For the next few days I'll be posting bits from a recent trip to Olancho, Honduras and my time there ... no literary efforts ... just updates that I originally posted to facebook during the trip ... so although they are written in first person, present tense, the trip is over and I'm back home now :)
Day One
I’m in a dusty truck, headed out of San Pedro Sula toward the east. As we drive through this metropolitan area crowded with people and buildings and billboards and noise, it’s hard to believe that in a short few hours I’ll be in a place with nature to contend with and no running water. We were greeted by old friends not seen for almost two years … and yet, even with the passing of time, it seems like yesterday. Already the teasing has begun about my feeble attempts at broken Spanish and my requests for a slower rate of speech. They have paved the way for us, making preparations and forging relationships.
We have been responsible and registered with the Embassy. We’ve observed the (very orderly) protests taking place … heard the rumblings about the high court’s recent decisions … or lack thereof. We’ve reviewed overland travel routes and options. There are contingency plans for everything our imaginations could conjure. We’re eager to connect with the rest of our team and to meet the people who have welcomed us into their lives for these few days.
Because I have learned on these trips to never take anything for granted, I’m typing frantically, trying to get the words out and sent before we leave the land of cell and internet coverage … knowing that the hopes of a generator that actually works, satellite adapters that can find a signal and cell phone reception are just that … hopes. I’ve phoned home, reassured children and mother … and now I type as I listen to the flurry of information being exchanged around me in the vehicle.
It’s cloudy here today … and probably cooler than back home in Phoenix … oh, and did I mention the humidity?!? Even a gal from the South forgets how fiercely humidity can slap you in the face.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Tear
The silent tear told a story that screamed to be told... a tale of hope and despair, love and loss, loyalty and betrayal. Leaving a glistening trail, it trickled across a cheek caressed by a mother's hand, kissed by a man made of dreams, patted by a child's chubby fingers. It sang of a girl chasing fireflies in the warm dusk of a summer evening and a woman chasing dreams in a life lit by shimmering stars. It traced a path left by other tears in lonely moments in other days... and uncountable joys in yet others. It told of a life lived with delight and zest, love given freely, passion embraced fully, adversity met with strength.
A hand lifted to gently brush the tear away... and a woman stood tall to welcome another day.
A hand lifted to gently brush the tear away... and a woman stood tall to welcome another day.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Little Girls ...
My little girl.... well, once she was little... now she's just smart and funny and brave and beautiful!!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
A Good Question
I love questions that make me think ... yesterday someone asked me to describe "the perfect man". Interesting question, huh? I have interesting friends :)
So I tried to answer the question ... and this is what I came up with ...
"I used to have a perfect answer for this. I could give you a very neat list of all the attributes that would equal perfect. Then I realized that being able to check off all the items didn't make someone perfect. I threw that list away. Soooo ... the perfect man would allow me to just be who I am and accept me and all my pieces. He would laugh with me and make me laugh. He would be willing to both give and receive within the relationship. He would be gentle, but not weak. He would be confident and know who he is and who he is becoming. He would have his own life and not expect me to create that for him. He would be a gentleman and allow me to be a lady. I will never be in a relationship with someone that I could ignore ... or who could ignore me. I want that spark. Wow ... this was a jumble, huh?"
It was a good question.
So I tried to answer the question ... and this is what I came up with ...
"I used to have a perfect answer for this. I could give you a very neat list of all the attributes that would equal perfect. Then I realized that being able to check off all the items didn't make someone perfect. I threw that list away. Soooo ... the perfect man would allow me to just be who I am and accept me and all my pieces. He would laugh with me and make me laugh. He would be willing to both give and receive within the relationship. He would be gentle, but not weak. He would be confident and know who he is and who he is becoming. He would have his own life and not expect me to create that for him. He would be a gentleman and allow me to be a lady. I will never be in a relationship with someone that I could ignore ... or who could ignore me. I want that spark. Wow ... this was a jumble, huh?"
It was a good question.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Home Again
Jenna took a moment to stand quietly in the warmth of the sun on the sidewalk. She wanted to absorb the colors of the flower garden, the scent of roses, the sound of water flowing from the fountain, the blue of the sky and the green of the grass. Somehow these things, in this moment in front of her mother’s house, gave her strength and made her stand a bit taller.
She crossed the flagstones, climbed the two steps onto the porch, past the bench that had been there since her childhood, and then stood before the carved mahogany door. Taking a deep breath, she touched a finger to the scrolled doorbell, hearing the chime beyond respond to her touch. Sounds of movement told her that within moments, she would be face to face with her mother for the first time in three years … three very long years. The years had carried the occasional stilted phone call, letters exchanged but never truly responded to and the occasional email discussing the weather. Silent years that had taught Jenna that talking and communicating were not at all the same.
The lock clicked and the door swung open, the scent of the house reaching her first. Rose petals, cinnamon, her mother’s perfume, oranges, and a faint hint of pine cleaner wrapped her in decades of memories – a potpourri of mingled scents as much a part of ‘home’ as the house itself. She fought the urge to run … at the same time resisting the need to simply throw herself into her mother’s arms. This time she would stand her ground. This time she would step through that doorway as herself or not at all. This time there would be no make-believe.
Her mother stood in disbelief, taking a moment to recover from the shock of seeing her only daughter on her doorstep. For that tiny instant, all of the uncertainty, the muddled history, the guilt, and even the love, were there in her eyes in plain sight – only to be quickly swept away. For a flash in time, Jenna thought she saw the sheen of tears there as well, but it was only a reflection of her heart’s wish she had glimpsed – not reality at all. A smiling mask dropped into place as arms reached for Jenna. “Darling girl, what a wonderful surprise! How on earth did you get here? I’m so happy to see you."
She reached to take one of her mother’s outreached hands into her own, moving into the house, one foot in front of the other on the gleaming wood floor.
“Are you tired? Hungry? You should have told me you were coming … I could have had a hot meal for you … meatloaf … banana pudding. Oh, never mind, come on, let’s see what we can find.” Jenna allowed herself to be led to the kitchen by the chattering woman. Mutely she accepted the glass of iced tea placed in her hand and stood looking out onto the patio, watching the hummingbirds busily fluttering at the bright red feeder as her mother bustled around behind her. “Papa and I had baked chicken last night. Why don’t I warm that for you with a nice baked potato? Doesn’t that sound good? Would you rather have just a sandwich now? Then maybe we’ll go down to Rosita’s for dinner later on … after you’ve had time to rest. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.”
Turning and gently placing her glass on the table top, Jenna sat heavily on a chair and whispered, “Mama, please …I haven’t seen you in three years. Three years, Mama. I’m not hungry. Please stop. I didn’t come all this way to be fed. Please just sit with me.”
Her mother sat across the table from her, hands still busily folding and unfolding the tea towel in her lap. She was still quite an attractive woman, even at seventy-five – hair carefully arranged in the latest trend, fingertips perfectly manicured, clad stylishly in the latest designer jeans and a t-shirt that had probably cost as much as Jenna made in a month. Here she sat, this woman who had given birth to her, in her meticulously crafted, immaculately kept fortress, keeping the unpleasantness of the real world at bay, focusing only on the small circle under her control.
As she sat looking into the green eyes of the woman who had bandaged fingers and baked cupcakes and sung lullabies, Jenna knew she could never strip away the carefully assembled armor the older woman had woven about herself. Even more, her heart knew that accepting her mother as she was would add strength to her own struggle for uniqueness. She knew that nothing would be gained by causing pain for this woman who had given her life.
With a smile, she rose from the chair and walked around the table to take her mother into her arms. “I love you, Mama.” And for the first time in her life, she was absolutely sure of the woman she had become.
She crossed the flagstones, climbed the two steps onto the porch, past the bench that had been there since her childhood, and then stood before the carved mahogany door. Taking a deep breath, she touched a finger to the scrolled doorbell, hearing the chime beyond respond to her touch. Sounds of movement told her that within moments, she would be face to face with her mother for the first time in three years … three very long years. The years had carried the occasional stilted phone call, letters exchanged but never truly responded to and the occasional email discussing the weather. Silent years that had taught Jenna that talking and communicating were not at all the same.
The lock clicked and the door swung open, the scent of the house reaching her first. Rose petals, cinnamon, her mother’s perfume, oranges, and a faint hint of pine cleaner wrapped her in decades of memories – a potpourri of mingled scents as much a part of ‘home’ as the house itself. She fought the urge to run … at the same time resisting the need to simply throw herself into her mother’s arms. This time she would stand her ground. This time she would step through that doorway as herself or not at all. This time there would be no make-believe.
Her mother stood in disbelief, taking a moment to recover from the shock of seeing her only daughter on her doorstep. For that tiny instant, all of the uncertainty, the muddled history, the guilt, and even the love, were there in her eyes in plain sight – only to be quickly swept away. For a flash in time, Jenna thought she saw the sheen of tears there as well, but it was only a reflection of her heart’s wish she had glimpsed – not reality at all. A smiling mask dropped into place as arms reached for Jenna. “Darling girl, what a wonderful surprise! How on earth did you get here? I’m so happy to see you."
She reached to take one of her mother’s outreached hands into her own, moving into the house, one foot in front of the other on the gleaming wood floor.
“Are you tired? Hungry? You should have told me you were coming … I could have had a hot meal for you … meatloaf … banana pudding. Oh, never mind, come on, let’s see what we can find.” Jenna allowed herself to be led to the kitchen by the chattering woman. Mutely she accepted the glass of iced tea placed in her hand and stood looking out onto the patio, watching the hummingbirds busily fluttering at the bright red feeder as her mother bustled around behind her. “Papa and I had baked chicken last night. Why don’t I warm that for you with a nice baked potato? Doesn’t that sound good? Would you rather have just a sandwich now? Then maybe we’ll go down to Rosita’s for dinner later on … after you’ve had time to rest. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.”
Turning and gently placing her glass on the table top, Jenna sat heavily on a chair and whispered, “Mama, please …I haven’t seen you in three years. Three years, Mama. I’m not hungry. Please stop. I didn’t come all this way to be fed. Please just sit with me.”
Her mother sat across the table from her, hands still busily folding and unfolding the tea towel in her lap. She was still quite an attractive woman, even at seventy-five – hair carefully arranged in the latest trend, fingertips perfectly manicured, clad stylishly in the latest designer jeans and a t-shirt that had probably cost as much as Jenna made in a month. Here she sat, this woman who had given birth to her, in her meticulously crafted, immaculately kept fortress, keeping the unpleasantness of the real world at bay, focusing only on the small circle under her control.
As she sat looking into the green eyes of the woman who had bandaged fingers and baked cupcakes and sung lullabies, Jenna knew she could never strip away the carefully assembled armor the older woman had woven about herself. Even more, her heart knew that accepting her mother as she was would add strength to her own struggle for uniqueness. She knew that nothing would be gained by causing pain for this woman who had given her life.
With a smile, she rose from the chair and walked around the table to take her mother into her arms. “I love you, Mama.” And for the first time in her life, she was absolutely sure of the woman she had become.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Teal Heels
The teal heels knew they were not intended for a closet life ... after all, stunning is what stunning does. A toe peeped out of the limo, the slim ankle swiveling to get a feel for the city sidewalk ... and a long sleek leg followed it into the spotlight. Spotlight, kleig lights, there were paparazzi all over the place ... the way it goes when legends make comebacks ... in teal heels, no less. Hell, the heels WERE the freaking legend and had been from the first moment they sashayed past the threshold, generating a gasp heard round the world. Teal heels, you see, are not run-of-the-mill or standard fare, but always are quite, quite rare ... cobbled more so by the diamonds glitter edged into the here and there on the heels savoir faire. The spats mused with disdain as the glamour girl smiled and waved ... diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but these heels had damn well MADE this girl.
An Absolutely*Kate/Tess Collaboration ~ Originally published at 6S
An Absolutely*Kate/Tess Collaboration ~ Originally published at 6S
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Today
Ten years ago, he fastened a strand of pearls around my neck and ran his thumb along the line of my jaw as he promised me forever.
Last year, he told me I was the center of his world, that he couldn’t imagine life without the feel of my skin beneath his hand as he slept.
Last month, he woke me with the scent of fresh coffee and rose petals before he slid back between the quilts, making me want more and more and more.
Last week, he took me to the ocean and slipped the fabric from my shoulders, drawing me ever closer as we moved to the rhythm of the waves.
Last night, he wrapped me in his arms while he asked me to promise that I would never leave, never make him live a day he didn’t share with me.
Today, he packed his bags and said goodbye.
(Fiction for Six Sentences)
Last year, he told me I was the center of his world, that he couldn’t imagine life without the feel of my skin beneath his hand as he slept.
Last month, he woke me with the scent of fresh coffee and rose petals before he slid back between the quilts, making me want more and more and more.
Last week, he took me to the ocean and slipped the fabric from my shoulders, drawing me ever closer as we moved to the rhythm of the waves.
Last night, he wrapped me in his arms while he asked me to promise that I would never leave, never make him live a day he didn’t share with me.
Today, he packed his bags and said goodbye.
(Fiction for Six Sentences)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Lies
Lies hurt, heal, destroy, rebuild, hide, reveal. They are sturdy things built of fear and love and uncertainty and resolve. Heavy burdens to carry… but sometimes even heavier to lay down. A well-made body of lies can clothe the pain, construct a suit of armor or destroy a soul. With each added block the narrow rift between truth and falsehood becomes less definable, less clearly discerned, less clearly marked… and the way back to the start becomes more maze than path.
This is how it is, you see, that a lie becomes a person … and a person becomes a lie.
This is how it is, you see, that a lie becomes a person … and a person becomes a lie.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Check Please
He walked into the room without so much as a rap at the closed door and without pause or invitation. Slouching into the soft leather upholstery, he claimed a seat of prominence at the long gleaming table. An assistant quickly and quietly moved to close the door left standing ajar in his wake. Sparing not so much as a glance at the folder silently slipped in front of him, he reached past several faces to the carafe of coffee. Unconcerned with the disruption created by his entrance, his presence or his usurping of position, he noisily selected a cup from the tray, the clatter of spoon on china deafening to all but himself. Cup finally to his liking, he reached into his carefully tailored jacket and slipped out the cel phone, fingers beginning to fly across the tiny keyboard as the attorney across the table continued to outline the demise of an empire cherished by his father ... now too long regarded as an amusement by the son.
With a sigh of exasperation, he slammed the phone to the table, looked up, lifted a hand to stop the flow of information and spoke.
"Right. Thousands of jobs lost, bankruptcy, doom and gloom, blah, blah, blah. Where's the check?"
With a sigh of exasperation, he slammed the phone to the table, looked up, lifted a hand to stop the flow of information and spoke.
"Right. Thousands of jobs lost, bankruptcy, doom and gloom, blah, blah, blah. Where's the check?"
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