writing

Hair Angst

She played with the stray curl as she lifted the phone to her ear. The edge of the phone was cold against her temple and hairline. She sighed.

Growing it out was just the latest attempt to cover up what was really happening. She finished her call, lowered her phone and looked at her faint reflection in the screen.

She remembered 20 years ago. For that brief time, her hair finally was the crown on her head. Wavy, longer, and grays were just a nuisance back then.

She walked into the bathroom and set the phone down on the Corian countertop. She lifted back the curls and her scalp seemed to glow from the thinner base. The longer hair wasn’t working, but she hated to give up.

She heaved a heavy sigh. It had been a year since she started the journey. It was better than it was, but would likely never return to what she once had. She grabbed her phone, returned to the living room and flopped onto the sofa.

She looked over photos, and how she had changed. The best shots were with her hair shorter, so she relented. Scrolling through styles, she wanted something a little different, but most just looked to be a mess, or something she’d already done.

She rubbed her eyes. Nothing more to do tonight. She’ll take another look with fresh eyes tomorrow. Maybe she should just shave it all off, she thought as she headed to bed. That’ll teach her hair to misbehave, she snickered as she tucked herself in.

writing

Gotta Dance

I can’t dance, although I pretend.

In the background, Michael Bublè plays.

Looking for a partner to join me on the floor.

My little boy tries to slink by, but I scoop him up.

Pull him close, I start to Sway.

Why does this music make me want to dance?

Visions of a flowing dress swirling about,

Smoothly gliding across the floor.

Another song begins to play,

The tempo increases as I get Higher.

My little boy squirms, so I set him free.

It’s okay sweetie, I can dance alone,

but know this, I will never not love you.

writing

Emerald Thoughts

She fiddled with the emerald pendant hanging from her neck. It was a gift, misunderstood by the giver. Yes, she wanted it, but she worked for it and wanted to buy it of her own accord. But still, this gift dangled gracefully from its chain. It was beyond thoughtful, and more than ever should have been given to her.

She caressed the green gem. It glistened, surrounded by diamonds and set in gold. She would only wear it on special occasions, holidays and celebrations. She would enjoy it while it was hers, knowing one day she would pass it along.

It wasn’t her birthstone. But being part Irish, she had always been drawn to its hue. Her prom gown was the same color, all those years ago. She went stag with her girlfriends, but she’d picked that dress out hoping he’d change his mind back. He didn’t. Not at that time at least.

Her mind floated. They would make love on a hand sewn quilt in his bedroom a few years later. He touched her stomach as they joked over names. He told her what he wanted to name her. She didn’t understand back then what it meant to him. She wouldn’t get it for well on more than a decade, but life decided that joy wouldn’t be shared with her.

They both moved on, found other partners, perhaps better for each of them. In her mind, though, she would always wonder. They kept in contact, exchanging jokes, pictures, and life events, although miles apart and never in person.

Her heart still held room for him all those years later. One way or another, she decided she would find a way to pass this beauty on to his daughter. See, it’s her birthstone hanging from that cord.

She knew it was silly to think this way. But she realized life was flying by. Perhaps, some day in the not too distant future, the perfect opportunity would finally arise. Maybe, then, her Irish eyes will once again be shining.

writing

Freedom Car

Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Her world, broken. Her home, gone. Her plans, up in smoke.

The car began to thump. Another reminder for her of him and the life they would never have. She pulled it off the road and broke down as the car idled.

Looking at the back seat, knowing they would never have children now, broke her that much more. The four door sedan was a constant reminder of the past and dreams unfulfilled.

She cut off the engine and carefully opened the door. Cars flew by her on I-75. She checked the tires on the driver’s side. Nothing looked amiss as her hand wiped away tears. She walked to the front of the car; perhaps she picked up something on the road. She knelt down and peered through the chassis. Nothing. She looked over the remaining tires and found nothing.

She climbed back into the car and huffed. Car troubles in top of the rest of her mess was the last thing she needed. She started up the car again and the engine hummed as if there was never any issue.

The rear view reflected her pain back at her. Red eyes and blotchy skin on her face revealed just how upset she was. She fanned her face as if that would cool it down. She was only 15 minutes from her folks, and she couldn’t let them see her like this again.

She gathered herself and pulled back her hair from her face. Then she slid back onto the highway and headed on. As she drove, she realized how much this car was him more than her. He bought her the gold aftermarket rims because she takes curves fast. But, gold was his way to mark the car as his. They picked out the car while planning for a family. The tint was his idea…not a bad one…but still, it was his idea.

As she pulled into the driveway of her folks’ villa, she decided it was time to let the past go. She unloaded the car, carrying all her personal items into her childhood bedroom. She gave her folks a hug and pulled out her laptop to start shopping for her next vehicle.

She shopped for her freedom car…This would be the one car that she would choose on her own; no parents, no significant other to tell her what she needed or wanted.

This car would be all hers and all her. She looked over various makes and models. Sure, she’d love an A4 Audi, but she didn’t have the funds for a new one….and she wanted a new one.

She looked over the Escape. It would be fun, but a big vehicle for her, and an SUV to boot. Ford didn’t offer it in yellow for that year though. She definitely would have gone yellow if they had.

She looked over the Baja. She had visions of diving the reefs and toting her gear in the back…even though she didn’t know anything about SCUBA. What colors? Ahh, they had yellow, but it was a quieter version. Not bad…so it went on her short list.

She laughed at herself; she didn’t understand her sudden attraction to yellow vehicles. She continued the search, ending up on the Toyota site. The Solara caught her eye. Sleek lines, still room for four but not a sedan. The trunk was huge. Yellow wasn’t an option, but this car didn’t call for it in her mind.

Over the next couple weeks, she’d stop in at the local dealerships and check each vehicle out. Only four years had passed since she bought the Malibu, but prices increased ten thousand dollars in that time. Finally, cost would win out, and the lady at Toyota handed her the keys to her freedom.

The Solara hummed as she turned on the engine. She rolled down the windows and opened the sunroof, all powered of course. The early morning light filled the sky as she pulled out of the drive.

The wind lifted her brown curly locks as she flew down the road to the beach. A smile spread across her face. She found some happiness in the moment. She finally found freedom from the past and hope for the future.

writing

Thursday’s Child

Thursday’s Child has far to go…

This line dates back to 1838,

And has so many interpretations,

Both positive and negative.

Some read it as these children will go far in life.

Succeeding and excelling beyond their peers.

Some see it as children who will face great challenges…

From autism to physical impairments and more.

Another version says these are the children

Who will have long and fruitful lives.

So many expectations to pile on a child,

Just because of the day they were born.

But then again, Thursday’s children…

They know they can handle it!

writing

Quiet Missed

Noise poured out like a raging river,

Growing and shattering any remaining peace.

It’s source of undetectable amid the chaos.

Too many sounds to come from just one point.

Hands fly up, shielding sensitive ears.

The cacophony confused and impaired her.

She just needed to outlast them,

Or flee the situation, but that’s not an option.

Finally, the crowd dispersed and quiet returned.

Peace found her late, but at last.

writing

Lavender

Pour in the suds.

Add the fragrance too.

Lilac hued chips sprinkled in.

Little purple buds with green

Dance through the bouquet

Gracing the plant shelf.

What is this?

Little purple flecks,

Mixed in with my tea.

Who knew lavender

Had worked its way

Into my life so much.

writing

I Wish

Your words float over me, enticing.

How I wish your words were for me.

Your stories intrigue me to a different life.

How I wish we’d lived those lives together.

Your voice touches me, haunting and raspy.

How I wish you’d whisper me to sleep again.

writing

Irish Eyes a’Smilin

Shamrocks sprouting all about,

Dishes with corned beef and sauerkraut.

It’s that time when green and orange fly

And everyone sees Irish in their eye.

Flights of fancy and lucky leprechauns

And every guy wishes his name were Sean

So get your shamrock shakes while they last.

This Erin Go Bragh season goes fast!