Dream an Evil Queen

For your amusement, I present a short dream segment I wrote as part of a collaborative story for our writers group. I had fun writing it, hope you enjoy it.

Gray clouds crept along the ground, bringing with them, I was sure, creeping little orbs wielding deadly knives. A dark shape oozed out of the smoldering haze toward me and I reached frantically for my sword. What I pulled instead from my belt was a jagged mirror. I looked at it in panic, and saw the lined gray face of my brother staring blankly from bloodshot eyes.

I hurled the mirror to the ground where it exploded in a violet tinged fireball. The flames curled up gracefully, curving around the stunningly gorgeous face of Etherea. She smiled a deadly smile, and beckoned with a blood-red tipped finger.

"Come, Valentine, you must bring the Master to us. My husband may be the Boss, but I am Queen. You will not disappoint your Queen."

"Bring the Master, bring the... I will not disappoint... I will not... disappoint the mirror..."

I was suddenly face to face with Etherea, her eyes burning into mine. "Who am I?" The voice was velvety shards of glass.

"My Queen...you are...my Queen." The violet flames of her hair wrapped around my head and squeezed until everything turned black.

Boot the Diva

The diva must go. Here at Village Square coffee bar, we pride ourselves on being tolerant and accepting of all kinds. But we have had quite enough of this one.

I know divas come in all shapes, sizes and genders, and ours is certainly unique. But you will best understand if you think of our diva thus; A blond cutie with a good brain but no idea what to do with it. She had street cred, and the right kind of friends. That was enough until she showed up in our coffee shop. There, much to her shock and surprise, she was expected to work hard, and work efficiently, every hour of every shift she put in.

This was obviously new territory for her. She had never worked a full day in her young life, I'm sure. She didn't have to, she was sleek and stylish, and just plain cool to have around. She had managed to slide by on those scant qualifications so far.

So she did what any good diva would do. She worked only when she wanted to, and only if conditions were absolutely ideally to her liking. If not, she threw fits. She had tantrums. She pouted. She vented so loudly every customer in the dining room stopped and looked and listened. One particularly noisy night the musician even commented on her behavior.

Will Diva For Paycheck. That would have been her sign.

Now you understand why the diva must go. So stand, raise a demitasse of crema-crowned espresso to the departure of our old espresso machine, the mechanical diva with a shiny steel facade, and a heart stained with rust and corrosion.

Sayonara. We miss you not.

Sam Walton Smiles

Yes, if Sam Walton was watching, I'm pretty sure he smiled.

See it was after 10 last night when I stopped in at Mylittleburg WalMart to pick up new blades for my shaver. (Slick scalp, blunt blades.) Seventeen minutes later, I had my blades, and $20 of long overdue car-care and personal care necessities. I was tired, I just wanted to go home. I headed for the door, and she saw me coming from fifty feet away.

Big smile. Not just on her lips, but in her eyes. "Have a good night," the WalMart greeter lady enthused(?) bubbled(?) said.

"Thank you, you too," I mumbled(?) intoned(?) said.

"Why thank you, I will." I think she was for real.

This was not some canned
"hiwelcometoMcDonaldsmayItakeyourorderplease" script. She was enjoying what she was doing. And because of her I left feeling better. And Sam smiled.

Postscript:

I know WalMart hating is cool in some circles. But I also know I see hard-working people there making a living, so others can buy what they need. Is that all bad?

Viva la Resolución!

Happy New Year! It's time for Resolutions! Get me a pen and paper! A pen to stab anyone who asks me for resolutions. Paper to stuff in their mouth.

Or, I could do something more worthwhile, like picking lint off my sweaters.

Resolutions, I believe, fall into three categories. And I don't even like to categorize. But I see them thus:

Socially acceptable; These are the ones we talk about to our friends and family so we don't sound like we're total losers. Includes the standards like, losing weight, stop smoking, eat healthy.

Professional; The ones all the business consultants insist you need to succeed. To look like we know where we're going, we lay them all out, realistic or not. We have goals, lots of goals, long range, mid range, short range, monthly, weekly, daily, hourly.

Goals of the soul; The ones we actually care about, but won't tell anyone. Except a stranger in a bar, drinks optional. But these goals are the hardest to nail down. Probably because it's things we don't even tell ourselves. But if we did get these right, I think a lot of other goals and resolutions would fall into place.

Do I sound like someone who doesn't make resolutions? Yeah, I suppose. I'm not good with written goals. I'm okay at writing the list. I'm just not good at getting it right. By the time I'm done, it doesn't look like me.

So maybe this year I'll try again. Not to nail down my goals, but to let them surface. Because I think the most genuine goals are the ones that you can't quite articulate. They'll come out if you listen to a different voice, not just the one in your head, but the one in your soul.

Glitter & Grime

We slogged along, we did. The mob of us, through the mud and the slush and the ice and the snow. Not snow like I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Snow like you find in the gutter six days later. Mud that sticks to your shoes and then your pants and then your shirt. And slush and grime. The kind of grime that starts on the outside, but ends up on the inside. In your eyes and mouth. Then in your throat. And finally, you’re pretty sure, the grime is coating the inside of your soul.

I kept my eyes down, because I didn’t need to look up. I knew the path. I’d been around this way hundreds of times. I watched the muddy boots in front of me as they sloshed loudly into that same hidden rut, followed by the same listless profanity. And then I stumbled on the same rock as a dozen times before. Curses!

When I did look up, I saw the same dingy, hunched over forms doing the same shapeless shuffle as yesterday and yester-week and yester-month. Every turn in the path promised something new, and every turn in the path delivered more dull sameness.

The occasional mirage of apparent festivity would come and go, but nothing changed. We trudged through the lights and the food and the façade of fun, feeling only more downcast by what we couldn’t experience. Any attempt to linger was quickly overruled by the endless marching horde behind.

And now, we see less sun every day. More night. More cold. Yet the pace quickens. Why? We see lights. We hear music. We sense excitement. It’s by far the grandest celebration we have seen. We rush towards it, falling and running over each other in a chaotic attempt to get there, to finally rest instead of strive. And then we’re there. And then it’s gone. Alas, it’s gone.

We’re off our pace now. Unfamiliar forms in front, unfamiliar ruts. We seem suddenly to have no place to go. But in the bewildered shuffling, I find the crowd spreading out. The path is wider. Still mud and slush and grime. But in between the figures before me, I see bits of fresh snow, untouched by muddy boots. I look to the left, and I look to the right, and I see, we’re all side by side. Everybody’s at the front of the line. We’re approaching the mountaintop together. It becomes a march, stepping as one through the muck and the mire.

We’re counting steps now, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. And then: 10, 9, 8… in unison, 7, 6, 5, we can feel it, 4…3…2…1 – and we’re struck silent, standing breathless in awe at the sight before us.

It’s magnificent, as far as the eye can see, miles of pure, glistening white snow. Not a footprint to be seen. Not a splatter of mud. Just sparkling clean snow, waiting for the first footprint. Trees glitter and glorious sunlight shimmers off a crystal clear lake. Unbroken snow beckons: Make your own path.

So the light ahead becomes the light within. It cleanses from my soul all the grime of the past. It’s a new day. It’s a new year. If I choose, it’s a new life.

If moments were ornaments...

...these would shine the brightest:

• Christmas Eve opening number at New Pointe. Trans Siberian Orchestra, eat your heart out. And the closing number. Little drummer boy, here’s to you.



• Talking with (unnamed friend) of my (unidentified offspring) and thinking, "This is a very cool (guy/girl), I hope (he/she) spends more time with my (unspecified offspring.) It’s complicated.



• Realizing that for five people whose main goal is enjoying their time together, Panic Room can be a great Christmas movie. I suppose for too many parents, it’s just a Christmas Eve reality.



• Christmas morning breakfast. Family. Crepes and eggs. Coffee. Smile.



• Settling down on the floor by the tree. Anticipation.



• Bestest Daughter opening her complete Friends DVD set. Her eyes and mouth were wide open, but no sound came out.



• The bewildered look on Bestest Son’s face for the time it took him to figure out it was not a cheap camera case, but a case holding the lock-picking set he had asked for.



• Realizing that Bestest Daughter had indeed found her way to Recognized Local Store and purchased the Specified Brand of a particular distillate for a father who would not indulge himself thus.



• Giving a DVD player, and receiving one, which oddly enough is still not excessive in our house.



• Understanding the thought and care that Bestest Son puts into his gift selection. He really wants you to like your gift.



• The satisfaction on Luvly’s face when she realized Daughter had been listening when she described a pair of boots. And watching the joy on Bestest Daughter’s face.



• My Mom being moved to tears by the sheer joy of spending an entire day with family.



• Gathering extended family around the table in a temporarily transformed coffee shop dining room. Where family gathers, there’s a sense of home.



• Living out the reason for the season. Peace in our home, goodwill to my family. It starts here.

Christmas Confession

I used to listen to the all-Silent Night channel on Accuradio. Everybody's version of my favorite carol, for hours on end. And then I discovered on a random Christmas CD the best version I've ever heard.

The most beautiful musical instrument on earth is the divinely created female voice. The best way to sing this song is the way it's written; silent, and holy. And that's what I hear when Christina Aguilera sings this song, first in English, then in Spanish.

May we all know the dawn of redeeming grace.