A Story A Week: Blessing

Jan scrubbed out Toby’s soiled underwear in a tub of bleach next to the sink.

Through the window, she watched her husband comb through Toby’s thick hair. They were on the porch – the wrap-around porch, the reason she’d asked Donald to buy this crumbling old Victorian in the first place. It hadn’t been easy keeping up such an old house at their age. But if she’d learned anything in sixty-five years, it was that easy was overrated.

“Okay, buddy,” Donald said. He had a special way of talking to Toby. “You’re lookin’ good. Ready to hit the road?”

The kitchen window was open. A breeze that carried the smell of sunshine on its tail lifted the white lace curtain at the window and set it back down just as gently.

“He’s still in his pajama bottoms,” Jan called through the window screen.

“Won’t hurt him.” Donald glanced back at Jan and winked. “Do you need anything else, or is the list good?”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure you’ll find other things to buy. You men always do.”

“All right, my boy,” Donald said. He took Toby by the hand and pulled him to a stand. They walked together, Donald smooth and slow, Toby with a lurch to his step, to the front of the porch. The stairs were tricky for Toby. Donald held both his hands and went down backwards.

“Say goodbye to your grandma,” Donald said.

Toby turned his head. She caught a glimpse of the large grin she loved so much. “Bye Grandma,” he said. Of course, most people wouldn’t understand his speech, but Jan did. Of course she did. He was her boy. She understood almost every word that came out of his mouth, and if she didn’t at first, she’d work it out pretty quick.

“You be a good boy for your grandpa,” she called back. “And you both hurry home. I’ll miss you.”

And she meant it.

She well remembered when her own children were little, how she’d beg Donald to take them out for a spell, how she’d revel in their absence, soak in the silence.

It wasn’t that way with Toby. He was more work, sure. And her body was older now. She ran out of gas pretty easy these days. Still, he was Donald’s companion. They played chess. They ate the same thing for lunch. Toby insisted on having matching bowls with his grandpa. She took such delight in watching them together; the house seemed lonely and over-large when they weren’t somewhere around it.

She slapped the underwear in an empty basin and grabbed another pair from the pile. She sure hadn’t expected to be cleaning out mussed underwear after retirement. Or, at least, it should’ve been Donald’s mussed underwear if it was anybody’s. God had been good, though, giving them both their health so they could give Toby a home while his Mama was at work. Trina and Toby had moved in with them after the divorce. It was the only thing to do, and Jan never regretted their coming, not for a single moment.

Donald and Toby were still working their way down the garden walk toward the car. She could hear Donald’s steady voice. Then she heard Toby’s excited squeal, and knew they were about to cross the bridge. It was nothing special, just a few smooth planks of wood over the stream that trickled through their front yard. Still, it was Toby’s favorite. He loved the sound his tennis shoes made clomping across it. He loved the dragonflies that hovered on its banks in the summer. One alighted on his hand when he was sitting on the porch step once. He’d talked about that dragonfly for days.

She knew what those two would do in the store. Donald would lift Toby into the baby seat in the cart. Toby was skinny; he could still fit, even though he was seven. He’d laugh like Donald had tickled him. Then Donald’d push him around the store, and they’d buy all sorts of junk food and maybe some of the things on Jan’s list.

She laughed quietly to herself, pulling another pair of underwear from the pile. Blessings came in curious packages sometimes, she thought.


This story was inspired by Jan, whose three words were dragonfly, grandchildren and bridge. Thank you, Jan! If you'd like to give me three words for a future original story, click here and leave your words in the comment section. Thanks.

First Day of Summer

It's officially summer in the Sonnichsen house. The first Monday of NO SCHOOL. And, as if to confirm it, the weather is scorching hot. The kids played in the sprinkler this afternoon with their cousins.

We'll see how this goes. I'm so glad to have the kids home ... and the slave husband, too. He got up first thing this morning and started doing laundry. I blessed him from where I lay on the bed, with Olivia on one side of me and Sophie on the other.

I don't have great expectations for writing this summer. I'm not sure how often I'll be blogging. I've decided to take life as it comes, relax, not require a lot from myself.

My goals are simple: spend time with my family and rest. And maybe get the house kind of cleaned up (though with four little whirlwinds running around, that's close to impossible). If I can fit other things in, then that's great. I'm going to write when I feel like writing and when it fits my schedule. I'm going to have fun with it.

That's my plan. What's yours? Does the arrival of summer change your life (and schedule) at all?

Dancin' on the Train

This video made me happy, but also homesick for China! Not only is it hilarious, but you get a great feel for what modern China is like. Trains are still the main form of long-distance transportation. If you ever visit, get ready to ride the rails. Enjoy the video! And thanks, Kim and Patrick, for the link! 

Were-llamas vs. Sleep

Even if you don't enter this contest  (though, seriously now, why wouldn't you? Literary Agent Barbara Poelle will critique 10 of your pages if you win!) you've gotta read this post for the Were-llama.

Oh, to be creative enough to come up with a concept like a Were-llama! I am so envious I'm slobbering on myself. Here I am blogging about sleeping patterns, and this person's got a Were-llama. I can't even begin to compete with that!

(This is where I remind myself that blogging is not a competition. I can enjoy the antics of the Were-llama. I should be thankful that Were-llama exists to interview stunning agents like Barbara Poelle. And I can aspire to one day come up with a concept as unique and witty and confident. At this stage in my life, however, it is beyond me. *sniff* This is where I remind myself why I write posts about SLEEPING, because that's what I think about most of the day! Pathetic. I know. Pathetic.)

Now go read the post. I don't even know why you're still here listening to me, to be honest.

Oh, and did I mention that this post also includes a picture of the world's scariest cupcake? Just go.

Sleep Patterns

Four a.m. comes too early.

But my body clock is set to wake. No matter what time I go to sleep.

Thanks, Sophie.

Either I hear her cry or, if I'm in too deep a sleep, Gabe brings her in. I hear her feet pad across the carpet. I reach down and pull her into our big bed. She curls up into me and goes back to sleep.

But I lie awake, until the Dashingly Handsome Sidekick's alarm goes off.

Then I roll over and lie awake in the other direction.

Many days now, Olivia will also make her way into our room with her pillow and curl up across the foot of our bed. I keep my knees up tight so I won't accidentally kick her.

By the time I finally drift back to sleep, my alarm's going off and it's time to peel myself out of bed.

But I'm weary. I know these days will pass. There will come a day when Sophie doesn't wake up at four, when Olivia doesn't lie across the foot of my bed, when I can sleep straight through and not have endless morning hours of THINKING.

Then again, there are gifts: Snuggling close to my baby. Listening to my older daughter breathing. And the thoughts. It's good to have time to think in the quiet and stillness. And this morning, when I returned Sophie to her crib, I saw the sunrise.

I just wish the next day I weren't so tired. That's what I won't miss. 

A Story A Week: Day Fifty-three

There was no light to wake them naturally. Low gray clouds hung over the valley. From her window she could see sheets of rain falling miles away. Rain water ran off the end of the drain pipe onto the deck; the windows were splattered with it.

They slept and Sharon let them sleep. The quiet made her cheerful. She knew forty-two minutes would be enough to get them all ready and out the door. Forty-two minutes. That meant five more for her, right now, in the quiet.

The lemon in the tea soured her tongue. She’d grabbed the wrong tea bag. She dumped the liquid out in the sink and went for another. Jasmine, this time. She double checked the package and turned the burner dial to reheat the water.

His email was still open on her laptop. She knew it was honorable of him to write, because he promised he would. Still, staring at his words depressed her. She shut the lid of the computer. Sometimes it felt too long. Sometimes the burn was too real. Like she was running up a steep hill that would never end.

“He’s loyal, I’m loyal,” Sharon whispered.

That hint of guilt made her creak the laptop open again. Shutting it was like shutting him out, shutting everything out. And she shouldn’t do that. This was sacrifice. Sacrifice should hurt.

Day fifty-two. Hard to believe it’s been that long. Dean and I hitched a ride into town – ten miles – just to get some Internet access. It’s choppy. Might go anytime, so I’ll keep this short. Miss you. It’s going well. Delivered new supplies to a district that hadn’t seen any relief. Able to bring some kids into town to the orphanage a couple days ago. They were glad just to have beds and a couple meals a day – and clean water. I know we’re doing good here. Love you. Sam.

No telling when he’d be back. Where there was good to do, there was Sam. And she loved him for it.

“Mommy?” It was Lily, wrapped up in her blanket, her thumb in her mouth, hair disheveled, eyes gluey.

“Good morning, baby,” Sharon said. She reached out and Lily came to her, crawled up into her lap, wound an arm around her neck. “We heard from daddy.”

“Read it,” Lily said. Her voice was still muffled from the thumb she never took out.

Sharon read.

At the end, Lily looked up. Big blue eyes, just like her daddy’s. “When’s he coming home?”

“Soon,” Sharon said.

“How soon?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe in a few weeks. As soon as those people over there feel better.”

“I want them to feel better now,” Lily said.

“I know, honey, me too.” Sharon shifted in her seat. “We’d better get the others up. It’s getting late. Mommy has to get to work.”

Lily nodded. She was so brave, Sharon thought.

“Day fifty-three, baby,” she whispered into her daughter’s soft hair. “We can do this.”

 
 
This story was inspired by Sharon's words: cheerful, honorable and loyal. Thanks, Sharon! If you'd like to leave me some inspiring words for a future story, click here.

WIP Wednesday on Tuesday: In the Mail

I'm doing a little switch-a-roo this week. Usually I post my Story A Week today and my WIP update tomorrow, BUT...

I've been busy getting my fifteen pages and synopsis in the mail. I signed up for a critique at the SCBWI conference I'm attending this summer and the deadline for submission is June 9.  

So, this morning, instead of editing my Story A Week like I usually do on Tuesdays, I was editing my fifteen pages one last time, making last minute corrections to my synopsis (thank you, Myrna!), and getting it all shipped off at the post office.

All while feeling fluishly ill, I might add, and caring for the younger two resident geniuses. It was an accomplishment.

Now it's over. Good or bad, it's in the mail.

I started reading through another section of my novel this afternoon, because I was thinking of printing off a few of the hospital sections so that Dr. Father-in-law could look them over ... And I realized they stink. I have so much work to do on this book!! I couldn't even give them to my father-in-law. I'd be too embarrassed. I think it was after polishing those first two chapters so thoroughly,  reading other parts was like reading a first draft.

But it'll get there. I don't know if it'll get there this summer, but it'll get there some day.

We unpublished writers get the luxury of taking our time.

How about you? Have you been plowing full steam ahead on any projects lately? Or are you taking a more laid back approach?