Dear Diary,

Poetry today…

The sweetness was always there

The first moment  the bright spirit breathed air

Lovely  wings of the butterfly

Knowing to give without needing why

Fragile in flight against the wind and the rain

Bedraggled but driven to fly but again

The translucent colors, they dripped from the wing

Leaving pale smudges of where they had been

Creating stones more worthy of giving

Blood red rubies more useful for living

And stealthy, sure arrows with light at the point

Guided to strike both at face and at joint

Rubies and arrows; tools for true living

Arrows to smite and rubies for giving

The sweetness, it lingered

The spirit stayed bright

And the giving continued

Protected by might

Dear Diary,

A bit of inspiration on a rainy, pre-spring Tuesday morning:

What truly makes your heart beat? I don’t mean what makes your heart skitter or skip a beat from a temporary thrill. But what makes the blood course hot and fast through your veins to spark the electricity in your brain to move your muscles to a meaningful purpose? What idea burns within you that begs to be realized? Have you put it on a shelf or tucked it away because it is too difficult? Bring it out, dust it off, or mend the tears and scratches. Embrace it. Live it. Be it.To not do so, would be to breathe but shallowly.

Here are a collection of quotes from famous people who lived their passions:

Do what you love. Know your bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still. ~Henry David Thoreau

We all have to do the best we can. This is our sacred human responsibility. ~ Albert Einstein

Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. ~Robert Frost

Don’t part with your illusions. When they are gone, you may still exist, but you have ceased to live. ~Mark Twain

Passion is the genesis of genius. ~Tony Robbins

Like the north wind whistling down the sky, I’ve got a song. Like the the whippoorwill and the baby’s cry, I’ve got a song. And I carry it with me and I sing it loud. If it takes me nowhere, I’ll go there proud. ~Jim Croce

Slip inside the back of your mind, don’t you know you might find a better place to play? ~Oasis

Whatever there be of progress in life comes not through adaption, but through daring. ~Henry Miller

Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase ~Martin Luther King Jr.

All of our progress is an unfolding, like a vegetable bud. You first have instinct, then opinion, then a knowledge as the plant has root, bud, and fruit. Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason. ~Emerson

Today is a new day, begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered by your old nonsense. ~Emerson

Rock on, Beautiful People.

Dear Diary,

The foothold gives

Within the shifting sienna soil

Slowly sliding downward

A little more

Crumbling outward, and settling on level, if not firm, ground.

It does not appear

That the way to continue is to retrace the fallen steps.

The earthen walls are sheer.

The sky crowns the distant precipice

Of the first faltering steps

That led to this place,

A different place,

With an unfamiliar view

And unusual possibilities.

It is a dry river bed.

Swirls of sediment mark the distant memory of rushing water,

Now absent.

It stretches ahead

Beyond the reach of sight

Destination unclear.

Further down, the bank is yet passable.

Ascent would be possible through tangled trees

And steep, rock strewn incline.

The point of origin could perhaps be reached

Once again.

Climb back up or explore onward?

Water begins to seep in ever increasing rivulets

Soaking the thirsty ground.

Saturation becomes mud.

Walking becomes unsteady.

The roar of the approaching torrent can be heard

Before it arrives.

Scramble to the bank or ride the impending wave?

Ride.

Dear Diary,

A jewel in any place:

The shocking pink was startling against the drab gray of the thick peeling walls.

The smoke curled around the intent faces framed with golden hair and extenuated the bright blue of their eyes as they peered down at me in the haze that we had created.

I blinked from the smoke and the tears that stung my eyes.

I gazed up at them.

As I stood slowly between them, their hands reached for my shoulders.

I listened to the compassionate words that flowed from their perfectly lipsticked mouths.

I felt enveloped in the intensity of the warmth and care extended to me even though I was surrounded by the dirt and smothering dullness of the starkly lit back stairwell and the confusion of my despair.

The beauty of true friendship shone as a jewel in this unlikely place and seared my memory in vivid color.

Dear Diary,

A love note. Happy Valentine’s day.

I breathe
the essence of the surrounding sea
and your presence.
I hear
the dancing of the pounding waves
and your laughter.
I taste
the tangy salt air
and your kiss.
I see
the sparkle of the sunset on the glistening water
and your eyes.
I feel
the ocean breeze blow through me
as does your spirit.
I embrace with all of my senses
the roil and the beauty of the crashing sea
as I do you and I
in our journey together.

Dear Diary,

Poetry today…

My heart skitters within

And then there is nothing

Laughter has seeped out

Along with the heartbeat

Tears will not form

It is dry and silent within

Only whispering echoes reside.

Perhaps that I have broken

Will break you

Enough

To see.

Perhaps not.

The vast empty space

Begs for the jagged pieces to be collected and sorted

From their scattered places

Sculpted into something less fragile

Tarnished pieces discarded or polished,

New pieces brought in to fill the holes.

Beauty must be sought

Regardless of the sources

And built over time

To replace the dusty rubble and silence

That has come.

Dear Diary,

Sandy Hook are words that I have never had the occasion to put together before, and they have not meant something to the majority of the population until now. Together, the two words have a pleasant ring to them, but now they have a morbid connotation. I had been purposefully trying to steer clear of media details of the tragic event at Sandy Hook Elementary School because the mere thought of it is too painful to imagine and process. It has been ultimately unavoidable to hear wrenching comments and see haunting photographs. It chills me particularly because I have taught Kindergarten for many years. I have found myself wondering if I would have had the sense to quickly lock my students in the bathroom, and what else I would have done to try to protect the children in my care. The bottom line is that when you are a teacher, those children are like your own. They come to you for every need or concern and know that you will provide for them. In the bizarre situation of a school shooting, a teacher does not have the time or luxury of panicking or taking care of their own person. The commitment is much deeper than helping students learn to use counters to understand addition and how to blend letter sounds into words.

I also discovered yesterday that one of the teachers slain at Sandy Hook additionally had a part time job at Starbucks. I am also currently employed at Starbucks as a shift supervisor. This information made it even more eerie and disturbing to me. The teacher/barista’s funeral is today and you will be seeing Starbucks baristas across the nation wearing a ribbon with Sandy Hook’s colors of green and white to honor those who have fallen.

My heart aches for the staff and the children of Sandy Hook Elementary School as well as their family and friends. I am sure that yours does as well. There has always been, and there always will be people that behave badly and tragedies that unfold. There is much anger and outcry about the Sandy Hook murders and I am sure that more safety standards and legislation will come out of this. However, I also believe that an important response to counteract acts of wickedness and the pain we see in others is to try our best to behave with grace and goodness. Acts of kindness may not change the world, but it will make a difference in many lives we touch. Oftentimes, the worst situations can give rise to the best gestures in the human spirit.

Give your kids and educators an extra hug today!

Me & some of my students from a couple of years ago:

Dear Diary,

Chapter 22 is the last excerpt I will be posting from “The One That Got Away”. I hope you have enjoyed your bite of it. More adventure is contained in the remainder of the story, but you will need to get your hands on the book to see what happens! Links to the previous chapters and the link to purchase the novel follow the excerpt.

Chapter 22

         It was a lovely warm and breezy morning. The kind that I used to love to get lost in. I only allowed myself a small sigh and a quick wistful thought about my desire to traipse off on another aimless jaunt around the harbor area. That was the past. In me younger years I used to think that I had so much work to do. It weren’t nothing compared to the responsibilities I held now. This morning, I was alone in the pub. I had just given the cook instructions on the day’s fare and had sent her off to the market. I placed a daunting pile of paperwork on one of the sturdy wooden tables and crossly pulled a chair out from under it to sit. I sat with a decidedly heavy thump. Figurin’ all of the money gave me a headache. It didn’t come natural to me, but I found that I could manage it if I gave myself to thinking real hard. I needed to get this figured before Jackson woke up and demanded my attention. I began sorting the papers but was interrupted by the heavy front door being flung wide open. I was shocked and surprised to see my brother Owen standing in the doorway with a grin as wide as a horse’s ass.

“Mo chroi!” He threw his arms high and to the sides to beckon me for a hug. If he smiled any bigger it would have split his face. His tawny hair was pointing in all directions just as I remembered it. A pair of hazel eyes on a face with a generous portion of freckles just like mine sparkled at me.

I jumped up and bounded over to my older brother like a foolish little girl. I squealed with delight as he squeezed me in an embrace that nearly cracked my bones. He planted a big wet kiss on my forehead and set me back to the floor.

“Aye, ye are a sight for sore eyes, Meggie! Looky how you’ve grown! Yer not a wee cailin anymore.” His expression sobered suddenly. “It pains me that I weren’t able to get back to lay Ma to rest. She was a fine woman.”

“Aye.” That was all I could answer. I found myself unusually tongue-tied.

“Well,” Owen continued, “I’ve made a decision to put me feet up here in me home town and lend a hand with the pub. I’ve been sailin’ many years too long and I’m starting to be feelin’ it in me knees. The letter that Da sent sounds like he ain’t been able to work much himself.”

I was instantly deeply offended. “Da told you I couldn’t manage it?”

Owen chuckled. “I see you are still a spitfire.  Don’t take it that way, Meggie. Just be glad yer brother’s here to help. Ya got any meat-pie back there?” He craned his neck in the direction of the kitchen. “This big man is hungry.”

My feathers were not the least bit smoothed, but I decided to put off being furious for the time being. It was just too good to see Owen. “I’ll go see what we got,” I offered as he sat himself at the table I had been occupying. He gingerly picked at the paperwork scattered about pretending to show interest. I smacked at his hand playfully. “Don’t worry your pretty little head ‘bout those numbers,” I teased and headed back to the kitchen snickering. I could feel his smile at my back. Lands! It was good to see him.

The day passed very pleasantly. Da was beside himself with joy that his son had returned. Jackson adored him immediately and fell to following him everywhere. Owen seemed quite taken with his nephew as well. Danny and Owen hit it off at once, much to my annoyance. I could tell Owen noticed the resemblance between Jackson and Danny. A couple of times he began to ask me about it but my eyes burned his mouth shut. Many of our regular customers remembered Owen and there was quite the craic atmosphere in the Peppertree Pub that evening. I usually wasn’t one to imbibe while I was working, but this night demanded celebration. I had made my way through several shebeens of bier and was singing raucously with Owen and several of our fine gentlemen when the front door opened quietly to emit a beautiful woman with perfectly coiffed deep auburn hair. Our song ceased instantly. The men ogled at her and nudged each other, but I was trying desperately to remember who she was. She smiled slowly at me and was not the least bit taken aback by my tipsy and disheveled state.

“Meg.” Her eyes danced as she said my name. My cohorts at the table looked at me in amazement. I could tell that they were all itchin’ to know how I knew this lovely creature.

Suddenly, Owen sideswiped her in an affectionate embrace.

“Violet!”  he shouted and lifted her in the air and spun her effortlessly before setting her delicately to the floor. Violet looked flushed, but happy.

“Owen! Impetuous as ever!”

Owen guffawed at this. “I have no idea what you just called me, but I sure am glad to see you. You have grown into a very pretty lady, Violet. Always knew you would.”

“Why, thank you, Owen. You are too kind.” Violet saw Da making his way through the crowd with difficulty. She walked in his direction and everyone in her path parted ways to let her pass.

“Mr. Larkin, how fare you?” Violet asked. She kissed his cheek and looked kindly into his worn face.

“Much better seeing the likes of you, Violet. How lovely you look. You and Owen on the same day! Saints be praised! It makes me heart faint.” Da patted her arm affectionately.

“Owen has just returned today?” she asked glancing over at him. Owen nodded vigorously. “Well, let’s not have your heart faint, Mr. Larkin. How is your wife?”

“Aye, she has passed on, mo chroi,” Da answered sadly.

“Mama has too,” Violet returned. “I am sure they are talking each other’s ears off in heaven. They were such wonderful friends.”

“Aye.” Da smiled though his eyes were shiny with tears that he never would shed.

By this time I had recovered my senses. I pushed my way through the throng to position myself by Da and Violet. I slapped both hands on my hips and cocked my head to complete my saucy pose.

“The Saints be praised! If it isn’t Violet Jessop!” I exclaimed dramatically. Without further ado my long lost friend and I hugged each other gleefully. Then we both began talking at once, asking each other questions.

“Lands!” Da muttered and rubbed his forehead with a gnarled hand. “You girls are just like your mothers!” Da shook his head, but he was smiling as he shuffled back to the bar. “Danny, get some of the best whiskey for our lovely guest.”

“Yes sir.” Danny went to the task immediately. I wanted to smack that charming look right off of his face.

Violet and I talked until the wee hours of the morning. The last time that I had seen her was when we were both around twelve years of age. Our mothers had been the best of friends growing up together in Dublin.  Violet had been raised mostly in Argentina, but had moved to England with her mother after her father died. When Violet was a child, her mother would bring her to visit Belfast as often as she could manage. Sometimes we would meet in Dublin. Violet always had many adventures to share. She was one of those people that adventure followed. After her mother died she worked as a stewardess on luxury ships. She had so many interesting stories to tell. I was quite enamored with the whole idea. In the darkness right before dawn she told me of her upcoming plans. We were the only two people awake in the pub. All of the customers were long shooed away and Owen was face down on the bar snoring loudly. I am sure that Danny would have stuck around to flirt and chat with Violet if she had given him the time of day. She did not. It made my heart swell with satisfaction when she would continually rebuff his advances with cold and sarcastic quips. He finally got the message and left us be. Violet and I were munching on bread and cheese and green apple slices at the cleanest table available.

“I was hoping I would get to see you when I came to town. I mostly came to collect my cousin and her family. Do you remember Jane?” A childish face came to mind with dark hair and green eyes. I nodded. “Have you heard of the Titanic?” Violet waited for my reaction.

“Of course! Why, that thar huge ship was built right here in our harbor. That boat is quite amazing. Biggest one I ever saw.”

“Well,” Violet extended the word dramatically, “I will be sailing on her maiden voyage as a first class stewardess.”

“No!”

“Yes.” Violet tucked a stray strand of hair into place and smiled smugly as she smoothed it. She looked amazing for having stayed up all night drinking whiskey with me. I did not even want to see the state I had worked myself into. I knew my eyes were wide and my mouth was hanging open like a cod fish.

“Violet! That’s wonderful!”

“Yes,” she said again. “I had to dress matronly to get the position. I’ve had trouble with that before. I have actually been turned away for a position as stewardess because I was too pretty.” Her laugh sounded like a silver bell and it danced among the rafters in the near empty room. “They said it causes problems to have pretty stewardesses. No lie.” She paused and leaned her face close to mine. “I was not going to let that stop me. I made myself look as homely as I possibly could, and I got it.” She sat back in her chair and popped a piece of Butterkase cheese in her mouth and chewed it quickly. “The Titanic will be making other stops on the way, but its’ final destination is New York City, America. You haven’t been there, have you, Meg? I intend to spend some time in New York.”

“Well,” I started slowly, “No, but Finn has moved to America. A place called Boston. I have been achin’ to go there and see what it’s all about. A while back Finn wrote to invite me. Didn’t see how it was possible, though,” I finished wistfully. An idea began to form in my head. I looked at Violet full in the face and I could see the same idea sprouting there. “But…now Owen is here.” I stopped and grimaced. “But I wouldn’t feel right about takin’ money for that.”

“I could probably get you a position as a second class stewardess,” Violet suggested breathlessly. “Last I heard they were still looking for second class. I have connections, you know,” she added proudly. “You wouldn’t have trouble with your looks like I did, either.”

I stared at her speechless for what seemed like an eternity while my mind raced over the possibilities. I almost couldn’t bear to think of it. It was so exciting! I could taste it. I didn’t even care that Violet had just called me homely in a backhanded way. Abruptly, my face fell.

“Jackson,” I said simply. “I cannot leave Jackson.”

“You don’t have to,” Violet continued undeterred. “My cousin and her family are going to be traveling third class on the Titanic to move to America.  She has a bushel of children. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind to throw Jackson in there. You would just need to come up with the money for Jackson’s passage. I know you don’t want to take from the pub money, so pick up some tailoring jobs, Meg. That should cover it. Come on, Meggie…do this! I can’t see you stuck here all of your days. You need more. Owen can handle it. You come with me, cailin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll want to keep on being a stewardess. Imagine you and I sailing the world together! The world had better watch out for Violet and Meg!” She tittered mischievously.

She was speaking to my spirit and my heart in just the right way. I quavered inwardly and knew that I had to do this. I had to make this happen.

“You find me the job and check with Jane about Jackson and I’ll do it. Cheers, my friend.” We extended our smudged whiskey glasses and touched them lightly together. The small, cheery sound echoed in the large room and in my mind. Our eyes were locked in a familiar gaze that always meant adventure would soon follow.

Chapter 1 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/chapter-1-this-week-chapter-2-next-week/

Chapter 2 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/chapter-two-of-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 3  http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/20/chapter-3-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 4 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/27/chapter-4-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 5 & 6 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/03/chapter-5-6-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 7 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/chapter-7-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 8 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/chapter-8-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 9 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/25/chapter-9-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 10 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/chapter-10-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 11 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/08/chapter-11-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 12 & 13 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/chapter-12-13-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 14 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/chapter-14-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 15 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/29/chapter-15-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 16http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/chapter-16-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 17 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/12/chapter-17-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 18http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/19/chapter-18-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 19 http://blog-kelliannesweeneydeardiary.com/2012/12/04/chapter-19-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 20 & 21 http://blog-kelliannesweeneydeardiary.com/2012/12/10/chapter-20-21-the-one-that-got-away/

“The One That Got Away” on amazon  http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_9?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=kellianne+sweeney&sprefix=kellianne%2Cstripbooks%2C225

Dear Diary,

Something a little different…

I stared at the supple, ebony leather that encased my untried hands. Only my calloused fingers protruded from their clinging embrace. I studied the silt that was deposited under my fingernails from prior skirmishes. My experience had been mostly on the sidelines, but the dirt from them had been ground deeply. The cuts and bruises burned as my mind skittered over each of their origins. Today would be different. Today, I would be on the front line and I was ready to welcome it. I ran my hands slowly along the contours of the fitted armor that I had donned only moments before. It was firm, but not impenetrable. My wit and agility would need to be sharp. I could hear the subdued murmurings of those close readying themselves to take the same field. They might be unexpected aid to me, but I could not count on assistance. My own hands were most willing to render help to them as well, but these outcomes rested in how the battle dance played out. Their battle was their own, as was mine. My hands traveled to the burnished metal that was my shield. It had served me well in the past. I had carefully polished its surface to conceal the dents and scratches with shining brilliance. My bow was well worn and comfortable in my grip. My arrow’s tips had found many a distant target. My sword, however, was a new tool that had yet to be used and required close proximity. It felt heavy, but not awkward in my hand. I arced and spun lithely, slicing the thick air around me. My breath came quicker and my heart beat more rapidly as I brandished my virgin weapon. I could feel the flush in my cheeks as I sheathed it into my belt. I twisted my scattered tresses into a knot at the nape of my neck. I refused to glance into the tarnished looking glass that rested nearby. I pulled my bow and arrow satchel over my shoulder and clasped the handle of my shield firmly. I paused to clear my mind of distraction and to allow clarity of purpose to seep in and take hold. I took one more clean and steadying breath before I pushed the door wide. I walked stolidly outward to address the faceless foe.

Dear Diary,

Here is Chapter 20 & 21 from “The One That Got Away”. I will post one more chapter next Monday, and then if you would like to read further you will need to get your hands on the actual book! Links to the previous chapters and the link to purchase the novel follow the excerpt.

Chapter 20

         I pulled at the puffiness around my eyes trying to encourage more blood circulation. Then I massaged around them with my fingertips.  It was to no avail. I looked hideous. All of the world would know that I had been crying. But, I suppose it wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t know most of the world that I would be seeing today. I studied my figure one last time in my bureau mirror. Was it obvious? No. Not yet. Right now I just looked padded and plump. I blew out the candle. The sun would be up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I needed to hurry if I didn’t want anyone to see me take my leave. Snowdrop meowed pitifully in the latched basket as I picked it up.

“Shush!” I hissed anxiously. Surprisingly, she instantly ceased her yowling. Perhaps this was a good omen for my day. I grabbed my satchel, but then had to put it down again to open my bedroom door. It creaked as I pushed it.

“Ach!” I whispered. I hadn’t noticed before how noisy it was. The stairs seemed just as loud as I tiptoed carefully down. As I passed Danny’s door I felt that my heart would burst into pieces. I walked a few paces down the hallway to my parents’ room. I held my breath as I pushed the letter under their closed door. No sound from inside. No sound from my cat. The Saints be praised. If I could get down to the common room without that cat carrying on I would truly be blessed. My stomach twisted as I crept down the last flight of stairs. I would surely miss my parents. I hoped that they managed fine without me. I was supposing they’d have to hire someone. But business was good. The money was there to pay someone to help. I barely breathed until I stood alone in the Peppertree Pub. I surveyed the silent room and found myself staring at the place at the end of the bar that Danny usually occupied. Da was right. Danny was not worth givin’ me heart to. I bit my lip and angry tears formed once again in my eyes. Aye, he had stepped all over me heart. I had made my way to his bed alright. Only thrice, but that was enough to plant a seed in my belly. I knew he was playin’ with other women too, but I was certain that that I could bend him to my side. The fact that I was now with child had derailed my plans and made everything quite complicated. At the present, Danny didn’t want to have anything to do with me or the child growing inside of me. He had been angry when I told him. He insisted that it was not his. How dare he accuse me of sleeping elsewhere! Working with Danny at the pub had become quite unbearable. My parents knew that we were at odds, but did not know the reason behind it. I could not tell them. I needed to take my leave and start fresh. Rachel had offered for me to stay with her in her flat in Paris. She wrote that the theatre she danced at was in need of a good seamstress to fashion costumes. Yes. This is what I needed to do. I squared my shoulders and walked with determination and purpose out into the boreen in front of my family’s pub. I marched out onto the main street and spied a fiacre almost immediately. Another good omen. I waved to the driver. He acknowledged me by tipping his hat and began readying my ride. I counted out the proper amount of coins from my drawstring purse as I approached. I kept my step firm and my face expressionless.

Chapter 21

         I woke up slowly. The cobblestone streets of Belfast seemed to smear and sway. My vision readjusted and the plain white popcorn studded ceiling of my apartment bedroom gradually came into view. Wendy Parker’s reality came washing over me. So, I have been diagnosed with a brain tumor. The tests came back indicating as such. Of course more tests were needed to ascertain the severity and proper treatment. There was no way to get around the fact that ‘brain tumor’ sounded severe. I can’t say that I was surprised, but to hear this phrase spoken in relation to oneself is quite appalling. I had been forbidden to work and assigned to semi bed rest until the next battery of test results were available. I actually didn’t fight the bed resting thing. I really didn’t currently feel capable of doing anything much more strenuous than padding around my apartment. I was almost constantly dizzy now and the headaches were quite severe. I had new medication which helped the symptoms but caused me to feel rather loopy and definitely sleepy. My bed was the best place for me at this point. My apartment was still littered with unpacked boxes. Every day I unpacked a few, but it seemed to completely sap my strength. It just felt so important that I do it. I knew I was grasping at normalcy. Leigh had insisted that under the current circumstances she could get me out of my lease. I still vehemently refused to move into her guest room. She was thoroughly exasperated with my stance but decided to humor me for the time being. She told me that she would finish the unpacking for me so that I would stop doing it. She spent quite a bit of time at my apartment. If she wasn’t there she had Jeff or Jeff’s sister stop in to check on me. I did not protest. Leigh suggested that Anna be enrolled in a preschool program to prepare her for Kindergarten and give her something else do to besides eat snacks and watch TV in my bed. I did not protest. She also broached the subject of alerting you and your father of my situation. I protested loudly and she backed off. I do not want you to feel that you need to speak to me merely because I am perhaps terminally ill. What kind of conversation would that be? Awkward and pointless. I am not looking for pity or forced love and acceptance.

Anna enjoyed preschool. She had a lot to tell me when I was awake enough to listen. I realized that I should have put her in preschool earlier. She has such a sharp mind and was gaining so much from the experience. When she wasn’t in school or with her cousins she would often set up an elaborate play area in my bed. I was constantly knocking various items to the floor as I would change positions. Normally, I would mind the clutter. Recently, however, I just wanted her company. I played more Candy Land in two weeks than I had played in the entire past year.

Sometimes when it was very quiet I could hear piano music coming from Sara’s apartment upstairs. It was beautiful and stirred me in a way that I had not experienced before. Many times it became the background music as I dozed and dreamed of Meg in France. During this phase of dreams it seemed that one blended into another and then blended seamlessly with reality. I was often not aware of exactly when I awoke or fell asleep. It was probably the medicine I was taking. Much as I didn’t want to admit it, it was a good thing that Leigh had arranged to have a responsible adult in my apartment at almost all times. I could tell that she was frantically worried about me, but she would not talk about it. This was unlike her. Of course I did not talk about it either, but that was like me. I really only wanted to hang with Anna, write in my journal and sleep endlessly. I surprised myself at my ability to be listless and unproductive. These were new traits for me. Sometimes it felt like it could go on forever this way, but I knew Leigh was waiting for the next round of test results. She was poised to take action. If it was bad news she would put her foot down and move me into her guest room. I knew it was too much trouble to station people at my apartment if I really needed some serious looking after. It felt so odd to be in this position. I had always been one to find the stamina within to walk onward alone and determined. I couldn’t find it anywhere at present.  But even odder still, is that I found myself not really caring. My dreams seemed more like reality than my actual reality. I found myself confusing them sometimes. This did not phase Anna a bit. She was always able to keep up with my state of mind even if I was not able. It was just like another one of her make believe stories that she acted out with her dolls. Some of these appeared vaguely reminiscent of my dreams. She moved in and out of them and mine with ease.

My dreams during this period were fragmented slices of Meg’s experience in France. It was the bright spot in her life. It appeared that she spent approximately four years there. She spent her days surrounded by theatre life. It made her feel breathless and happy to be involved in the production of such whimsy although she never felt that she truly belonged in this arena. She fancied herself as a hen among swans. She made herself invaluable working long hours creating costumes, props, and sets. Her quirky wit and skill gained her acceptance and many friends. When her son Jackson was born he was well coddled by the entire dance troupe. There never seemed to be a shortage doting aunts and uncles. His early years were filled with the pomp and bustle of backstage existence. Meg’s adventure in France came to a grinding halt when news of her mother’s death reached her. Of course she needed to go home. Her heart was heavy to leave the life she had carved out for herself and her young son, but her strong sense of duty required her to do so. Play time was apparently over. Meg was immediately thrown into managing the pub upon her return. Her father was getting up there in years and the death of his wife seemed to rob him of his spirit. Danny didn’t have the inclination or the gumption to fill in the gap. He seemed to spend more than half of his waking hours drunk. In the time that she been away he had added to his girth and was missing a couple of his teeth. He still acted as though he thought that he was God’s gift to women. Meg was not the least bit interested in him anymore. After her experiences abroad, Danny appeared backward and bordering on pathetic. Jackson was the spitting image of his father with the exception of his mop of curly, tawny hair. Meg did not introduce Danny to Jackson as his father. Danny did not mention it either, but occasionally would make awkward and friendly overtures to his son. Jackson would respond good-naturedly, but other things and people were much more interesting to him.

The Peppertree Pub was in a run-down state when Meg encountered it after her absence. She was quite aghast at its’ condition. With determination she took the matter into her capable hands. She started off by dismissing all of the staff except Danny. She would have loved to oust him too, but knew that her father would not hear of it. She hired two middle aged women and a teenage boy and took to the task of revitalizing the family business. In six months the Peppertree Pub was once again a thriving watering hole. Meg tried not to think about the fact that her spirit was unhappy. Instead, she threw herself into the upkeep of the pub and her son. She believed that this would end up being her existence. Until by chance or fate two people came back into her life on the same day.

Chapter 1 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/chapter-1-this-week-chapter-2-next-week/

Chapter 2 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/chapter-two-of-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 3  http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/20/chapter-3-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 4 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/08/27/chapter-4-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 5 & 6 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/03/chapter-5-6-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 7 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/chapter-7-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 8 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/chapter-8-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 9 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/09/25/chapter-9-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 10 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/chapter-10-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 11 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/08/chapter-11-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 12 & 13 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/chapter-12-13-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 14 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/chapter-14-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 15 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/10/29/chapter-15-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 16 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/chapter-16-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 17 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/12/chapter-17-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 18 http://blogkelliannesweeneydeardiary.wordpress.com/2012/11/19/chapter-18-the-one-that-got-away/

Chapter 19 http://blog-kelliannesweeneydeardiary.com/2012/12/04/chapter-19-the-one-that-got-away/

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