Theme Thursday -- Felt AND Impression

This week the, er, wise folks over at Theme Thursday, who are much more creative than I, gave us two themes.  Felt and Impression.  Well, I have don't my best.  The following is a bit longer than my usual posts.  If it's too long, don't read it.  Just give me credit for completing this very hard (for me) theme.  Oh, and this is (very obviously) a piece of fiction.

The woman on the television was very blond, very tan, and had strangely exaggerated diction.

“Hang on to your hats Hollywood.” She said, as elaborate computer graphics and punchy theme music played in the back ground. “It’s true! After months of speculation about the reason behind the 'break-up of the century,' Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are coming out and coming clean as the new hottest couple in Hollywood. Here’s Smithson James with the details.”

Cut to a metro-sexual man in his late twenties (so says his bio) standing on an empty red carpet in the blazing sun.

“That’s right, Janie. After their red carpet walk at last night’s Golden Globes there is no question that co-stars Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are in love and in leather.” Cut to more graphics showing pictures of the couple. “She wore a red leather Kaja Prive halter dress cut down to there and up to there, while he sported a black leather vest with his Armando tux. But even her reported twenty, yes that’s right, twenty million dollars in bling from Fred Meyer Rodeo Drive could not blind us to the sight of two stars in love.

“Speculation has been rampant about the status of the two stars, even before Kate, and the second hottest man in Hollywood, Matt Powell, announced their break-up six weeks ago. Powell was noticeably absent from last night’s award show. Well, we noticed. But, I don’t think Jax and Kate did.”

Matt Powell sat on a 20 year old couch in his mother’s 90 year old basement watching TV.

“Don’t feel bad Matty,” said his older brother Davey, from the other end of the couch. “They just say that stuff ‘cause they have to fill up the space between commercials. You are not the second hottest man in Hollywood.”

“Can we turn this off now?” Matt asked half heartedly.

“You aren’t even the second hottest man in the house.” Davey found this very amusing and laughed heartily.

“Why are you here?” Matt asked.

“Laundry.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m a student,” Davey said, as if this explained everything.

“You’re 32 years old. You drove 150 miles to do your laundry?”

“No. I drove 150 miles so mom could do my laundry. And yes, I am aware that that makes me some kind of loser. But, at least I didn’t just get dumped on Hollywood Tonight.”

Matt ignored him. He did not just get dumped. He got dumped six weeks ago. And he had been sitting on his mother’s couch ever since. This gave him very little advantage over his brother in a you’re-a-bigger-loser-than-I-am contest, and they both knew it. But, he could probably beat his brother’s philosophy-studying library-carrel-riding PhD-candidate ass. They both knew that too. They were at an impasse.

Matt took the remote control out of Davey’s hand and turned on ESPN.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“You stink.”

Matt ignored him.

“No, I mean it. I mean, it may be true, that while you have been out in Hollywood, your shit has ceased to stink, but the rest of you, my brother, most certainly does.  Go take a shower.”

Davey reached over and took the remote control out of Matt’s hand and turned it back to Hollywood Tonight. “…the new couple, dubbed Jax and Gill…”

That did it. The battle was on. Two grown men, wrestling around on the floor of their mother’s basement, like they had done since they were boys. And, Hollywood Matt was right. PhD Davey was no match for his younger brother. Within seconds, Davey was pinned to the ground, with Matt straddling him.

“Good God he smells,” Davey thought, as he felt the impression of the buttons on the remote control being bored into his face.

“MOM!!!!!!!”

To read more brave Theme Thursday participants click here.

A Fable for the New Year: Mia and the Two-Measure Bucket with a Hole in the Side of it, About Half-way Up

For the new year, I have written a fable.  It is about a girl named Mia who lives in a mushroom, and her bucket.  Mia has an extensive and fanciful back-story which I have edited out for brevity.  However, it is still not very "brev" for a blog post.  Thank you in advance to those of you who honor me by finishing it, and

Happy New Year to One and ALL!!!!!

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl named Mia. She lived with her family in a hollowed-out toadstool on the forest floor, painted with polka-dots. The toadstool was painted with polka dots, not the forest floor. That would just be silly.

Mia’s was a family of nomads. They moved from place to place, taking their toadstool with them, usually stopping close to a creek or river to have use of the water.

Mia fetched the water in the morning, her little brother Boonedoggle fetched it at midday (when they needed the least), and her older sister Catilda fetched it before dinner (when they needed the most).

Unfortunately, the bucket had a hole in the side of it, about half way up. Every morning Mia walked to the creek and scooped out two measures of water, for it was a two-measure bucket, and every morning, by the time she arrived home, she only had one measure of water to pour into the family cistern. Every day, day after day, it was the same thing. She would scoop out two measures of water and arrive home with only one.

This never seemed to bother Boonedoggle, the Dawdler or Catilda, the Perfect, but it made Mia very grumpy.

When she complained, which was often, Mother would only say, “You’re doing a fine job with the bucket, Mia.” Complaining to Catilda was no better. “I think it is a lovely bucket,” she would say. “I like to watch the water squirt out the hole,” was Boonedoggle’s contribution on the subject. Mia was vexed beyond description.  Until one day she had an idea.

The New Year was coming; the time when all the children of the forest can ask the Forest King to meet a special need. Mia was going to ask the King to fix the family’s bucket. She was sure this would be the end to her unhappiness.

So it happened, that on the eve of the New Year, after their chores were done and Mother had enough water in the cistern to wash the dishes, Mia, Catilda, and Boonedoggle, sat down to make requests of the Forest King. Each one written on a scrap of paper, and placed into a bottle, which Father corked. The children then walked down to the creek and dropped the bottle in. All water in the forest flows to the King.

The next morning, when Mia awoke, she went straight to the front door, and the hook upon which the bucket was kept. There it was, just like before. A two-measure bucket, with a hole in the side of it, about half way up. Inside the bucket was a note. It read,

Mia,
There is nothing wrong with your bucket.
The King

Well, Mia was beside herself with disappointment. She showed the note to Mother, who smiled and commented that not every little girl gets a note from the Forest King. She showed the note to Father, who laughed gently and ran his hand through her curls. She was going to show the note to Catilda, but by now she had gone from disappointed to angry, and figured there was no point anyway.

So, Mia grumpused off to fetch the water.

By the time she got to the creek, she was so angry, that when she scooped a bucket full of water, and it started to flow out the hole in the side of it, about half way up, she had no reasonable action left to a girl of her nature but to dump all the water out and throw the bucket into the forest.

There was a loud crack, and a yelp. Then a voice came booming out of the trees. “Who is throwing buckets!? I demand an answer!”

It was Winchester, a wise (and often extremely cranky) old hare. He emerged from the woods holding a sore spot on his head and Mia’s bucket. “So it was you, mercurial Mia? Explain yourself!”

“I am so sorry, sir. I was just so mad at the bucket, and…”

“Wait, wait, wait! Say no more!” he interrupted. “How can you be mad at a bucket? You are being ridiculous. Explain yourself!”

Now Mia was a bit scared, and crying, but she did the best she could to explain her predicament.

“Hmm. I see,” said the hare, somewhat less cranky than before. “Let me ask you this. Did the bucket have a hole in it yesterday?”

“Yes,” Mia answered.

“And the day before that?”

“Yes.”

“And the day before that?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Every day it has a hole in it and has had for as long as I can remember!”

“Then why are you mad at the bucket?” asked Mr. Winchester, sounding cranky again. “It is what it has always been: A one measure bucket that looks like a two measure bucket with a hole in the side of it, about half way up. To expect it to be anything more is folly. So, GO! Be mad in my woods no more, unless it be at yourself for expecting too much.”

With that, Winchester returned to his place in the forest, leaving Mia alone with her thoughts and her new one measure bucket.

Mia’s unhappiness did not leave her all at once. It took her some time. Luckily she had many trips back and forth to the creek during which to think. Eventually, she began to see the wisdom in what Winchester, the wise and cranky old hare, had said, and she learned for herself, what we would all do well to remember.

Every expectation is a potential disappointment. Expect accordingly.

Here at the threshold of two thousand and then, (Jonah's term for the new year) I resolve, with Mia in mind, to

• Stop expecting my five year old to act like an eight year old just because he has the vocabulary of one.
• Stop expecting to feel rested.
• Stop expecting my house to stay clean.

Hmm, I feel happier all ready.

( Original Art Work by Me, 
ball point pen and crayon
on copy paper, 2009
I take full credit because 
 no one else wants any.  )

History

Theme Thursday -- History

This is a work of fiction.

There was a man in front of me in line at Target talking to his young daughter.  She had on tights with mulit-colored horizontal stripes.  I remember them because I would love to wear a pair just like them, if I were not 37 and they would not look ridiculous on me.

There was something far-away familiar about the timber of his voice.  Familiar enough to make me look up from this weeks tabloid magazine covers.  (Boy, is that Tiger Woods in some trouble!)

I glanced.  His eyes caught mine.  And lingered.  Just a split second too long.  It happened like a flood.  Recognition.  Mine and his.  The far-away familiarity replaced by the vividly intimate.  How long had it been?  Twenty years?  Really?  That should feel like a long time, but it does not, standing there, exposed, in the check out line at Target, flashes of teen-aged pain and drama blurring my vision.

My fingers went to ice and my face to fire.  I looked away quickly.  Back to Tiger.  My face still burning.  Struggling to steady my breathing.  Panic!

There was nothing I could do but wait my turn, pay for my toothpaste and toilet paper, and move along as if nothing had happened.  As if the most humiliating and painful experience of my life was not standing in front of me, wearing a Cal sweatshirt and a wedding ring, buying toothpaste and toilet paper.

As he was leaving, just putting his bags in his cart, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, him turn to me, as if to say something.  I waited a beat too long.  When I looked up, he looked away.  And then it happened.

He looked me straight in the eye and gave me a wan smile.  I returned his with a weak smile of my own.  My eyes closed, involuntarily, and I felt the ancient history pass between us.

This is a work of fiction.