Guest Blogger - Sarah Eiden's Article: "New Plans For Your New Year - Reviewing Your Business and Setting Goals"

New Plans For Your New Year - Reviewing Your Business and Setting Goals

By Sarah Eiden

For many who work from home, the fall/holiday season is when their biggest sales are made. You'll be busy servicing customers... but after the holidays bustle, take some time for a work from home retreat.

As the new year approaches, it is a great time to re-evaluate your business plans. Taking time now to look at your home business and set goals can help your business blossom in the coming year.

Ask yourself -

- Why are you in business?

- What is actually making you money? DO MORE of it!

- What is going well in your business?

- What needs change?

- What level of success do you want to accomplish?

- What baby steps will you take to get there?

- Are there "time wasters" that are eating into the time you can be focusing on making money?

Please do not just read through these questions and do the "yeah, yeah". You are investing in yourself. Take the time to write down your answers.

Write down your New Year's Goals.

Give yourself & business the gift of time (how ever much you are able to take). Depending on your situation, maybe your business review will be time during a child's nap. Perhaps your children are in school and you have the day. Whatever your situation, take the time to get business-focused.

Other ideas for your Work at home Retreat:

- take that long needed bath or nap

- find a cozy place to write out the answers to business focus plans and goals

- choose one book that will help you take steps in your business and read it.

- sip away on your favorite beverage.

- take yourself out to lunch at your favorite coffee shop or bistro. Where appropriate, bring product samples, you never know who you might bump in to.

Take time for you.

Take time for your business.

Set your goals & ring in the New Year!

Sarah teaches others how to start and grow their own home-based candle business. [http://www.start-a-candle-business.com]

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Sarah_Eiden

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/372940

All Bets Are On

This is possibly the final draft for the genre contest - any last minute feedback?

I stretched as I stood up from my seat on the small aircraft owned by The Manitowoc Company. I was accustomed to the short flights between Michigan and Wisconsin. This particular flight was a bit longer and I was cramped and uncomfortable. I was eager to sit down with my older brother and tell him about my upcoming date with the pretty, young, girl from the greasy spoon. We had arranged it before I left and I hadn’t had time to share the news. I grabbed my things off the plane, thanked pilot Joe and headed for my car.

I opened the heavy door of my 1972 Chevelle SS. She was the first automobile I had purchased new and the smell of leather hit my nose immediately bringing a smile to my face. She was ascott blue with white wall tires and a she didn’t blow smoke or rattle down the road like the cars I’d had before her. I had worked for The Manitowoc Company for a decade and last year they went public. I didn’t much care about all of that business stuff, but when the first dividends were paid, I called my old high school buddy who owned a Chevrolet dealership and I ordered myself a new car using the dividend as my down payment. I didn’t own a home, but I felt like a millionaire after signing on the dotted line. I could hardly believe that it was 1972 and so was my car!

I stopped to take in the beauty of this car, her sleek lines, the rich color of her paint, and then turned slowly and sauntered to the trunk. No one was around and I was so enamored by the beauty of the SS. As I opened the trunk, I felt confident, a man and his car. The engine roared to life and we were soon on the road headed to my Brother Donald’s house in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. Donald’s wife Carol was fretting about my being single and was happy to cook me a meal and do my laundry when I got in from these weekly business trips. It was enjoyable to spend time with Carol and Donald and their family. The house was filled with noise, laughter, and it had warmth to it. My apartment was above a bar; I chuckled at the comparison.

“What is this?” Donald was asking Carol in a raised voice when I came through the side door. I chuckled despite myself; I was very familiar with these arguments and I recognized the Simplicity pattern in Donald’s hand as he shook it in frustration at his sweet wife. This was pattern 5318 and apparently it was called ‘Bikini Pants & Bell Bottoms’ and Donald wasn’t having his 16 year old daughter wearing anything with the word ‘bikini’ in it. He couldn’t believe Carol had spent an entire dollar on something so foolish. Carol was trying to explain that the pattern couldn’t be returned and bikini only referred to where the pants rested on Mary’s hips. Donald was not interested in discussing his daughter’s hips and they all looked quite relieved at the distraction that I created as I dropped my bags on the floor of their kitchen.

“Charles – it’s so good to see you. Can I get you a drink?” asked Carol as she firmly hugged me. I couldn’t turn her down and agreed to a martini on the rocks and my brother joined me. I greeted the children who were busy discussing the new shows they wanted to see at either the Mikadow or Lakeview Drive in Theater the following weekend. Mary wanted to see ‘Pay it Again, Sam” and Terry wanted to see “The Godfather” while their youngest sister, Holly, just wanted to be included in whatever they  were so animated about. “Do you kids know that Uncle Charles worked at a theater here in Two Rivers when he was your age?”  Donald asked the children to get their attention. They quickly gathered around as I explained: “Your dad is telling the truth, that was my first job. You kids know where Evans Department store is, well that was the Rivoli. I worked the late shift and was responsible for cleaning and making sure that everyone was out at night before we locked up. I’ve seen the second half of most movies shown in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. Don’t laugh; I had the biggest crush on Ethel Merman after hearing her sing and seeing those long eyelashes in Irving Berlin’s Call Me Madam. I even went back on my day off to watch the entire show; she was a knockout!”

“Supper is ready.” called Carol (just in time, I was struggling not to mention my love of large breasts). Story time was over and the children groaned. I was still smiling at the good times I’d had (the smell of buttery popcorn, and the silly antics of my friends – ahhh the memories). “Where do you want me?” I asked Carol as I gave her a wink. She always saved me the best seat at the head of the table opposite my oldest brother. This made it easy for sibling banter. She gave me a smile as she pointed to my usual seat. Carol was a great hostess and had a fresh martini and a glass of water already waiting at my spot.

“Well Donald, what did I miss?” I usually began this way. Donald was happy to fill me in on the local happenings and he wasn’t jealous like some. Donald had traveled out of the country as a pilot in the Air Force. He was content with his factory job, family life, and was relieved to sleep beside the same woman each night. He went on about recent orders at the factory, the new houses going up on the North side of town, and the family news about our little sister who was expecting her third child. We chatted casually while enjoying Carol’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some steamed carrots. It was nights like these that made the drive across town to my small apartment most difficult. Nights like this were a reminder that I was alone. I was a bit lonely.

“Charles, now that I’ve caught you up on everything around here, it’s your turn. Don’t you dare tell me about Nixon becoming president or that silly blimp; I want to know what’s new with YOU!” I guess I couldn’t argue with that. I had responded sarcastically a few too many times and he was onto me. This time I did have something worth talking about.  I told them about the adorable young waitress I had stumbled upon when having a cup of coffee at the greasy spoon right here in our own home town “You’ve been to Arvy’s Restaurant downtown Donald. Do you remember seeing that young blonde with the ice blue eyes?” Donald had never found a blonde to be the least bit attractive so I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember her. I went on to explain that her name was Elizabeth (Bet for short) and that she had agree to go to dinner with me this weekend. Donald didn’t seem interested. Carol was excited at the possibility of my settling down locally and starting a family.

“How much do you know about her Charles?” Carol inquired. I explained that she was originally from somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan and she had recently moved here to find some long lost relatives. She was a bit younger than me (actually, she was 15 years younger, but I claimed not to know her exact age since it likely wouldn’t go over well) and she drove a motorcycle. That sure got everyone’s attention. Riding motorcycles was cool if you were a man, and I could tell from the ten eyes looking at me in dismay that not one of them were impressed that I was going on a date with a motorcycle driving woman. I had the feeling Donald was picturing the model on the front of Simplicity pattern 5318 with her bikini pants and bell bottoms.

“Oh Charles.” Carol sighed. “I had so hoped that you would find a nice lady, get married, and settle down … does this um … what’s her name? Elizabeth? Seem like the marrying and settling down type?” I reminded my lovely sister in law that this was a first date and that I was one of the town’s most notorious confirmed bachelors. I had no intention of settling down and I was sure that this young blonde with the curvy figure, bouncy hair, and motorcycle had no intention of anything of the sort either. She hadn’t even told me where she lived, she insisted I give her my address so she could meet me out front of my place and we could walk to dinner. I had sensed she was overly cautious if anything. I visited for a while longer, collected the clothes I had dropped off the week before, and headed back the two miles to my apartment. I thanked my brother and sister in law, but didn’t stay as long as usual. I was hoping that if I left early I would avoid the inquisition about Elizabeth.

The SS was waiting outside; I skillfully slid behind the wheel after placing my clean clothes over the back of the passenger seat and putting my bag in the trunk. Carol was an amazing woman. She worked and managed to iron every piece of cloth and clothing in her own home as well as my things. Donald told me she ironed their bed sheets, bath towels, and of course I knew she ironed underwear since mine were always pressed when I picked up my laundry. No wonder all the girls in town wanted to date me, I really looked dapper with my clothes so neatly cared for. Carol had also took over shopping for me, so my clothes were fashionable and she found an imported cologne at the drug store that made me smell foreign and mysterious. I was hoping Elizabeth would at least find me intriguing, if not mysterious. I laughed to myself at the thought. I was nervous about this date. I hadn’t been nervous with any of the other girls. There was just something about her ice blue eyes that made my toes tingle.

Back at my apartment, I settled in. I took my shoes off at the door, hung up my laundry, made myself the final martini of the evening, and relaxed on the floral print couch that had conveniently come with the apartment.  I looked around to make sure this would meet with feminine approval, just in case Elizabeth came in before or after our date. Northing was new, but everything was well taken care of, tidy, and orderly. It would do – and who was I trying to impress anyway? She didn’t seem like a prude, but it was highly unlikely we would end up here. I closed my eyes and imagined what we would do if things got romantic.

… knock …

… knock …

“Who is it?” I woke with a start and glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning; my drink was still in my hand (except the ice cubes which had melted hours ago). The glass made a thud as I set it on the end table. I headed to the door and thought I was dreaming. She had tears in her eyes and her shirt was clinging to her youthful breasts. She was shivering and cold and quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I had laid eyes on. It took a moment to confirm that I was awake and this wasn’t some sort of vodka induced illusion. It really was Elizabeth at the door and something was obviously wrong but my heart said something was oh so right … I invited her in and poured her a drink. 

All Bets Are On

Genre Contest - Take II (and now we have a name)...what do you think?

I stretched as I stood up from my seat on the small aircraft owned by The Manitowoc Company. I was accustomed to the short flights between Michigan and Wisconsin. This particular flight was a bit longer and I was cramped and uncomfortable. I was eager to sit down with my older brother and tell him about my upcoming date with the pretty, young, girl from the greasy spoon. We had arranged it before I left and I hadn’t had time to share the news. I grabbed my things off the plane, thanked pilot Joe and headed for my car.

I opened the heavy door of my 1972 Chevelle SS. She was the first automobile I had purchased new and the smell of leather hit my nose immediately bringing a smile to my face. She was ascott blue with white wall tires and a she didn’t blow smoke or rattle down the road like the cars I’d had before her. I had worked for The Manitowoc Company for a decade and last year they went public. I didn’t much care about all of that business stuff, but when the first dividends were paid, I called my old high school buddy who owned a Chevrolet dealership and I ordered myself a new car using the dividend as my down payment. I didn’t own a home, but I felt like a millionaire after signing on the dotted line. I could hardly believe that it was 1972 and so was my car!

I stopped to take in the beauty of this car, her sleek lines, the rich color of her paint, and then turned slowly and sauntered to the trunk. No one was around and I was so enamored by the beauty of the SS. As I opened the trunk, I felt confident, a man and his car. The engine roared to life and we were soon on the road headed to my Brother Donald’s house in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. Donald’s wife Carol fretting about my being single and was happy to cook me a meal and do my laundry when I got in from these weekly business trips. It was enjoyable to spend time with Carol and Donald and their family. The house was filled with noise, laughter, and it had warmth to it. My apartment was above a bar; I chuckled at the comparison.

“What is this?” Donald was asking Carol in a raised voice when I came through the side door. I chuckled despite myself; I was very familiar with these arguments and I recognized the Simplicity pattern in Donald’s hand as he shook it in frustration at his sweet wife. This was pattern 5318 and apparently it was called ‘Bikini Pants & Bell Bottoms’ and Donald wasn’t having his 16 year old daughter wearing anything with the word ‘bikini’ in it. He couldn’t believe Carol had spent an entire dollar on something so foolish. Carol was trying to explain that the pattern couldn’t be returned and bikini only referred to where the pants rested on Mary’s hips. Donald was not interested in discussing his daughter’s hips and they all looked quite relieved at the distraction that I created as I dropped my bags on the floor of their kitchen.

“Charles – it’s so good to see you. Can I get you a drink?” asked Carol as she firmly hugged me. I couldn’t turn her down and agreed to a martini on the rocks and my brother joined me. I greeted the children who were busy discussing the new shows they wanted to see at either the Mikadow the Lakeview Drive in Theater the following weekend. Mary wanted to see ‘Pay it Again, Sam” and Terry wanted to see “The Godfather” while their youngest sister, Holly, just wanted to be included in whatever they  were so animated about. “Do you kids know that Uncle Charles worked at a theater here in Two Rivers when he was your age?”  Donald asked the children to get their attention. They quickly gathered around as I explained: “Your dad is telling the truth, that was my first job. You kids know where Evans Department store is,, well that was the Rivoli. I worked the late shift and was responsible for cleaning and making sure that everyone was out at night before we locked up. I’ve seen the second half of most movies shown in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. Don’t laugh; I had the biggest crush on Ethel Merman after hearing her sing and seeing those long eyelashes in Irving Berlin’s Call Me Madam. I even went back on my day off to watch the entire show; she was a knockout!”

“Supper is ready.” called Carol (just in time, I was struggling not to mention my love of large breasts). Story time was over and the children groaned. I was still smiling at the good times I’d had (the smell of buttery popcorn, and the silly antics of my friends – ahhh the memories). “Where do you want me?” I asked Carol as I gave her a wink. She always saved me the best seat at the head of the table opposite my oldest brother. This made it easy for sibling banter. She gave me a smile as she pointed to my usual seat. Carol was a great hostess and had a fresh martini and a glass of water already waiting at my spot.

“Well Donald, what did I miss?” I usually began this way. Donald was happy to fill me in on the local happenings and he wasn’t jealous like some. Donald had traveled out of the country as a pilot in the Air Force. He was content with his factory job, family life, and was relieved to sleep beside the same woman each night. He went on about recent orders at the factory, the new houses going up on the North side of town, and the family news about our little sister who was expecting her third child. We chatted casually while enjoying Carol’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some steamed carrots. It was nights like these that made the drive across town to my small apartment most difficult. Nights like this were a reminder that I was alone. I was a bit lonely.

“Charles, now that I’ve caught you up on everything around here, it’s your turn. Don’t you dare tell me about Nixon becoming president or that silly blimp; I want to know what’s new with YOU!” I guess I couldn’t argue with that. I had responded sarcastically a few too many times and he was onto me. This time I did have something worth talking about.  I told them about the adorable young waitress I had stumbled upon when having a cup of coffee at the greasy spoon right here in our own home town “You’ve been to Arvy’s Restaurant downtown Donald. Do you remember seeing that young blonde with the ice blue eyes?” Donald had never found a blonde to be the least bit attractive so I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember her. I went on to explain that her name was Elizabeth (Bet for short) and that she had agree to go to dinner with me this weekend. Donald didn’t seem interested. Carol was excited at the possibility of my settling down locally and starting a family.

“How much do you know about her Charles?” Carol inquired. I explained that she was originally from somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan and she had recently moved here to find some long lost relatives. She was a bit younger than me (actually, she was 15 years younger, but I claimed not to know her exact age since it likely wouldn’t go over well) and she drove a motorcycle. That sure got everyone’s attention. Riding motorcycles was cool if you were a man, and I could tell from the ten eyes looking at me in dismay that not one of them were impressed that I was going on a date with a motorcycle driving woman. I had the feeling Donald was picturing the model on the front of Simplicity pattern 5318 with her bikini pants and bell bottoms.

“Oh Charles.” Carol sighed. “I had so hoped that you would find a nice lady, get married, and settle down … does this um … what’s her name? Elizabeth? Seem like the marrying and settling down type?” I reminded my lovely sister in law that this was a first date and that I was one of the town’s most notorious confirmed bachelors. I had no intention of settling down and I was sure that this young blonde with the curvy figure, bouncy hair, and motorcycle had no intention of anything of the sort either. She hadn’t even told me where she lived, she insisted I give her my address so she could meet me out front of my place and we could walk to dinner. I had sensed she was overly cautious if anything. I visited for a while longer, collected the clothes I had dropped off the week before, and headed back the two miles to my apartment. I thanked my brother and sister in law, but didn’t stay as long as usual. I was hoping that if I left early I would avoid the inquisition about Elizabeth.

The SS was waiting outside; I skillfully slid behind the wheel after placing my clean clothes over the back of the passenger seat and putting my bag in the trunk. Carol was an amazing woman. She worked and managed to iron every piece of cloth and clothing in her own home as well as my things. Donald told me she ironed their bed sheets, bath towels, and of course I knew she ironed underwear since mine were always pressed when I picked up my laundry. No wonder all the girls in town wanted to date me, I really looked dapper with my clothes so neatly cared for. Carol had also took over shopping for me, so my clothes were fashionable and she found an imported cologne at the drug store that made me smell foreign and mysterious. I was hoping Elizabeth would at least find me intriguing, if not mysterious. I laughed to myself at the thought. I was nervous about this date. I hadn’t been nervous with any of the other girls. There was just something about her ice blue eyes that made my toes tingle.

Back at my apartment, I settled in. I took my shoes off at the door, hung up my laundry, made myself the final martini of the evening, and relaxed on the floral print couch that had conveniently come with the apartment.  I looked around to make sure this would meet with feminine approval, just in case Elizabeth came in before or after our date. Northing was new, but everything was well taken care of, tidy, and orderly. It would do – and who was I trying to impress anyway? She didn’t seem like a prude, but it was highly unlikely we would end up here. I closed my eyes and imagined what we would do if things got romantic.

… knock …

… knock …

“Who is it?” I woke with a start and glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning; my drink was still in my hand (except the ice cubes which had melted hours ago). The glass made a thud as I set it on the end table. I headed to the door and thought I was dreaming. She had tears in her eyes and her shirt was clinging to her youthful breasts. She was shivering and cold and quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I had laid eyes on. It took a moment to confirm that I was awake and this wasn’t some sort of vodka induced illusion. It really was Elizabeth at the door and something was obviously wrong but my heart said something was oh so right … I invited her in and poured her a drink. 

Genre Contest - Take One

This story needs some tweaking and a name ... it's something I'm working on for the following contest: /http://janiewrites.com/contests/c4we-writing-contest/

Please feel free to provide feedback and ideas. Thanks!

I stretched as I stood up from my seat on the small aircraft owned by The Manitowoc Company. I was accustomed to the short flights between Michigan and Wisconsin. This particular flight was a bit longer and I was cramped and uncomfortable. I was eager to sit down with my family and tell them about my upcoming date with the pretty, young, girl from the greasy spoon. I grabbed my things off the plane, thanked pilot Joe and headed for my car.

I opened the heavy door of my 1972 Chevelle SS. She was the first automobile I had purchased new and the smell of leather hit my nose immediately bringing a smile to my face. She was ascott blue with white wall tires and a she didn’t blow smoke or rattle down the road like the cars I’d had before her. I had worked for The Manitowoc Company for a decade and in 1971 they became a publically traded company. I didn’t much care about all of that business stuff, but when the first dividends were paid, I called my old high school buddy who owned a Chevrolet dealership and I ordered myself a new car using the dividend as my down payment. I didn’t own a home, but I really felt successful when I signed the forms and paperwork. It was hard to wait for her to come off the assembly line.

I glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one had noticed I was just standing there stupefied looking at this car. No one was around. I carefully placed my bags in the trunk and started her up. The engine roared to life and we were soon on the road headed to my Brother Donald’s house in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. Donald’s wife Carol fretting about my being single and was happy to cook me a meal and do my laundry when I got in from these weekly business trips. It was enjoyable to spend time with Carol and Donald and their family. Their home was so different from mine; they had three children. The house was filled with noise, laughter, and it had warmth do it that was foreign to my apartment or the hotel rooms I spent so much time in.

“What is this?” Donald was asking Carol in a raised voice when I came through the side door. I chuckled despite myself; I was very familiar with these arguments and I recognized the Simplicity pattern in Donald’s hand as he shook it in frustration at his sweet wife. This was pattern 5318 and apparently it was called ‘Bikini Pants & Bell Bottoms’ and Donald wasn’t having his 16 year old daughter wearing anything with the word ‘bikini’ in it. He couldn’t believe Carol had spent an entire dollar on something so foolish. Carol was trying to explain that the pattern couldn’t be returned and bikini only referred to where the pants rested on Mary’s hips. Donald was not interested in discussing his daughter’s hips and they all looked quite relieved at the distraction that I created as I dropped my bags on the floor of their kitchen.

“Charles – it’s so good to see you. Can I get you a drink?” asked Carol as she hugged me as if I had been gone for months. Being a gentleman with manners, I couldn’t turn her down and agreed to drink a martini on the rocks if my brother was having one with me. I greeted the children who were busy discussing the new movie they wanted to see at either the Mikadow Theater or the Lakeview Drive in Theater the following weekend. Mary  wanted to see ‘Pay it Again, Sam” and Terry wanted to see “The Godfather” while their youngest sister, Holy, just wanted to be included in whatever her older siblings were talking so animatedly about. “Do you kids know that Uncle Charles worked at a theater here in Two Rivers when he was your age?”  Donald asked the children to get their attention. They quickly gathered around asking me to tell them about it. Your dad is telling the truth, that was my first job. You kids know where Evans Department store is now, well that once was a theater called the Rivoli. I would work the late shift and I was responsible for cleaning the theater and making sure that everyone was out at night before we locked up. Your dear uncle has seen the second half of most movies shown in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. Don’t laugh when I tell you this. I had the biggest crush on Ethel Merman after hearing her voice and seeing those long eyelashes in Irving Berlin’s Call Me Madam. I even went back on my day off to watch the entire show; I really thought she was a knockout!”

“Supper is ready when you are.” called Carol from the kitchen (just in time, I was about to mention how much I loved large breasts). Story time was over and the children groaned. I was still smiling at the memory of Vera-Ellen singing ‘It’s a Lovely Day Today’ and all the good times I’d had (the smell of buttery popcorn, and the silly antics of my friends – ahhh the memories). “Where shall I sit?” I asked Carol as I gave her a wink. She always saved me the best seat at the head of the table opposite my oldest brother. This made it easy for banter and discussion. She gave me a smile as she pointed to my usual seat. Carol was a great hostess and had a fresh martini and a glass of water already waiting when I got to my spot.

“Well Donald, what did I miss? Anything happening?” I usually began our dinners this way. Donald was happy to fill me in on the local happenings and he wasn’t jealous like some. Donald had traveled out of the country as a pilot in the Air Force. He was content with his factory job, family life, and was relieved to sleep beside the same woman each night. He went on to tell me about the recent orders at the factory, the new houses going up on the North side of town, and the family news about our little sister who was expecting her third child. We chatted casually about these things while enjoying Carol’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some steamed carrots. It was nights like these that made me jealous of all the happily married people I knew.

“Charles, now that I’ve caught you up on everything around here, it’s your turn. Don’t you dare tell me about Nixon becoming president or that silly blimp; I want to know what’s new with YOU!” I guess I couldn’t argue with that. I certainly liked to tease, and apparently I had responded sarcastically a few too many times. This time I did have something worth talking about.  I told them about the adorable young waitress I had stumbled upon when having a cup of coffee at the greasy spoon on Washington Street “You’ve been to Arvy’s Restaurant downtown Donald. Do you remember seeing that young blonde with the ice blue eyes?” Donald had never found a blonde to be the least bit attractive so I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember her. I went on to explain that her name was Elizabeth (Patty for short) and that she had agree to go to dinner with me this weekend. Donald didn’t seem interested. Carol was excited at the thought of my settling down and possibly starting a family.

“How much do you know about her Charles?” asked Carol concernedly. I explained that she was originally from somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan and she had recently moved here to find some long lost relatives. She was a bit younger than me (actually, she was 15 years younger, but I claimed not to know her exact age since it likely wouldn’t go over well) and she drove a motorcycle. That sure got everyone’s attention. Riding motorcycles was cool if you were a man, and I could tell from the ten eyes looking at me in dismay that not one of them were impressed that I was going on a date with a motorcycle driving woman. I had the feeling Donald was picturing the model on the front of Simplicity pattern 5318 with her bikini pants and bell bottoms.

“Oh Charles.” Carol sighed. “I had so hoped that you would find a nice lady, get married, and settle down … does this um … what’s her name? Elizabeth? Seem like the marrying and settling down type?” I reminded my lovely sister in law that this was a first date and that I was one of the town’s most notorious confirmed bachelors. I had no intention of settling down and I was sure that this young blonde with the curvy figure, bouncy hair, and motorcycle had no intention of anything of the sort either. I visited for a while longer, collected the clothes I had dropped off the week before, and headed back to my apartment for the evening. Of course I thanked my brother and sister in law, but I didn’t stay as long as usual. I was hoping that if I left early I would avoid the inquisition about Elizabeth.

The SS was waiting outside; I skillfully slid behind the wheel after placing my clean clothes over the back of the passenger seat and putting my bag in the trunk. Carol was an amazing woman. She worked and managed to iron every piece of cloth and clothing in her own home as well as my things. Donald told me she ironed their bed sheets, bath towels, and of course I knew she ironed underwear since mine were always pressed when I picked up my laundry. No wonder all the girls in town wanted to date me, I really looked dapper with my clothes so neatly cared for. Carol had also took over shopping for me, so my clothes were fashionable and she found an imported cologne at the drug store that made me smell foreign and mysterious. I was hoping Elizabeth would at least find me intriguing, if not mysterious. I laughed to myself at the thought. I was nervous about this date. I hadn’t been nervous with any of the other girls. There was just something about her ice blue eyes that made my toes tingle.

Back at my apartment, I settled in. I took my shoes off at the door, hung up my laundry, made myself the final martini of the evening, and relaxed on the floral print couch that had conveniently come with the apartment when I began renting.  I looked around the apartment to make sure it would meet with feminine approval, just in case Elizabeth came up for a cup of coffee after our date. Northing was new, but everything was well taken care of, tidy, and orderly. It would do – and who was I trying to impress anyway? She didn’t seem like a prude, but it was highly unlikely we would end up here after dinner. I closed my eyes and imagined what we would do if things did go that route.

… knock …

… knock …

“Who is it?” I woke with a start and glanced at the clock. It was 3 in the morning and my drink was still in my hand (except the ice cubes which had melted hours ago). The glass made a thud as I set it on the end table. I headed to the door and thought I was dreaming. Here she was at 3 in the morning, the day before our big date. She had tears in her eyes and her shirt was clinging to her youthful breasts. She was shivering and cold and I couldn’t be an arse, I invited her in and poured her a drink. 

Time to Decide

New Years is a time to reflect, make resolutions, blah blah blah ... but what if it was more than that? What if you could go back and change the past instead of simply changing the future? What if you had magical powers for a day? Better yet, a fairy god mother/father who could help you travel back in time to right a wrong or change the outcome of a difficult situation? Here's a little story about just that ... is there a moral to the story? maybe...but that's for you to decide. Enjoy!

Time to Decide

My throat dry, my eyes felt full of sand, and my head was throbbing. I should blame the Marlboro Lights and the red wine but instead I will blame the son of a gun who promised to love honor and cherish me until death. Dammit Ben, you swore this was happily ever after. Where are you now? You may not care, but I’m staying in some shit hole hotel in the middle of nowhere. I pick up my cell phone to text him something smarmy about today being Christmas day or a happy anniversary since tomorrow should mark our four year wedding anniversary. “Screw it” I said while throwing the phone at the rickety dresser with the peeling paint. Wow, I must have smoked a lot; I think I’ll go back to talking to myself inside my head, this out loud stuff is painful.

“Are you okay beautiful?” said a very sexy male voice from across the room. I can’t believe it. How much did I drink last night? I didn’t really bring home a stranger, did I? Although … score … he’s hot!

“Are you talking to me?” I croaked.

“Of course Crystal. There’s no one else here, is there?”

I look at our shabby surroundings and realize how ridiculous I must have sounded. And what’s worse is I’m sure I smell funky, have mascara under my eyes, and horrible bed head. This gorgeous man has also probably heard me snore, and watched me drool in sleep. How can I gracefully handle such an awkward situation?

“Well … ummm … not to sound daft, but do I know you?”

“Oh sweetie, it’s not at all what you’re thinking. I don’t care about your snoring, the drool, or your hair. And before you ask, we did not have sex last night.”

All the tension flowed right out of me and I relax on the bed and close my eyes trying to remember who this is and how he got here. My eyes flash open and I sit up.

“How did you know what I was thinking and who are you?”

“Just relax. I’ll explain. Do you remember the story of Cinderella? Of course you do. She had a fairy Godmother, and you have me. I’m sort of the same thing. My name is Akal which is a Punjabi name meaning timeless. I can’t turn mice into horses or a pumpkin into a carriage. It is my job to help you change things by altering time; we need to figure out how to save your marriage.

“Akal, that sounds fantastic, but my marriage is hardly worth saving at this point. Even if you are what you say you are, Ben and I are done.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Who the hell is this crack head? Of course it’s not what I want. I stood at the altar of my childhood church and vowed that our love would transcend all time and understanding. I meant every word of those vows. I turned the other cheek when he was unfaithful, I ignored the rude comments and his controlling nature, and I wasn’t the one who wanted this. They say that you can’t fix stupid and when it comes to women, Ben was as stupid as they come. What a cliché – he knocked up his secretary and then he had the audacity to ask me to move out. He screwed up and now I’m the one watching my tears fall onto a cheap polyester comforter at a flea bag hotel while he plays house with that little floosy in the home we built.

“Crystal, is that really what you want?” Akal broke into my thoughts, demanding an answer to his question.

“I don’t know what I want. So much is wrong with our marriage. I don’t know where to begin.”

He crosses the room and takes my hands into his “that’s what I’m here for dear. Together, we will figure this out. How far back in time do you think we need to go to fix things?”

“The beginning” I said sarcastically with a laugh.

“We could do that, but I want you to think long and hard about what will work. Don’t make a hasty choice, because once we’ve changed time, I’ll be gone and you have to live with your decision and there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

I scoffed “what ever happened to the genie in the bottle and three wishes?”

“I’m not a genie and I can see you’re in no mood to make an important decision right now. Make yourself some coffee, take a shower, and think about your options. I’ll be back at three and we can talk more.”

“Okay” I agreed while he sauntered toward the door to leave. I roll over hoping all of this is just a dream or a nightmare or something.

… knock …

… knock …

“housekeeping”

… knock …

… knock …

I groan and roll over. I tell her to go away and call down to the front desk to request another night’s stay. I could honestly afford to live here (not that I want to), since it’s only $29.99 per night and our mortgage was over $900 a month. I smile at the thought of living in this joint. When I checked in, they practically asked if I wanted the room by the hour. My friends from the yacht club would get a kick out of that one. I can practically hear them talking about ‘poor Crystal’ and how she went from being a spoiled society wife to turning tricks to make ends meet. I flop back on the bed in frustration. If only I were tired, I could spend the whole day under the covers.

If this Akal is really all he says he is, how far back should I go? When did things get bad? I grabbed a notebook and pen to think about my options.

1      Our first date (I could kiss him instead of making him wait. That wouldn’t really change much, but maybe we never would have gotten married if he hadn’t found me so ‘different’ than the other girls who threw themselves at him)

2     1997 Muskie Tournament (I could change things by not having sex with him and we never would have gotten pregnant and had to give the baby up for adoption, but that seems too selfish)

3      2001 Valentine’s Day (I could stay home from the wedding and he wouldn’t be able to cheat on me with his ex, Tara  … I think that was the first time … but what if it wasn’t?)

4      The night he proposed (I could say no and break up with him and we could agree to be friends)

5     Yesterday (Instead of walking away I could demand that the house is half mine and I could force him to leave)

These all sound like viable options. I need another glass of wine and that shower Akal mentioned really does sound divine. I can take a shower, make myself look presentable, and walk back to the bar and have a few cocktails while I think about Akal’s offer.

The shower feels amazing and the peppermint bodywash helps me forget about the mold on the grout between the tiles, the poor water pressure, and the squeak of the bathroom fan. Maybe there are other options. Instead of helping him back in the boat the day he fell into the freezing water, I could drive away … it sounds sinister, but a dead husband is better than a cheating husband … and we did vow to love honor and cherish until death do we part. I wasn’t proud of the thought, but it was an option.

I toweled off my hair and wrapped up in my robe then headed for the bed to sit and ponder a few more moments before lotion and dressing. My heart stopped when I saw the bed. Ben was lying on the bed with a knife stuck in his chest. He was gasping for air and looking at me wild eyed. Akal was standing in the corner smirking …

Now was really the time to decide. Do I dial 9 1 1 ? Do I give the knife a twist? Do I walk away? 

May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and tough moments that eventually enrich your life.

~Crystal

A Lovely Lemon - Gone To Soon

Yesterday I received an updated email regarding my pregnancy. The email said that the baby was the size of a lemon. At the time, I didn't think much about the comparison since each week there was some talk of food. The size of a walnut, the size of a this or that...and until this very moment, I didn't realize just how appropriate the lemony reference was. Let me explain...

At 2pm today, my husband my son and I walked into the clinic for our scheduled OB appointment. I was 12 weeks pregnant and we were all very excited about hearing the baby's heartbeat and sharing a special family moment. We waiting patiently and then the big moment arrived. The doctor pulled out the electronic stethescope to listen to the heart beat. He had trouble finding it which wasn't all that concerning. He asked the nurse to bring in an ultrasound machine and then a special vaginal ultrasound machine. It was obvious there was a problem. There was a large pink elephant in the middle of the room wearing a polka dot too too and everyone was afraid to acknowledge it.

Dr.: "It doesn't seem like you're as far along as you think"

Crystal: "So - the baby is small? But is there a heartbeat?"

Dr.: "I haven't found it yet."

silence....

deafening silence...

damn pink elephant....

tears rolling down my face as I squeeze my husband's hand for dear life and my son gives me a hug and says 'mommy I love you'

Crystal: "Just say it - just tell me...I already know something is wrong"

Dr.: "Nikki - please take the little guy out to color or something"

Andre: "Mommy, why are you crying"

Mark: "It's okay Andre, just go with the nice lady"

Dr.: "It looks like the baby died at about 8 weeks - so approximately 4 weeks ago"

Crystal: sobbing...."now what?"

sobbing

God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change. God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change. God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change.

I had always said that I wasn't afraid to tell people when I was pregnant. I didn't want to be the girl that kept it a secret until 12 weeks because life begins at conception and even a life that is short lived should be celebrated just as much as that of a 110 year old. Now I really had to be strong in that conviction. How would I tell everyone and would they understand? Would they mourn with us just as they had rejoiced with us? Would they blame me? Would they say it's what I deserve for being an imperfect person?

It's really just as simple as the way we explained it to the children.

God needed another angel and he looked at you (Carmen and Andre) and he saw how amazing, beautiful, and caring you are. He said "I want an angel like that to snuggle with, to sing in my choirs, and to bring laughter to my house" and he took baby Jackson (the boy name we had picked out) to be with him. Baby Jackson is now Angel Jackson and he is bouncing on Grandpa Andre's knee and giggling. And someday Mommy and Daddy will join them in heaven and Mommy can run her fingers through his hair and kiss his perfect lips. But for now, Mommy had 8 amazing weeks where she sang to him and let him know that he was loved with absolutely all her heart by Mommy, Daddy, and his big brother and sister.

It's just that simple - God understands and I don't have to. The amazing part is how deeply you can fall in love with something so little - something that gives you absolutely nothing in return. When a parent says "I love you more than you'll ever know" they just might be right. I don't love baby Jackson any less than I love my other children and I smile as I picture him bouncing on his grandfather's knee. He may have been lemon sized, but he was the loveliest lemon in his mommy's eyes.


May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and may those lemons be the loveliest lemons you can find.

~Crystal

Grave Equals Grave

I was trying to come up with a catchy title for what's bopping around in my brain today. The words I'm hearing were spoken by my daddy when I was a little girl: "don't take yourself so seriously". Of course, I could have used that, but I wanted something catchier so I goggled synonyms of the word serious (this took a while as I spell synonym all sorts of ways: synonim, sinonim...anyway, you'd think I'd learn). Here's what I found:

austere, bound, cold sober, contemplative, determined, earnest, funereal, genuine, grave, grim, honest, etc...

The word 'grave' sort of caught my eye. I guess because I know that if we take ourselves too seriously, it leads to stress which in an unhealthy amount can lead to health problems which eventually lead us to our death or our grave as you will. That's the moral of today's story...take yourself too seriously or spend too much time being GRAVE and you'll wind up in the grave.

Now, if you've read any previous posts, or you know me at all, you know I'm not about pointing out a problem without bring a solution. That's why the blog isn't stopping with the moral of the story. Let's talk about things we can do to help be the opposite of serious...which brings me back to the thesaurus for antonyms of serious:

playful, non critical, soft

We may be onto something here. If we play more, judge less, and go for 'soft' instead of 'hard', we may just find ourselves laughing more and stressing less. Play doesn't come natural to every one, and if you aren't sure how to play you may want to borrow a toddler. Once you have one, if you aren't sure what to do with them just tickle them and see what happens. Children don't care if our clothes match, if our hair is combed, or if our breath stinks. Children care about bear hugs, tickle fights, and marshmallows. Next time you make a cup of hot chocolate, throw in some bright colored mini marshmallows and you'll likely finding yourself smiling. Make the same beverage in a bright colored coffee mug and you might even laugh. If that's too much for you, start small. Before heading to the office, toss on two different socks; you'll be the only one who knows your socks don't match and if you think about it as you go about business, you'll smile about your little 'secret'.

Ultimately, we don't want to take ourselves too seriously, so we don't want to judge ourselves so harshly. This is really about us, right? The answer is 'sort of'...if you're like me, you're harder on yourself than you are on others. It's hard to give ourselves a break, but if we start giving others a break first, it will change our thinking and allow us to be easier on ourselves. For example, I hate being late. If I'm late, I feel like I'm sending the message that I don't care, that I'm too busy for you, and I grumble at myself all the way to where I'm going and I rehearse my heart felt apology while devising a plan to make sure it will NEVER happen again. I have friends who have been five minutes late for every gathering we've had over our 20 year friendship. I know they care about me, I know they're not too busy, and I know that life just happens...I don't judge them at all, so when it's my turn to be late, I try to remind myself that it's okay. I don't need to stress, grumble, or make excuses - they love me as I am, and I need to let it go. If people don't love you in 'raw form', when you're late, or when you have no money in your wallet, they simply don't love you. It's so easy to understand when you look beyond yourself...so take that internally and say "I love me without make up, I love me even if I'm late, and I love me even if I'm broke" as you love yourself more, you'll judge yourself less and that stress and seriousness will melt away like a soft squishy marshmallow.

The next time something goes wrong in your life (and trust me it will...probably within the next five minutes), try to find the humor in the situation - be playful with it! If you can't control it, play with it...and if you can't control it or play with it...avoid it! No one needs to be so grave that they end up in the grave!

May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and plenty of playfulness! ~Crystal

Rolling Pins and Elephants

I finished this short story a few days ago (in a notebook with a pen - specifically a fine point pen, because they're so much nicer to write with) and it just took a while to get it polished up enough for the blog. I'll be showing it to my writer's group next week which will mean even more changes and hopefully it will be my next submission - and the winning submission I hope - for an upcoming flash fiction contest. Please share your thoughts on the blog, or with a private message/email. Thank you as always for your support!

"Honey, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"YES. Why do you keep asking?"

"Oh...no reason really...you just don't seem yourself."

...silence...

...furnace kicks in with a whirrr...

....plip...plop...the faucet must be leaking again...

The same conversation that always leaves the room feeling large and empty. I imagine that most couples start the day with a good morning kiss or enduring exchange. We did in the beginning.

I wanted to ask Phil more questions but that always resulted in a fight. I may as well get back to things in my world and stop fretting about him and my suspicions that he was having an affair.

2 1/2 Cups of flour
1 Cup of butter (unsalted & cut into 1/2" cubes)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
6-8 Tablespoons of ice water

The rolling pin had originally been a gift from Father to Mother. I helped him pick it out the Christmas I turned eight. Heavy marble with wooden handles. We bought the wooden stand to hold it in. It was too lovely to toss in a drawer and it matched the marble canisters, cutting board, and other kitchen accessories we bought Mother the year before. I had been so proud when she passed the rolling pin on to me. I felt like an accomplished chef with the cool weight of it in my hands - rolling my pie crusts rhythmically as familiar Christmas tunes played on the iPod.

This was the first Thanksgiving in a long time that we were hosting. Our children wouldn't be coming, but Phillip's large family would fill the table. I love cooking for his family. No one watches their diet or asks me to skimp on butter, sugar, or salt. For some families, six pies for nine people might be a waste. I was confident Phillip's Dad would set the example with one slice of pumpkin and a slice of apple (and possibly a slice of cherry after a little after dinner nap). Last week I dropped off a mince meat pie and he ate it in a single day - at least someone appreciated my baking and love of the kitchen.

"I'm headed out for a run. Did you want to come dear?"

"Phillip. Really? I run only if being chased by something larger than myself."

He muttered something about not living in Africa (in reference to my ample thighs and round middle). it had been years since he called me an elephant, but it was obviously still his issue. He smiled as if I hadn't heard.

"Well - I'm off. Enjoy your pastry."

I smiled despite the insult. His insults should hurt, but I enjoy being a size 18 and my weight has never bothered me a bit. In spite, I popped one of the butter cubes in my mouth enjoying the temperature, texture, and flavor of the pure creamy substance.

"It smells amazing in here Savannah! What are you making today?" inquired my neighbor Cathy as she tucked her feet under herself and settled into the love seat for our weekly chat.

"Thank you. The answer is...Pies! Lots and lots of pies! I have pumpkin, cherry, apple, and sour cream with raisin. You'll take one home, won't you love?"

"I really shouldn't. I'm still seeing the mystery man I told you about and he's a health nut."

"I know that story all too well. You're tiny though Cath. Certainly he can't think YOU are fat?"

"That's the thing - he talks about how amazing my body is but he's always comparing this relationship to his failed marriage. He says his wife had a hard body and she let herself get disgusting. It worries me that he's too obsessed with size."

"Have you seen any pictures of her?" 

"No. I asked though. He said she went from being my size to being larger than - oh what's her name? That celebrity on Cheers who has the pretty face?"

"Kirsty Allie?"

"That's it! What size do you think she is anyway?"

"She's got to be my size, like an 18 or so...I wouldn't say she's disgusting."

"Me either. He never says the word 'fat' but he refers to her as being slightly smaller than an African Elephant. I can't imagine calling someone you love an elephant."

"Oh."

"Savannah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing Cathy. I'm sure you're right, you probably should skip the pie."

Getting it Right This Time?

Getting it Right This Time?

I knew that I had been forgiven the moment I read the prayer with Pastor in his office that day. After several lonely years away from my church and my friends, I would finally be welcomed back with open arms and forgiven. Yes, I had three children with three different fathers, I was divorced, a single mother raising two of my three children, and I had been a young woman who placed her first born for adoption. I had been a mess. Left church because I chose to live a life of sin, and now I was back and begging for forgiveness. It would have been easier to stay away, but doing the right thing was not always the easy thing…or at least that’s what Daddy had told me.

Shortly after my confession and absolution, I met an amazing man. We had a fabulous first few weeks. Then I found out that he had been a repeat drunk driver. He would spend our first Christmas and Valentine’s Days on house arrest. He said he would understand if I decided to end things. However, I couldn’t very well make his faults out to be any worse than mine. If he could accept me as I was with my sorted past, I could certainly do the same for him. We made it through several tough months and after nearly two years of courtship, he proposed and I said yes.

Right after the wedding, we decided to try and have a baby together. It didn’t take long, and I was taking a pregnancy test…and it was positive. We were excited and scared at the same time. I teased him because this would be the first time I was married and pregnant (in that order) and I said it seemed to go against my rebellious nature. Joking of course. It really felt great, and I was so excited to be getting it right this time. Like the old song “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage”…la la la

Today was the day for my first doctor’s appointment for this pregnancy. I knew I was about six weeks along and that the baby would arrive next June, but my Doctor wanted to confirm things and answer any questions I might have. We hadn’t told many people yet, and wanted to wait a few weeks to really go public. In fact, we hadn’t even told our families. I wasn’t sure of my mother’s reaction, and his sister was scheduled for a c-section in a few days and we didn’t want to steal the lime light. I pulled into the clinic and was shocked to see my mother’s sport utility vehicle parked next to the only open spot in the lot. I parked next to her and thought about how I was going to explain my presence at the clinic, without spilling the beans about the new addition to our family.

I walked hesitantly into the clinic hoping I wouldn’t see her and sighed in relief when the waiting room was empty. I marched up to the reception area and gave them my new married name, address, phone number, and updated my emergency contact information so my husband would be notified if something went wrong. As we were finishing up, I heard my gynecologist chatting with a patient. As they moved closer, it became painfully clear that my mother was the patient and not only was she at the same clinic, she was seeing the same Doctor, and now she was only a few feet away from me . “think fast” I said to myself just in time to smile and greet her. The only thing I could say was “oh, you see Doctor Fischer too?”

“Yes, and what are you seeing him for?” Mother asked (knowing full well I wasn’t due for an annual for quite some time)

“oh, he’s just my regular Doctor – you know. I’ll see you later, ok?” And I quickly finished the paperwork and scampered off to the lab to pee in the cup I had discretely tucked in my purse so she wouldn’t notice.

After the lab, I had a few moments in the waiting area again. The ladies in the reception area had clearly noticed our game of cat and mouse. They thought it was sweet when I explained that I didn’t want Mother to know until the risk of miscarriage was all but gone – she had miscarried two children before carrying me to term and I explained that I wanted to protect her from that sort of painful memory. They promised they hadn’t said anything but said they had a feeling that she was suspicious.

The nurse called me into the office and my blood pressure was unusually high. I promised her it was not a problem and was induced by the uncomfortable situation I had just endured. I laughed nervously as I explained the situation and thought to myself…’I’m getting it right this time, I suppose something had to be a little off to make me feel like I was living on the edge’

May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and moments that make your heart beat a little faster than others <3

~Crystal

Eyes Wide Open

a little flash fiction for this brisk Wisconsin evening - enjoy

"May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and explanations you can grow from." ~Crystal

Eyes Wide Open

How one question explained an entire childhood and helped me realize what I didn’t want…

I remember spending a lot of time with Dad when I was growing up. He taught me about things he enjoyed – gardening, reading, cooking, and he instilled in me a great love of nature and the outdoors. Mom is in my memories but not in an active role. I can see her sitting on the couch knitting, but I don’t remember DOING anything with her. There was arguing about what I would wear to school, and I remember Mom forbidding me to wear lipstick, hair spray, or perfume…but as much as I try to, I don’t remember shopping trips, baking cookies, school field trips, or anything with Mom. They’re both gone now and there are a handful of photographs showing Dad and I (in the sandbox, at the beach, riding horses) but no action shots of Mom. There’s a few of Mom and David, as well as the annual church photograph over-posed, over-edited, with each of us over-dressed…but that’s all I have…even David is gone now.

Not much of a story and I could really stop right here. My name is BobbiJo. My mother hated me, my father was a drunk, my brother David was a drunk…they’re all dead…so I guess it’s just me against the world. A photo album, a check from the realtor who sold my childhood home, a ton of debt from my student loans, and a Ford Tempo in need of a muffler – that’s all there is. The End…

If only it were that simple.

My name is BobbiJo and I’m addicted to food and the approval of others. Go ahead…look back at the cover of the book…you assume that because I’m addicted to food that I’m fat, right? I’m not overweight and I never have been. I’m addicted to food in the same way an accountant is addicted to numbers. I want to know everything there is to know about it. Why does butter taste so amazing when you use it in a croissant recipe? Why is cream cheese frosting so much better on a carrot cake than plain vanilla frosting? Why choose Mozarella instead of American cheese for a pizza? How can coconut oil be good for you when it’s practically a solid at room temperature? I love food so much that I spent the last six years of my life studying it. My passion is nutrition and health. My psychologist would say that I control my diet and exercise because I didn’t feel in control of anything growing up…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Dad worked in a wood factory in the small town of Two Rivers, Wisconsin. He worked all day, drank and played cards at night, and spent weekends playing the part of doting father by day and abusive husband by night. Mom stayed home raising David and I. We lived in a two-story home on a corner lot. We had a big garden, a dark dingy basement, and had a lovely bookshelf in my room for my Nancy Drew story books. David and I were only three years apart and we lived close to school and would often walk together. We didn’t have much in common as children. I dreamed of having a horse someday. David dreamed of owning a gun so he could kill things.

I should clarify Dad. He wasn’t abusive to David or I and he wasn’t physically abusive to Mom either. He was probably “normal” in comparison to most middle-aged men in the 50’s. He gave Mom just enough money for groceries, expected her to cook, clean, raise the children, and he had no intention of doing more than taking the garbage out every Monday night. He felt he had done his part by earning  a paycheck. He referred to Mom and her interests as “silly” or “frilly” and I don’t remember kissing, hugging, or much talking between my parents. Maybe I should have said he was a neglectful husband instead of abusive…oh, either way…not the kind of man you’d find this girl going out with.

I want someone kind and gentle, a good communicator, and someone who holds my hand in public (or maybe even puts an arm around my shoulder in church on Sundays). Some of the men I met at school were getting perms and worrying more about their shoes and clothing than their grades. That wasn’t the type of gentle I was looking for either. I hadn’t dated much, but I had an idea of what I was looking for and as much as Dad was my best friend growing up, I didn’t want a husband who resembled him in any way.

Why am I writing this? I suppose I should tell you. It’s part of my therapy. I am trying to figure out what makes me tick so I can work through my ‘issues’…the question really should be: “why are you reading this?”?

Maybe you’re as crazy as I am…or maybe you can relate…or maybe it’s just nice to be crazy WITH someone for a change.

Mom. You want to know about Mom…here’s my earliest memory of Mom and I having a conversation:

“BobbiJo – you can’t be walking around the house in just a nightgown anymore. You’re practically ten years old!”

“What am I supposed to wear?”

“Put on a robe. Your brother and Dad shouldn’t be looking at your breasts and vagina.”

(thinking to myself…couldn’t she call them something else? Anything but that? Really?)

“A robe?”

“Don’t you sass talk me young lady – get over here”

I thought she was going to take me over her knee. That would have been preferred…she really wanted to ask me if Dad had ever touched my vagina or my breasts. I remember sitting in awe thinking Dad was a terrible person if she thought he would do something like that. She explained to me that there were bad people out there and that bad things happened to little girls all the time – “little girls who show off their breasts and vaginas in the company of men and boys”

I had never felt so dirty. I thought Dad was dirty. I thought David was dirty.

I wore a bath robe from that time forward, but I still felt dirty underneath it. Vagina and breasts were dirty words in my nine year old brain, and I must be a dirty girl since I had breasts and a vagina. Ewe…

There were conversations after that. Mom didn’t want me sitting close to Dad or David on the couch, she didn’t want me wearing skirts, thin blouses, or anything that might draw attention to my figure. She reminded me that I was ugly and no amount of hairspray, makeup of perfume was going to change that. David enjoyed chiming right in about his ugly little sister BobbiJo. BobbiJo with the good grades, BobbiJo with the pigtails, BobbiJo who didn’t have any friends other than her imaginary horse Flicka.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. Dad died my freshman year of college and I didn’t go back for the funeral. Had Mom died, I might have gone back…but with Dad gone, there was no one I cared to talk with. I was a Christian and I knew he was in a happier place. I rationalized that he wouldn’t have wanted to me to miss school for something as silly as a funeral anyway. Mom wouldn’t have wanted to deal with ugly stupid BobbiJo anyhow. I sent a card.

A few weeks after the funeral Mom sent me a letter explaining how ungrateful I was and how she was changing her will so David got everything and I got nothing. She warned me not to come home again as I was not welcome there. I didn’t hear from David and didn’t care if he knew about her intentions and the letter or not. I didn’t need either one of them.

A family friend who went to church with Mom sent a letter a few months before I graduated with my BS, Mom had been confined to a wheelchair due to her uncontrollable diabetes and David was taking care of her. David was also in poor health due to his drinking and drug use. Althea wondered if I would come home to see if I could talk some sense into one or both of them. I tossed her letter into the recycling bin under my desk and went back to studying for an exam about artificial sweeteners.

Mom died and I flew home for her funeral, not out of respect, but because I heard David was a wreck. The Attorney explained that the house was left to David and I, under the stipulation that we were joint owners but David could live there as long as he liked. I didn’t think this was so terrible of an arrangement, until he stopped paying the bills and taxes and I found out that I would be responsible for them. He was living without heat or electricity. The house stunk…

This went on for nearly two years. By the time I completed my Masters degree, I was supporting David and myself. He wasn’t able to work because he had done so much harm to his body with the drinking and drugs that he was barely human. He lived like an animal, smelled like and animal, and to make things worse…he had taken up with this woman and her child…so instead of a single wild animal living in my childhood home, it was like a pack of wolves. The woman was crazy, but eventually she couldn’t take his lifestyle and she moved out (or so I thought).

I week after graduation I got the call. David had died and I had to return to Two Rivers to clean up his last and final mess. The girlfriend claimed he had promised to buy her son a laptop and she was sure it was in the house somewhere. Three phone calls to the Police and a restraining order later, I had hoped I heard the last of her. I had waitressed all through school and used every cent of savings to get current with the bills on Mom and Dad’s house. I buried David, sold the house, settled the estate, and here I am…

I’m looking for a place to live, a job as a dietician, a new car, and hopefully a man. I’m not even sure where to start, but talking to Pastor seems like a good place to begin.

“Pastor – I just don’t understand why she treated me that way.”

“BobbiJo – don’t you see it? You couldn’t see it as a child, but you’re a grown woman now. She was jealous of you.”

“Of me?”

“She was putting you down because you were everything she would never be. You’re independent, smart, and beautiful…she saw you as a threat to who she was, a threat to her marriage, and she was jealous of you for all those years.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be a mother, but I can’t imagine being jealous of your own child. I don’t want to be like that. What can I do?”

“I’m glad you came to see me, but you should probably sign yourself up for some counseling dear. You’ll be fine, but talking to someone and praying about it will go a long way in becoming a good wife and eventually a good mother.”

A Halloween to Remember

A Halloween to Remember

This story may or may not be true…is it a trick? A treat? Both? Neither? You decide…or maybe you’ll never know because you’ve entered the ‘fiction zone……”

I received her reminder exactly a week before Halloween:  Am I still taking the kids trick or treating Halloween night?

I had nearly forgotten I had promised her. I didn’t particularly care for Halloween and was happy to have someone else endure the evening of begging door to door for candy, so I responded: Sure, if you’re willing to take them, they’re all yours. Just don’t let them eat the candy.

Having been our family babysitter for years, she expected that sort of reply and meant the following literally: LOL

I knew she would let them eat some of the candy, and she knew that I would be fine with a little candy as long as it was done in moderation and some of the Tootsie Rolls would be saved for me.

We made arrangements to meet at the local college so she could pick up another friend as well as the children and head out for an evening of fun and adventure. I packed up the children (in their costumes) and reminded them to say please and thank you, wear their hats and gloves, be polite, use their hands for helping and their mouths for saying nice things. They promised to behave, and we agreed to meet up in a little over two hours at Starbucks. I had packed a book in my bag and was looking forward to a quiet evening at Starbucks.

I sent out an open invitation to friends and family to stop and visit with me while I relaxed at Starbucks. Debi took me up on the offer and we chatted the night away. It was ½ hour before the children would be back and my phone began to vibrate. I excused myself from the conversation explaining that it was the friend who had the children so I’d better take the call.

“Hello. How are you guys doing?”

“We are done, but you better come get the kids. My keys are locked in my trunk and we are at the park at the corner of Lincoln and 86^th Street.”

“Oh gosh, did you call the police?”

“No. My parents would be really upset if I did that. A friend is on the way to try and help.”

“OK – I’ll leave here right away.”

I got to the park to find Lydia (the young lady who babysits and had taken the children), my two toddlers, and a woman dressed like a nun. They were all standing around Lydia’s car and the children were discussing their treasures and treats. The adults were not wearing costumes, it turned out that the woman in the nun outfit was indeed a nun. She and the children joined me in my warm sport utility vehicle while Lydia waited for her friend, Eric to arrive to try and release the door lock.

Eric arrived and worked tirelessly on the lock for nearly an hour. I didn’t want to leave Lydia and the children’s car seats were in her back seat, so I had a good reason to hang around and wait for a solution to the dilemma. Sister and I also tried to help in various ways by holding the flashlight, using the hanger to try and catch the lock, etc…and after another hour had gone by, I asked again if I could call the police for help. Lydia agreed.

I provided the police with all of my information as if I had locked my keys in the vehicle. They asked if the vehicle belonged to me. At first I said yes, but then I quickly explained it wasn’t exactly my vehicle. Lydia was relieved when they didn’t ask for her information and said under the circumstances, they would only need my name, address, phone number, and date of birth. She was hoping her parents would not find out about the incident.

It took the officer a few minutes to release the latch and we were all on our way. The children thanked him and he was clearly the hero of the evening. I promised Sister I would never forget her because there weren’t too many nuns who I had broken into cars with. I commended Lydia on keeping her cool and her ability to laugh in even the most uncomfortable situations, and we thanked Eric for his tireless efforts – he seemed like a great friend for Lydia.

There’s that saying about life – something to the extent of: “life is not about the destination, it’s about the ride” and I can certainly say that tonight was a ride worth remembering. Things don’t have to go as planned to be fabulous, fun, and memorable. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more exciting Halloween (and I can tell you that even a nun may say damn every now and again…but shhhhh….that’s just between you and me).

May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine, and memorable moments with friends! ~Crystal

She Smiled Despite Herself - Flash Fiction

Sylvia stretched and blinked. Her vision cleared. She yawned. The rain tapped gently on the window and she could hear the leaves rustling across the deck. Fall had once been her favorite time of year. This year it didn’t have quite the allure it did in the past. There were leaves to rake, pumpkins to carve, and pies to bake…but there would be no laughter. She was officially an "empty nester". She tugged the duvet, tucked it under her chin, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t eager to start her day. If she weren’t self-employed, Sylvia would call in sick today.

“Almost Paradise” blaring from her alarm finally roused her. Sylvia figured she had better get out of bed, or she might be considered lazy. Not that anyone would know, but she still heard the judgmental words of her mother… “Only lazy and dying people sleep past eight in the morning young lady.” She rolled over, turned off the alarm and grabbed her phone. 7:55am – time to hit the pavement. She threw on her favorite purple track suit and her queued up her favorite playlist on her ipod knowing Stevie Nicks would come on first. She laced up her running shoes. The rain didn’t stop her, she wanted to run far and fast to find something she couldn’t quite describe or define.

Her first client was due to arrive at eleven. She would have plenty of time to run a little further. She hit the shuffle button on her iPod and let her mind wander as Stevie sang about landslides and David Gray drew the line. She hadn’t been paying attention to time or place until she looked up and saw a home she had never noticed before. It wasn’t large, it wasn’t spectacular, but it caught Sylvia’s attention so much that she tripped on the uneven pavement. She lost her balance and tumbled onto the tall wet grass and collapsed in a heap of purple. The blood was tricking from her knee, and her elbow hurt, but otherwise nothing but her pride had been injured. She was grateful for the cool weather as it kept any onlookers safe in their warm homes. She picked herself up, still mesmerized by the lovely robin’s egg blue home with the big porch and unique pillars.

“Are you okay Miss?” said a booming voice. Once again Sylvia was thrown off guard. Where did this man come from? She saw his shoes first, and her eyes scanned upward to take in his large frame. He was in no way chubby, she would describe him as athletic in the way a football player is athletic. She was speechless as she took him in. He asked again “are you okay?”

“Um…yes…I suppose so. Thank you.”

“Here, let me help” he said as he gently wiped something off her forehead “looks like you’ve got some mud here.”

“Thank you. I’m fine though sir.”

“Please Miss, call me Gabe.”

“Thank you Gabe, I really should be going. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It was no bother. May I ask your name?”

“Sorry for being rude. I’m Sylvia. Sylvia Slattery from Slattery Publishing, just down the road.”

“Sylvia, what a pretty name. Just down the road, huh?” he said laughing.

She was put off by his apparent mocking of her. “What is so funny Gabe?”

“Nothing is funny, but do you realize you are more than ten miles from home Miss Slattery?”

She hadn’t realized she had run so far, but she wouldn’t let on. “I may be an author and publisher by trade Gabe, but I am not daft when it comes to directions. Thank you for the geography lesson.” She shot him a cold glare as she turned to leave.

He was mumbling some sort of apology. She turned up her Ipod and just kept going. How could such a snarky man live in such a lovely home? Even more perplexing was the question of how such a snarky man could be so attractive. As she ran home, she couldn’t help but think about who Gabe was. Of course she wasn’t interested in him but she couldn’t shake him from her mind. This wasn’t exactly how she thought the day was going to go. Her mind wandered, and a few blocks from home she realized the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Jackson Browne was singing “In The Shape of a Heart”. She smiled despite herself.

Where's Your Happy Place?

Well, hello there! I missed you!

I've been busy cleaning and packing and cleaning some more. The last few weeks have been crazy (in a good way) and I haven't found much time to touch base with anyone. I did tell my husband that the next time we move, I'll need a good tranquilizer or a case of wine about a week in advance, and just keep me 'on cloud nine' until everything is cleaned and organized and all the final papers have been signed. I enjoy moving believe it or not. This will be my 28th address in only 18 years, so I am no stranger to boxes, bins, tissue paper, bubble wrap, newspapers, and duct tape. However, this is the most stressful move to date.

Of course I put the stress on myself, I know that...but moving with school age children is totally different than a single girl packing up throughout the night, loading up her hatchback, and taking up residence in a cozy new apartment. These children seem to unpack faster than I pack, dirty faster than I clean, and for some reason they are always hungry, tired, or in need of attention. I say sarcastically "I didn't think I had to do anything after the labor and delivery - this life is a lemon and I want my money back"

Kidding aside, you have to maintain some sense of normalcy when you have children and others are involved in the moving process. Bedtimes need to be maintained, meals need to be provided, bathing is a must, and you need to be able to locate the favorite stuffed animal and night light at a moments notice to save a pre-bedtime temper tantrum and melt down.

If I had all the money in the world I would have hired someone else to do the moving and the cleaning, but alas...I do not have all the money in the world (in fact I don't have much more than a handful of change in the bottom of my bag at this moment). What I like about doing it myself is how familiar you feel with the home - the building itself. It gives you time to bond with your new home and time to say goodbye to your old home. As you pledge the floor boards of your daughters new room, you think lovingly about the hours she will enjoy playing dolls on the floor, of the future years with boy band posters on the walls, and a pack of cigarettes tucked in the back of her underwear drawer. As you clean the old house, you think about the new owners and the life they will create, and you want to make sure the house is clean so they can sit back and enjoy it as much as you did when it was yours.

All in all, at the end of the day, I'm a bit stressed and short with people I love. I'm not the person I want to be and thank heavens this is only temporary. The 'on the cusp' feeling got me to thinking about what I would do if I had a few hours to myself tomorrow. I asked myself "Crystal, what would you like to do to get your happy back?" and I started creating a mental list. This list got me to thinking...wouldn't it be nice to have my own 'owner's manual'? A list of things I enjoy, with a price, and time listed on it? A list that I could create on a good day, instead of waiting until I'm at my wits end and the only thing that interests me is sleeping or indulging in an entire bottle of wine.

I think this is a great idea, a reference book that I can use, but also something my husband could take a peak at if he was looking for ideas to make me smile. Here's a sample of what a list might look like:

1) Kiss from my husband    priceless   lingering
2) Massage       $50         1 hour
3) Journal and Pen Set    $10    
4) Vanilla Latte  $5           1 hour
5) Trip to the Kohler Design Center     (free)        4 hours
6) Lunch with a friend         $30                   3 hours
7) Walk in the park with the children     (free)      2 hours
8) Playing the piano    (free)     15 minutes
9) a nap    (free)                45 minutes

etc....

And the lesson here is - figure out where your happy place is. You don't have to make a list, a binder, or an owner's manual...you don't even have to write it down. Just think about the things that make you happy, and when you find yourself going down the path to grouchland, toss in some happy things to get you back on track. You'll thank yourself, and so will the people around you!

<3 Muwah!

May your paths be abundantly filled with lemons, sugar, sunshine and happy people, places, and things!
~Crystal