to get up and walk on home. She would hope for the best. She would face her fate walking. She stood laboriously. Her bones ached and she winced as she put pressure on her right leg. The last several years had given her body mysterious aches and pains. She tried diligently to pay them no mind and function as efficiently as she was able. There was so much to be done on any given day. She brushed herself off briskly, ignoring her protesting joints. Then she stood straight and firm and entered into prayer. She asked the Lord for protection and guidance for herself and for Cora and thanked Him for His goodness. Then she began her walk home. She comforted herself that each step brought her closer to her haven. The dog began to bark again. It was definitely closer and was sounding more excited. Ida began counting her steps to distract herself from her perilous situation. Her footsteps sounded so loud to her as she crunched through the underbrush. Perhaps it was God’s Will that they find her, not Cora. That girl had her whole life ahead of her. Ida fervently hoped that Cora would find her freedom, especially if Ida paid the price for it. Ida immediately scolded herself for such vain thoughts. It would be as the Lord would have it and that needed to be the only thing that mattered.

Ida could see the silhouettes of the men and the dog coming from the south. She cringed inwardly, but continued her stalwart pace. The men began yelling at her to stop. Ida Spencer wanted to run as fast as her stubby old legs could carry her, but what would be the use? They would certainly loose the dog on her. That would not be the way to go. Ida halted and turned to face them. As she waited for them to approach she heard them cussing and exclaiming to each other as they recognized who she was. One of the three men shushed the frantically barking dog, although the animal continued to growl as they covered the distance to where she was standing. Old man Peters spoke first.

“Widow Spencer, fancy meeting you here.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. He paused to spit tobacco juice just inches from Ida’s foot. “Where be that blackie you been hidin’?” he drawled as he fixed her with his probing, beady eyes. Ida was suddenly struck by the fact that she recognized this dark soul from somewhere else, somewhere that she could not put her finger on. This happened to her occasionally and she had learned to trust this instinct. These dark souls needed to be thwarted at all costs. There were also bright souls that one was required to aid in any way. They were living angels. She had only run into two of them in her lifetime. Sometimes she felt as though she herself was an angel in training, but then that was just pure vanity.

“Let me shoot her in the leg, Pa. That’ll make the cow talk. Filthy slave lovin’ whore.” Ida looked closely at Peters’ oldest son and saw him to be a dark soul too. It was never good to find two dark souls together. It magnified their spirit strength. She shifted her gaze to the brother. He looked agitated and scared as he nervously tried to control the dog. He was not dark.

“Put the rifle down, son,” Peters demanded. “I don’t expect no trouble from Miz Spencer.” He changed his tone to imitate the most polite of gentlemen, although his sneer and malicious eyes quite spoiled the effect. “I’m sorely disappointed to find a woman of your upbringin’ aiding runaway slaves, Miz Spencer. Maybe we can get you off easy this one time if you tell us where she be and promise never to do such a thing again.”

“I will not do that, Mr. Peters.” Ida spoke evenly and her eyes flashed with determination as she stood solidly.

It was then that understanding crept into the grizzled man’s expression. Peters’ face twisted in rage as he realized that Ida was in fact a Bright One.

“Go ahead, son, shoot her in the leg.”

The older son grinned wickedly and aimed swiftly.

“No!” the younger brother shoved at the rifle as the bullet flew out of the barrel. The bullet lodged squarely in the center of Ida’s forehead, forced its’ way through the back of her skull and then continued its’ journey to rest under the dry, rain craving soil. Ida collapsed immediately to the ground.

Anna awoke with a start. She instinctively reached to touch her forehead with her long, tapered fingers. She found herself sitting bolt upright in bed and breathing heavily. After a moment, she relaxed her body and slumped back into the comfortable disarray of blankets and pillows. She always preferred a plethora of both. Anna stared up at the ceiling and watched the shifting pattern of shadow that resulted from the early morning sunlight fingering through the tree outside of her window. She adjusted her head on the pillow until the sun shone warmly on her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, releasing the dream.

“I guess that’s how that one ends,” she murmured to herself.

Anna allowed the sunlight to caress her slender and pointed features and began drifting slowly back to sleep. It was only moments before her alarm clock began chiming an electronic version of the Beatles’ song “Here Comes the Sun”. Kate’s dog, Clarice, immediately began to howl and charged into Anna’s bedroom to protest the ear splitting tones. Clarice licked at Anna nervously until the girl reached over to eradicate the merciless noise. Then the dog began to bark and wag her tail wildly in greeting.

“Sorry, Clarice, I forgot to close the door again.” Anna slid her feet onto the hardwood floor and adjusted her pale blue tank top before reaching down to scratch Clarice’s brown peppered ears. “There. All better now.”

Anna stood and retied the drawstring on her plaid pajama pants while Clarice did a few happy circles. Anna walked carefully to avoid stepping on the dog amid her joyous prancing. She paused by the oval mirror hanging on the wall by the door and wiped at a mascara smudge under her left eye. Did she look like she was two decades old today? It was always a silly thing to be checking, but she did it every year. Nope, she looked the same as yesterday. Age always had a way of sneaking up on you when you were not looking. Anna padded into the living room, yawning and pushing her long chestnut hair out of her face. Clarice bolted ahead to find Kate. Anna noticed that her other roommate, Viv, was dead asleep on the couch. She was still wearing her snazzy date outfit from the night before. Her arm trailed on the floor and her mouth was wide open. She was snoring softly. Even in such a disheveled state she was beautiful. Her skin was the color of a perfect cup of coffee and she had the figure of a Greek goddess with a face to match. Her long corkscrew ebony curls were in an extremely haphazard arrangement at the moment, but were fetching nonetheless. Viv uttered a sudden, guttural snort that startled her. She turned and delved further into the couch. A pillow plopped to the floor. Clarice instantly ran over to inspect it and waited hopefully, tail flailing, to see if Viv was getting up. She was not. Clarice raced back to the kitchen. Anna followed her and poked her head in.

“Got coffee, Kate?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, happy birthday, Cuz.” Kate was cooking scrambled eggs. “Want some?”

“No thanks. Stephen’s taking me out for breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kate slid the small frying pan off of the burner and opened the cabinet next to the microwave. “Give him a smoochie for me. I would come too but I have that Art History final today. We will play tonight, okay?” She rummaged through their assorted coffee cup collection.

“Okay, sure.” Anna pulled a corner off of Kate’s nearby toast and popped it into her mouth.

“What are you in the mood for today? Teddy bears, flowers, sarcasm?” Kate triumphantly pulled out a turquoise coffee cup speckled with balloons and emblazoned with large pink letters spelling out the words ‘Birthday Princess’. “Hey! Who knew we had a birthday coffee cup?”

“Must be Viv’s,” the cousins spoke simultaneously and then giggled at the timing.

“I heard that,” came a muffled reply from the living room couch.

“Well, you would be the House Princess, Vivian Starling. Even your name sounds like one. Or maybe it sounds more like an actress name.” Kate pronounced the word ‘actress’ in decidedly British fashion, flipped her shoulder-length carrot colored hair, adjusted her studded cat’s eye glasses and struck a dramatic pose.

Anna smiled. “Kate, you are a nut.” She took the mug from Kate’s extended hand and reached for the coffee pot. Anna’s phone began ringing in her bedroom. She set the cup down and hurried to retrieve it. Clarice yipped excitedly and Anna almost tripped over her as they entered the bedroom. It was her dad. He gave her the typical happy birthday spiel and then asked her about her classes and her summer plans. He expressed an interest in trying to get together over the summer. Anna agreed, participated in farewell pleasantries and then hung up. She sat on her extremely comfortable and welcoming bed and considered whether she had time to snuggle back into it for a few minutes before she needed to get ready to meet her brother for breakfast.

Kate appeared in the doorway holding a steaming cup of balloon speckled coffee. “And here would be your breakfast in bed. You may be the princess for today.”

A sleepy Viv pushed past Kate and flung herself onto Anna’s bed. “Who are you to give away my title?” Viv feigned shock and disapproval before burying her head in Anna’s assorted striped pillows. “Girl, your bed is so comfy.”

“No one told you that you had to sleep on the couch,” Kate retorted and handed Anna the turquoise mug. “That guy must’ve wore you out last night, Viv.”

“Nah. I just drank too much. Remind me never to drink rail liquor ever again. Ugh! My head hurts.” Viv pressed her hands on both temples.

“I must say he was quite the hottie.” Kate nodded her head matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but he’s not a keeper. He is certainly some eye candy, but he’s about as sharp as a marble.” Viv closed her eyes. She sighed as her fingers traveled to her eyelids. “I got class in an hour. Anna you got class today?”

“No, I just have to work on my final paper for Psych. Too bad you can’t come to breakfast with me and Stephen.” Anna smiled slyly.

“What?” Viv sat straight up. “Stephen’s coming? Oh my God! I can’t let him see me like this. When’s he going to be here?”

“Relax, Viv. I’m going to walk over to Mel’s Diner and meet him there. He offered to pick me up, but you know I always prefer to walk.”

“Thank God. Wait, I mean dang! I always love seeing that man. Sorry, Anna, I know he’s your brother and all, but now he’s hot and being an anatomy professor is just too sexy.”

“You’re too young for him, Viv,” Kate teased.

“Hell, no!” Viv exclaimed. “Tell me what thirty three year old man don’t want a gorgeous, glamorous, intelligent twenty two year old college girl? Hey, Kate, he’s coming to your sister’s wedding, right?”

“Yeah, he told me he was, right Anna?”

“Yes, he’s coming.” Anna smiled with amusement and pushed herself up off of the bed. She took a sip of coffee.

“That’s where I will make my play,” Viv plotted, “at Franny’s wedding. And I expect you girls to help me out.”

“I will tell him you said hello, Viv. Now I need to go take a shower.” Anna replied.

“Wait!” Viv started, but then stopped. “I guess I’ll let you have first shower since it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, girl. We’ll go out tonight after I get rid of this freakin’ headache. Poke me if you see me asleep in your comfy bed when you get out of the shower.”

“Will do.” Anna threw down another swig of coffee and headed for the bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

The Running

 

A_flower_field_on_the_sea_France

Dear Diary,

 

The Child is poised

On the edge of an endless field

Crisp, tall grasses sway and wave

Cajoling the vivid wildflowers within.

The shy bright sprigs

Slide against the shifting sea of grasses,

And then coyly bend away

In the ruffling breeze.

The breathless wind skips over the tips,

The whispering is barely audible.

It teases the flora

And it teases the Child,

Tickling a place deep within that has no words or reason.

A child must run

When faced with a wide open field

Or even a long corridor.

The impulse insists

And the Child runs

Happily embracing the burst

Of brief careless freedom.

There is no destination or purpose.

There is only the running.

 

 

 

 

Stealth Inspiration

jungle-cat-light-tiger

Dear Diary,

 

Rustling in the fringes

That Thought

A flash of indiscriminate color,

A glimpse of the quirk of a mocking smile,

Then stillness

Opening out and spreading

Silence seeping in, then saturating.

That Thought

Nowhere to be seen,

Or heard

But I feel it,

Pulsating,

Breathing

Blending with the surrounding scenery.

Time slows

The Thought hides

and I wait, poised and expectant

for Inspiration to leap and strike.

Cast Off Party

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Dear Diary,

Welcome to my Cast Off Party. You may be envisioning a snappy yacht, sea breezes, sun soaked guests, tropical beverages, classy appetizers and a festive atmosphere. Strike all of that from your mind except the festive atmosphere. I am not referring to a boat cast off, I am referring to this obstacle that has been attached to my wrist for the past month. Granted, it is flaming orange and waterproof, which are definitely pluses in the world of broken bones, but I am feeling quite festive about the fact that I am chilling in the Orthopedic doctor’s office awaiting its removal.

I have made it thus far in my life without breaking any pieces of my skeleton. Until a month ago, that is. On Mother’s Day. I am not one who is used to being slowed down down. I am an independent, fast moving sort who doesn’t like to ask for assistance. It has been frustrating, but I have made it my mission to continue to participate in all of my regular activities and become as adept as possible sans one functional hand. The other infuriating thing about this whole situation is that I don’t have a good story for the cause of my predicament. No story for this storyteller. You know everyone has been asking what happened. I would have loved to say that I broke my hand rock climbing or surfing or preventing a burglary. But instead, the truth  is that I slipped in a friend’s bathroom. I put out my hand  to catch my fall and heard a sickening crunch that resulted in a pretty little spiral fracture around the middle metacarpus of my left hand.

Sometimes, we need to be reminded how fantastic it is to have good health and full use of all of our body parts because, of course, not everyone does. So celebrate with me today every time you are able to tie your shoes, manipulate buttons, fasten bra hooks, cut food, put your daughter’s hair into a ponytail, make a frappuccino, and type a blog post using all of your fingers.

Cheers!

 

photo-9

Dear Diary,

 

I can’t exactly tell

Where the Desert kisses the Sky.

The silence hides their passion well,

But the smoldering shimmer reveals the lie.

 

Is it where the dunes reach to embrace?

Or where the valley submissively yields?

Perhaps it’s when a sudden wind does race

Over the seemingly barren and brooding fields.

 

Electricity trembles where they doth touch.

My senses hum the tune they sing.

So thickly quiet, but speaking so much.

My skin is parched and mine eyes they sting

The blue is brilliant against the sand’s pale clutch

The sun it colors me and the sand doth cling.

Living Out Loud

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Dear Diary,

 

“Slip inside the eye of your mind,

Don’t you know you might find a better place to play?

You said that you’d never been,

All the things that you’ve seen will slowly fade away.”

 

I am quoting an Oasis song here. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I adore poetry, song lyrics and thought provoking quotes. They do help me to slip into the eye of my mind where I do like to play. I find some rather creative thoughts and ideas back there and do my best to pull them out and sprinkle them into the hectic jumble that is my life. Part of what is back there, of course, are memories. Painful ones and sparkly ones. Let’s address those sparkly ones. I don’t believe that “all of the things you have seen (need to) slowly fade away.” The moments that have inspired us need to be kept in the forefront of our lives and incorporated into how we live instead of being tucked away as an awesome experience that is over. This moves us from merely Regular Life into Real Life.

 

My husband and I just got back from a lengthy vacation to Peru. The main purpose was the birthday of one of my husband’s best friends. The birthday boy’s mother is from a family of twelve and there was a turn out of approximately thirty friends and family from different parts of the world to participate. The family members are loud, they are fun loving, they are argumentative and they are tightly supportive of each other. And they included us as one of their own. The camaraderie was beautiful and the trip was packed with parties, sight seeing, jungle hiking, boating, sand sledding, tomb exploring and much wonderful food, drink and conversation. There were many inspiring moments during that trip. And I will keep them and use them instead of tucking them away as a wistful memory. This keeps me in the realm that is beyond Regular Life. Regular Life is what I refer to as the daily taking care of business existence. Regular Life is necessary because it is the foundation that Real Life is built upon. My idea of Real Life consists of what makes you feel alive and causes your heart to beat faster. It is the feelings created by breathtaking scenery, caressing breezes, uplifting music, beautiful food, exhilarating sex, side-splitting laughter, warm embraces, understanding smiles, adventurous thrills, new experiences, epiphanies and other such moments. You don’t only need to be on vacation to be participating in Real Life although that tends to be the goal of vacations. If you don’t let Regular Life blind you and bog you down you can find Real Life possibilities everywhere. Take care of business but don’t forget to slip inside the eye of your mind and look through that lens. Live out loud. There’s so much around you. Keep it in front and you’d be surprised how it colors everything else.

Cocoon

Cocoon Series #-84

Dear Diary,

 

My cocoon

Is neither warm nor cold.

It is neither black nor bright.

It is slightly too large.

My footfalls echo when I am pacing.

But I am not always pacing.

Mostly, I sit in the center,

Folded

Emptying my mind

Listening vaguely to

The whispers

Of my Evolution

In the quiet

Drawing stamina

For the brilliant butterfly of my existence

On the outside

Of my cocoon.

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