writing doodle - MoM WoW?

Jared had searched every room in the house to make sure there had been no power tools left on because the racket coming from somewhere was enough to make him want to stuff his ears full of cotton.  He checked every window and didn't see anyone mowing a lawn and there was no construction work happening at the ungodly hour of five o'clock in the fricking morning.  He finally found it when he stumbled upon the form snoring in his bathtub.  Mike, his roommate, was fully dressed, rubber ducky in each hand and large bandage on his forearm.  There was no way to keep Mike's mouth shut to dampen the sound other than duct tape and he didn't want to go searching for it now, maybe in a couple of hours.


Two nights before, Mike's girlfriend decided she wanted a BBD; bigger, better deal.  She didn't care who it was with or that he was married; her boss earned more than twice what Mike did and wouldn't demand her time.  Maybe now Mike wouldn't have to work so much overtime to keep her in the style to which she demanded to be kept.

Jared and Mike decided to celebrate this new found freedom by going on a pub crawl.  The night concluded with a trip to one strip club, three seedy bars, and a greasy spoon.  Jared couldn't remember if there had been a trip to an emergency room, but was pretty sure neither one of them had been inside of an ambulance.

Mystery solved and Jared staggered back to bed.

Several hours later Jared sat at the kitchen table dressed only in his boxer shorts and a pair of mismatched socks eating a bowl of Fruit Loops. 

Mike staggered to the refrigerator, peered inside and found nothing he could recognize without his glasses.  He plopped down in the only chair not covered in dirty laundry and grabbed the cereal box. 

"How you doing?" Jared asked. 

"My head feels like its two sizes too small and my mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton."  Mike looked at the bandage on his arm and asked, "Did I donate plasma last night?"

"Not that I know.  You're afraid of needles."

"Oh yeah."  Mike gingerly lifted the adhesive from the wound.  "Too big to be a needle prick."

"Wrong spot, too.  If you're gonna play with that thing, get your hands out of my cereal."

"Fine."  The edge of the bandage lifted back and exposed a large heart with a name scrolled carefully inside.  It said Mike.

Jared looked at him and sniggered.  "At least you'll never wonder who you are if you pass out somewhere."

"Great."

Jared felt a little smug; Mike had a lasting souvineer of the evening and he'd come away relatively unscathed.  Nice.  Usually he was the one who did something stupid and Mike held it over his head for years.  Now he was finally one up on his friend. "Let me know if you're up to going to the gym later today."

"Probably not, but I'll let you know."

~~~

"What the hell did you do to your ass?" Mike asked when they were changing in the gym's locker room.

"I have no idea."  Jared tried to look over his shoulder to see what Mike was getting worked up over and saw nothing. 

Mike walked over and ripped off two bandages, one on each cheek.

"What the hell? That hurt."

"Better to rip it off than to do it slowly."

Right. "So what is it?"

"You've got the letter M on each cheek."

"What?"

"Yep. A single letter M."

"Does it mean anything to you?"

"Sure.  Naked cartwheels."

"Excuse me?"

"Sure.  Naked cartwheels.  Now when you do them, you'll be flashing the world WOW MOM WOW all the way down the street."

So much for not doing something stupid.

writing doodle - Victory Garden

The privacy fence merely existed to keep the two gardeners from letting their bounty take over the other's yard.  Eldina loved squash and planted a bounty of it each spring and shared with all of the neighbors.  When one of her vines crept into Mabel's yard, it was trimmed back and any and all blossoms were nipped immediately. Eldina did the same to Mabel's eggplants.

The Victory gardens their mother set up decades and decades ago were tended by the two women.  Home grown vegetables had taste and texture.  Local flowers a more pungent smell.  What had begun on behalf of the war effort and to extend food rations became a labor of love.

Too bad neither woman actually enjoyed their produce.  At least the food bank was well stocked.

writing doodle - going to church

Billy pulled his roommate's pillow out from under his head.  "Sam, it's time to get up. Rise and shine, lazy bones."

Sam groaned and snatched for the pillow.  "I had a long night.  Leave me a lone."

"Nothing doing.  It's Sunday and it's time for church." Billy leaned over and yanked the sheets and blankets down.  Not a very kind tactic, but it usually worked.  Besides, Billy was faster than Sam and could get out of harms' way if necessary.

"I think I hate you right now."

"You ever missed church before.  Come on, it will be good for you."

"Fine.  We'll go later when I'm actually awake."

"No.  You don't remember do you?  Go early and get inspired for the rest of the week I've already got coffee going and oatmeal ready.  Plus I picked out your clothes."

"Does it really mean that much to you?"

Billy nodded.  "Yeah."

"Some day you'll do this by yourself.  And you will even be able to enjoy it by yourself."

Some day, but not today.  Today, he wanted to share in the glory of God's and all of his creations with his best friend.  Besides, Sam is the one who introduced him to this church, it was only reasonable they go to services together.

Twenty minutes later, Sam was up, showered, dressed and fed. Twenty two minutes later they were in the car and on their way.

Billy  pushed the glass double doors open and whispered, "Come on.  Let's get a good seat up front."

The pair wandered to the front so they had a clear view of the altar.  "Do you still hate me?" Billy asked once they were seated.

"Of course not." Sam grinned.  "Too bad the music is so bad this morning.  Not at all motivating."

"True, but the view is terrific."

Sam sat back on the recumbent bicycle to watch the gym's most serious weight lifters and body builders begin their Sunday morning routine.  "God really is good."

"Amen."

writing doodle - on the job

I blame all of my diet failures on the guy I work with.  He is arrogant, pushy, and is convinced that not only does the sun rise and set upon his insistence but that we should all know it  and love him all the more because of it.

My car hadn't even arrived in the parking lot before he called demanding to know where I was.  It wasn't even 7:30 and I wasn't due to the office until 8:00 and he was already barking.

I had intended to come in a little early and clear a few things from my desk, but now I was headed to Dunkin Donuts for a cup of their best brew and two jelly filled gems.

The need for caffeine was given, I would need the strength and stamina to get through the daily chores with a clear head.  For the past three years, I've been going to night school so I can do what I really love, interior design.  Just the idea of changing the purpose of a room with a little imagination, some elbow grease, and someone else's wallet always makes my heart flutter. 

The sugar was to sedate me against Matthew's perennially bad mood when it comes to working with me.  The rest of the world he seems to like.  He is pleasant, makes jokes, and tells great stories.  When I'm not at the office, he gets a tremendous amount done. When I'm at work, it is all I can do not to hear every word of his so called private conversations with his wife about everything from the kids to the mortgage.

Once properly medicated I deemed myself ready to face the day and my nemisis.  If things didn't get better soon, it would be him or me.  I wasn't looking forward to a showdown with him, but I would stand my ground and do what I had to to protect my own interests.

I pushed the office door open and said, "Good morning, Matthew."

He looked up from his monitor and grunted.  "Mom, we need to talk..."

writing doodle - the job description

I remember looking at the list that the previous employee left for me before I took the job.  Pretty handy that she made such an extensive list.  Too bad she wasn't here to explain the finer points of the job, but such is life.

Every day is the same.  Remember consistency in training is key to maintaining balance and quality of life.


Perch on the top ledge of the living room sofa and will the neighborhood cats to cross onto my property.


Shed profusely in rooms recently vacuumed.


Bark prolifically at said cats until they go back to their own side of the street.


Rinse and repeat four more times.  The contract initially stated we would do this six times per day, but it was amended when I started to have vision problems.


Lay in front of the front door so I can be the first one to greet my human when he comes in from work.  Look for a pair of his shoes to sully if he is late and doesn't call.

Look pathetic in front of food bowl until said human fills it with canned tuna and dry kibble.  Sniff and ignore if he is begins to cook.


Join cooking efforts by sitting in front of the stove and blocking access to pots, pans, and washing up liquid.

Drag leash from hiding place approximately two hours after he has eaten and demand half-hour walk.


Should summons for walk be ignored, drag used underwear from laundry basket and destroy in front of him.


Take three-quarters of pillows for personal use at bed time.


Snuggle with human until he begins to snore.  Go to quiet spot and get quality shut eye.

writing doodle - restoration

To say the baby doll was in bad shape was an understatement.  The thing was made of sawdust and glue, but then again, in the 1930s and 1940s it was the standard of the day; the cracks at the seams and the crazing around the mouth and eyes was not.  The muslin body was mostly clean except for the stain where the doll's heart would have been.

The old man examined the table to make sure he had everything lined up.  Sandpaper? Check.  Wood Spackle?  Check.  Wood glue?  Yep.  Old dental picks.  Uh-huh, he had those.  Beige thread, scissors, and needle?  Check, check, and check.  Now all he had to do was find a radio station that came in clearly so he wouldn't feel so alone doing this singular task.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted off the wood chips that could not be reglued to the head.  He took a deep breath and wished he hadn't volunteered to fix his wife's first doll so she could give it to their great-granddaughter on her first birthday. 

Had he known that this task was actually going to take longer than helping his daughter repaint her bathroom and kitchen, he might have offered to do that for her instead.  He had worked as a carpenter and cabinet maker for over 40 years.  While some of the work was solitary, usually the projects didn't exist in a bubble.  He had interaction with the plumbers and electricians.  Sometimes he had to revise the client's expectations and alter the dream kitchen.

This project he couldn't screw up.  There would be no way to hide the flaws in his work.  This doll was the passing of a torch while there was still a flicker of a flame.

He stood from the workbench and realized his rear end would fall asleep in about twenty minutes.  That was the problem with getting to be an old man, you lost the padding in the back and it wound up in the front.  The cushion from the old patio set slid around on the bench, but would work as a short term solution. 

He had eight days to pull off a miracle and make the doll whole again.  Heck if God could create the entire world in six days and give himself one off to rest, this should be cake.

writing doodle - music man

Mrs. Lawrence taught music at the local elementary school for almost three generations of children and never before had she met a child with such immense talent and such odd musical taste.

Stevie Philips was the product of Ralph and Elizabeth Philips.  Neither one had been able to master an instrument any more challenging than a tambourine, but they had been able to keep perfect time.  Too bad the marching band didn't have a need for tambourine players, they would have been state champions.

Like every year on the first day of school, Mrs. Lawrence asked each child what instrument he or she might want to play in the school band.   Not every school could use kazoo players and she had never known anyone to master the harmonica.  Three children had mentioned something about the nose harp and Mrs. Lawrence knew there would be an interesting parent teacher meeting in two weeks.

Little Stevie Phillips had wanted to play the accordion.

Why?

He idolized Weird Al Yankovik and Lawrence Welk.

His father had drawn the keyboard and button boards for him two years ago so he could practice silently.

The first song he learned was the Beer Barrel Polka.  Stevie brought the words to class and had been singing at full volume for two hours before school started.

It was going to be a very long year.

writing doodle - breathe with me

"Take a deep breath in through your nose and hold it," the nubile,  young, yoga instructor said.

No problem.  No problem if it wasn't allergy season or if Belinda's decongestant had actually worked.  It would be an act of God or a major pharmaceutical company if she could breath through her nose any time in the next six months.

Belinda cracked her lips open a tiny bit and sucked in tiny amounts of air.

"Just forty-five more seconds and you can let your breath out," she said.

How long is 45 seconds?  According to her grandmother, long enough to say two Hail Mary's.  One and a half commercials during prime time.  Long enough to miss the call from her boss scheduling her overdue review.  Belinda's lungs were convinced that it was 35 seconds longer than her lungs wanted to hold in the stale, southern California air.

Belinda quietly panted quietly so she wouldn't pass out from lack of oxygen.  She hoped desperately that Shawn, a co-worker, wouldn't notice.  Shawn was convinced that yoga could fix anything that ailed a person from bad karma to an overdrawn bank account.  Then again, Shawn was five years younger, 20 pounds lighter, and had been doing yoga since she was in her mother's womb.