writing doodle ... chapter 1 - again

Lucinda Lovelace double checked the address on the building against the one on the slip of paper from the employment agency.  The numbers matched and it was the right street but somehow didn’t look like it she imagined it.  She expected a multi-story office building in some kind of an industrial complex, but this was an older bungalow style home in the middle of the city.  The crabgrass was interspersed with poorly tended rose bushes.  Next to the front door was a small fountain which was dry.

It was now or never. She needed the job and it was the only one that had an immediate opening that paid more than minimum wage.

She tested the door knob; it was locked. An old fashioned doorbell was attached to the doorframe.  She rang the doorbell and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Lucinda walked away from the door and peeked into what would traditionally be a living room window.  Three teenagers lounged on the floor next to a scattered pizza box.  They were absorbed in some kind of a video game. 

This most definitely wasn’t a place of business.  It couldn’t be.

Just as she reached into her purse for her cell phone, the front door creaked open.  “We don’t want any,” a schlubby looking man with three days worth of most unsexy stubble, cherry cola red hair, and a neon green t-shirt said.

writing doodle - proof the universe is expanding

Martha pulled on her favorite navy skirt and it barely went all of the way up.  There was no problem until she got the the upper part of her thighs and then she prayed that the lining didn't split.  She was able to button the waistband, but the zipper was being stubborn.

Wasn't this thing loose last year?

A deep breath in, which she held for an eternity while she struggled again with the zipper, and finally success.

Yes.  The universe is indeed expanding.  My  Her waistline is the proof.

Maybe I  she should skip having the whole enchilada for lunch.

writing doodle

It was harder than trying to find Santa Claus in August or the Tooth Fairy in south Florida.  The search for the most perfect, and by definition, most illusive, hat was about to make Sandra crazy.

Her mother and aunts kept talking about finding the right hat for spring.  How the right hat would make an outfit.

Did that mean that she was going to be naked if she didn't have a hat on?

The phrase that the right hat framed the face made no sense to her.  Was she going to have to walk around with a picture frame if she couldn't find the perfect chapeau?


She lived smack in the middle of New Mexico and all she could ever find were cowboy hats.  Most of them were made of straw and had significant brims.  They were typical and unimagined.






What she really thought she wanted was something colorful and extraordinary.

Two days before Easter, she finally found it.  A bouquet of flowers exploding over the headpiece with a magnificent ribbon as a chin strap.

She put it on and could barely keep her head upright.

It was perfection in silk and plastic.

Perfectly inspired and creative on each and every level.

Sandra didn't have to ask the price; there was no price too great for an item of perfection.

how was your day today, dear?

writing doodle ... the wrong side of the fence

From the time she was three, Sally knew she was on the wrong side of the fence for everything in her life.

Not that anyone ever intentionally excluded her, it just worked out that way.  A half a step off from the rest of the world.

By the time she saved enough money to go to the movies, the one her friends wanted to see was no longer playing at the local theatre.


When she learned the words to a song, no one was singing it.

Her clothes were at least two years or more out of date because she only shopped outlets and discount stores. Her hair didn't hold a curl and grew unevenly, so there was no point in attempting a stylish cut.

Her boss said that she was never on time for anything.  She splurged on a good watch and set it early so she wouldn't miss a meeting or a deadline.

Sally was afraid of the water.

Always had been.

When asked, she always had an excuse.  She had either just colored or permed her hair.  The all mighty cramps excuse worked through high school and college.  Lack of a bathing suit worked during the crucial three months of the year.  Besides, her skin didn't tan and she knew the glowing white of her legs would blind someone if they ever saw her in shorts, much less a bathing suit.




No one knew that she spent time at the pool every summer.

She stood beyond the pool, next to the bushes along the fence line.

It was a vicarious way to live and one she wasn't proud of, but it was safe.  And more to the point, it was where she felt she belonged.

writing doodle - come on duke

"Come on, Duke.  We can do this," Paige said as much to herself as to her Irish setter.  She didn't want to start obedience school now or ever, but her mother, Erica, was going to come for a visit and was afraid of all dogs.  Even placid dogs who just wagged their tales shyly around strangers.  Her rambunctious two year-old didn't like to listen or obey unless it served his own agenda.

She hooked the leash to his slip collar and crossed her fingers.  This was going to be a growing experience for both of them, no matter what.  Besides, Duke didn't play well with others at the dog park.  Plus it might increase her own confidence at work.  After all, if she could handle Duke better, maybe she could handle her boss.

Then again, maybe not.

Happy Leap Year Valentine

writing doodle - licensed to shop

Susan knew the best part of the day is when she saddled up her pack of dogs and go to the dog park after work.

For a long time the worst part of the day is when she got ready to go to the dog park.

Why?

There's always too much stuff to handle:
Bags for the 'gifts' the dogs leave behind.
Balls for her to retrieve after it has been slobbered upon.
Water bottle for the dogs because it tastes so much better from the bottle than from a bowl. (They never noticed that she refilled from a water fountain.)
Water bottle for her because she got thirsty chasing the dogs' balls.
Her purse and all of its contents.

It never failed that she didn't leave something behind that is crucial.  That is she turned her car into a dogmobile to reduce her own stress... no fancy insignia on the front, no cute bumper sticker, no frame around the license plate ... just a pack of wild dogs all trying to shout directions on the short journey from my house to the park.

All of the staples for a short outing was now stashed in the back of the van.

Except for three things: her cellphone, carkeys and driver's license.

Friday after an overlong week, she made sure her boss, Ed Mooney, was on the phone and didn't observe her leaving the building or she would never have gotten home at a decent hour.  Her part of the annual budget was done, printed, filed, and e-mailed to the executive committee.  She believed that poor planning on someone else's part didn't constitute an emergency on her part.  It was hard to enforce, but it sounded good.

Whenever her drive home was uneventful, the dogs made the evening eventful.  Sometimes it was hard to tell which was better:  other drivers she couldn't control or three wild beasts who didn't want to be controlled.

The beasts usually won.

Susan dropped her purse and keys in the foyer and let the dogs out of the kitchen.  After the effusive greeting and apologies for her tardiness, she removed her driver's license from her wallet and tucked it into her pocket.

She was less than five minutes to the park when her boss called needing her to come back.

There was never any arguing with the man. Ever.  And if the budget didn't get approved as drafted, she not only wouldn't get a salary increase, her job was in jeopardy.

No sooner had she made the u-turn than she was pulled over.

"May I see your license and registration?"

Perfect.  The perfect end to the perfect day.

She reached into her pocket and removed the hard plastic card and handed it to the officer. Then she leaned over to get the registration from the glove box.  It wasn't there, neither was her insurance card.  She had the old ones and both had been well chewed by the puppy.

He took the card, attached it to his clipboard, and returned to his vehicle.  He was back in less than three minutes.

"Ma'am, may I have your license?"

"Isn't that what I gave you, officer?"

"No."

He passed the card back to her, face up.  It was her Costco membership card.

"Perfect.  I'm licensed to shop but not to drive."

"Ma'ma, have you been drinking?"

No sooner had he said the words than her boss called, again.