”Faith from Ruin” last time ~ Be Happy

In spite of the cool room, Lucy sprawled across her bed out of the covers, her hair, sweat-sodden by her charcoal hot sleep.Clara lay in her bed watching her daughter’s chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep.

Eyes prickled with tears, that gently crept over her nose and down her cheek dampened the pillow. She mourned the loss of normal for Lucy and bore anger and shame for choices which led them into an unstable, uncharted new life.

Light switched off, rosary in hand and quickly fell into a rare, deep sleep.


100 Word Challenge #353

100 Word Challenge #353

Velvet Verbosity gave us the word “Rare”. After an extended absence for inventory replenishment in the home business variety as well as the personal internal type, and a short vacation to visit my Texas son I’m back, rusty and slow. Taking up where I left Clara and Lucy as they try to begin again.

Big Head Todd’s Bittersweet played in my mind while writing and the lyrics fit Clara’s bittersweet worry for Lucy.

Graceful Kindness

Last ”Faith from Ruin” post ~ Three Strikes

They arrive late in the night and the darkness was quiet and deep. She decided to wait until morning to go to St. James, worried a nighttime door knock might alarm the priest. Clara had been careful with the money and decided to spend another night in a motel. The convenience store clerk told her about the Lakeshore Motel, a cheap, clean motel owned by his Aunt and Uncle. He called ahead so they would know she was coming.

Ida Lerner opened the office door where she waited in a tattered yellow terrycloth robe and moccasin style slippers. Burdened with their bags, Clara and Lucy whisked inside by a brisk Autumn wind. Ida’s face bore the grace of happiness crinkles around her gentle eyes. She shuffled behind the counter, looked up at Clara and a smile warmed her face

“Sweetie, you must be exhausted. Let’s just wait to do this in the mornin’ after you’ve had some sleep.”

Clara tried to protest, but Ida, looked away and quickly continued,

“I’ll putcha down at the end where it’s nice ‘n quiet. There’s no neighbors down there an’ you sleep as long as you like. I’ll be here when yer ready.”

She tottered around the counter, pressed the key into Clara’s hand and hugged the robe around herself. Crouching down eye to eye with Lucy in a covert tone, ” You come and see Miss Ida in the mornin’ for cookies and milk.” then glanced up at Clara and winked. Lucy smiled shyly, and hid behind her mother’s arm.

Clara caressed Lucy’s face as she nuzzled her elbow, hoisted their bags, and smiling, “Thanks, Mrs…..”

“Ida dear. Just call me Ida.”

“Thanks, and goodnight Ida.”

Ida ushered the pair outside, and locked up. They wobbled to the last door and turned the key to a quaint clean room with two beds. She dropped the duffles on the floor.

Lucy tucked in, she whispered, “Our dreams are on the way baby,” wiped blurry tears and fell asleep.


Trifextra: Week 93

Trifextra: Week 93

Inspiration for today’s piece was drawn from Trifecta Week Ninety-three. The word this week is GRACE. As always, third definition :

3)  a : a charming or attractive trait or characteristic
: a pleasing appearance or effect : charm <all the grace of youth — John Buchan>
: ease and suppleness of movement or bearing

Click the badge there on the left and go read some of the other submissions. There are some great writers who participate in this weekly challenge.

Inspiration also from an awesome song by Simon & Garfunkel “Bridge Over Troubled Water”

Can I Just Sleep? Please?


Sybil (what?)


Sybil (WHAT???)

Take your pick. My night was destroyed by a game of tag played by my still healing broken foot and that bitch “The Change”, aka Sybil. She put on the “I’m wide awake” persona at about 11:00 last night. Warm and Sleepy character was kicked out into the cold dark night and I desperately wanted to sleep, but it was not meant to be.

I took my vitamins and a dose of melatonin and went to bed to read some Harry Potter. Reading, a fan in a cool room, warming up in bed will sometimes allow Warm and Sleepy to come back for an encore. At 1:00 a.m. (THIS morning) I was a little teeny tiny bit sleepy. Light off, cell phone on vibrate, warm covers. I was ready.

Hey! I’m reaaaady!!! Nothin’.

Turn over, arm out of the covers, cross my feet, heavy sigh. Yeah. Let’s do this. Drifting….

BAM! Pain kicks in. Wrapping around the top of my foot to the back of my heal like  a hot cable searing through the muscle into the bone. My eyes shot open, sucking in air as I wince in pain, I shift again. Move the foot to the cool sheets, but that doesn’t do it. Toss, turn switch, cross, uncross, adjust. Nothin’. Like the tick of a grandfather clock the pain ticks and tocks away at my foot and my sleep.

Hot bath. Reading in the hot bath. That’s it! That always works. Grabbing Harry Potter and my “Old Lady Reading Glasses” (Thanks Sybil) I head to the bathroom and draw a scalding, steamy, wonderful tub of water nirvana. I climb in and hope to find my Life Melted, and the pain chased away.

Sweating, reading, relaxing and ready. I climb out, dry off get back in my jammies and bed. Determination is the only reason I finally found sleep sometime after 3:00 a.m. Of course, there were the intermittent appearances by Sybil’s hot and sweaty friend “Blaze”.

Sound sleep had me deep in it’s grip at 10:20 a.m. when My Captain woke me up and asked if I was going to Mass (which is at 11:00 a.m.) Of course, I was. I’m a good Catholic girl, and my good Catholic girl Blossom would be there for retrieval (she spent the night with her cousins). Coffee and Aleve gave me the necessary kick start.

So today, Super Bowl Sunday, a day where we invited family over for fabulous ribs slathered with my Super Mad BBQ sauces and chicken cooked on our Weber smoker, had the potential of being derailed by Sybil and Pain. I found my “go to hell I’m going to pretend like you’re not here” self, and managed to get the baked beans in the oven, the Bacon and Bleu Coleslaw assembled and some much needed cleaning done.

I soldiered through the day, and ended up having a pretty darn good day in spite of  the lousy night of sleep. We enjoyed a fantastic meal and drank some beer, cheered for whoever looked like the right team to cheer for, and laughed and scratched our heads at  the Super Bowl commercials.

With the day behind me and the week ahead,  Sybil and Pain you need to stay the hell out of my bed tonight. I want and need a good night of sleep and you are not welcome.

Better than Bad

She rolls over to escape the piercing brightness of the early morning sun that has found a breach in the blinds.

“Damnit! It’s my day off! Get OFF me!”

Frustrated at the intrusion into her sleep, she thrashes, attempting to prevent full awake and the sheet winds around her arm and over her head. Laying she grasps at the filmy feathers of dreamy sleep with eyes firmly shut, Emma realizes it’s useless; she’s awake and pissed.

Relenting, she throws the covers off and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Standing up, she arches her back, reaching her arms above her head, with hands bent back; she squeezes up high on her tip toes and flexes her legs taught and yawns so deep it hurts. Light headed from the intense wake up stretch, she works her way to the kitchen to brew coffee knowing once the brew begins and the deep, comforting smell floats into her senses she might shake off her foul mood.

With a cup of coffee comfortingly sweetened with her favorite creamer she creeps her way to her reading corner but realizes last night she’d polished off her last library book. This means she has to endure the suffering of leaving home to get more books. The outside world is tense and uncomfortable so being ready was critical to the success.

Thankful she didn’t have to wear the grocery store’s green apron with the creepy apple emblazoned on it, Emma chooses her “outside in the world” armor. She slides into her favorite black skinny jeans, falling apart but comfortable in all the right places, and an oversized black hoodie with a large paisley fleur-de-lis, shadowy and grey batiked on the back. Old black Chuck Taylors finish the dark cloaked desire to be unapproachable and invisible. At the front door she closes her eyes, mouth tight, she inhales deeply, then twists the knob, exhales and mutters “Here we go” and steps outside to make the walk to the library.

With hood up and hands in the pocket, she glances up and down to avoid people who find it necessary to greet her even when she wears her Sir Lancelot suit of armor. Intent on watching the perils ahead, she crosses the alley and unexpectedly something crashes into her. She struggles to pull her clenched fists out of her jacket to catch her balance. Her feet criss-cross and trip over each other as she grabs at the kid who’s not watching his own path.

Stunned by the collision the boy peers up at Emma wide-eyed looking as if he’s wondering ‘should I fight or run?’ Then recognition washes relief over the fearful “O” of his face when he sees her.

“Oh hey Emma! Whatcha doin’?”

The initial bristles of annoyance are clipped off when she realizes it’s the boy whose family lives in the apartment upstairs from her.

Yanking her hood off, “God Jakey! Watch where you’re going!”

Over time, Jakey has become one of the few granted access to Emma’s comfort zone. With the careless ease allowed by being six, he persistently winnowed his way in, ignorant of her crippling shy fear of people and places.

Neglect, fear and harm keep the boy outside. For him, pain and peril exist at home. When he explodes out of the apartment, he is free and happy, gliding through the world grateful there is an outside to escape to. It’s liberation from the barbwire words and blunt pain his unemployed, red raging dad inflicts.

In spite of the jolt her face fans into a wide grin “The library, wanna come?”

Punching his fist up he shouts “YEAH!”

Putting her hand out he latches on eagerly, leaping in the air, heels bumping his butt with happy and anticipation of the treat Emma was sharing with him. Jakey loves reading (an escape within his walls) and he loves Emma’s wondrous reading. She builds a world around them with enthusiastic words. Her voice takes them on a journey of unabashed happiness and trudges through menacing valleys.

Together they head off. The day began bad. Then it turned a corner and now it’s better than good; it’s great!


Red Writing Hood – Happy Endings

This week’s prompt asked you to spread a little joy.

You were to write a piece where you or your character overcame a challenge and, even if it’s just for a moment, has a happy ending. We also asked you to surprise us – don’t go with the obvious.

Tired and the Art of Exhaustion

Is there another word to describe tired? If there is, I need it. I am tired on so many different levels and in so many different places there has to be a new word. Looking at a thesaurus I see a bunch of words.

Like exhausted. Yep, that’s me but it’s more than exhaustion it’s deeper than exhaustion. It’s worn into me like a tree growing through a rock. It doesn’t seem like a tree should be able to grow through a rock, but persistence and wear grind through until it shoots through and there it is; a tree growing in a rock.

How about weary. Uh huh. Weary. If weary means I’m fed up with feeling exhausted from the moment I wake up until the time I should go to bed, and then I’m tired but wide awake and unable to fall asleep. The lid to my music box finally closes and I shut my eyes in relief only to have the lid thrown open again and I, like the the little ballerina who spins around, start my dance again because the box seems be endlessly wound.

Wasted. Getting closer! Yep, that one has meaning on several different levels. It could work. Have you ever watched a show about a person addicted to heroin? I feel like those people look when the hit of heroin really kicks in. Eyes drooping, body slack and incapable of functioning normally. The difference is, I don’t WANT to feel like that. I want to be invigorated and energized, but the lack of weariness and exhaustion are like that hit of heroin leaching the life and well being right out of me. My time is wasted by the endless fatigue and it destroys me emotionally because all I can think of is when will I ever get some good sleep.

Perhaps it isn’t just one word. Tired wears you down, it exhausts you physically and emotionally, it wastes your life, your happiness, your relationships. It’s these words and more. I could choose tuckered out, worn out, beat, broken, droopy, or spent. They all describe a part of my “tired” and it’s really all of those and more.

I guess I just need to be satisfied with tired.

I’m tired.