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.