Meadowlark Story Society assignment: use at least three out of six words drawn from a hat, writing for 15-20 minutes

(the words I chose: wistful, heiress, truthful, absconded, brash)

Jane was wistful. As heiress to the St. Joseph baby aspirin fortune, she longed for the days when parents bought the stuff by the case. The company reinvented itself many times over the years, and this didn't come without lean times and heartache.

Her father had been truthful from the start: he knew that the business world was brutal, people fickle. He told Jane and her siblings that they would need to be innovative, hire smart people who knew how to change with the times. Jane's brother Tom and sister Bunny were not up for this kind of brash reality: they absconded with their piece of the aspirin pie without sticking around to see if St. Joseph could survive into the 21st century.

So Jane, the baby of the family, was left to struggle on her own. Well, not exactly on her own: her husband and son were CFO and Director of Development, respectively. She loved their optimism, but she still missed the influence that little pink bottle had in days past.

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: a dream, written in 10 minutes

A Fox at The Grapevine

She watches, spellbound, as liquid gold is poured into a glass, then served to the man at the bar. This act is repeated, except the waitress sashays around the room, delivering this luscious liquid to all who desire it, including her.


A smell is present in the air, wafting closer, then away, then closer again, until she’s sure it’s marijuana and nothing else.


Finally, when this lovely gold has been depleted for another night, the neighborhood fox guides her home. She’s thankful he knows the way, and is careful to guide her along back streets and not 27^th street, where her drunken meanderings might lead her into the busy thoroughfare. His coat smells wild, and he’s a bit scroungy, but his eyes are clear and knowing. 


Thank you for the lovely evening, fox and Grapevine. Until next time…


The relief she felt upon awakening was an invitation to stop at the Grapevine again. How many hours until 5:00 pm?

The Hiroshima teapot

The Hiroshima teapot

Pristine white

Blue and red

A found object

Its owners

deceased

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: write a story based on a photo from the book "The Chronicles of Harris Burdick", illustrated by Chris Van Allsburg

The Nun

The bruise bleeds down her forehead, alerting others to her mishap, her clumsiness. The incident occurred four days ago, while chopping onions and reaching into a cabinet. She should know better…multi-tasking is never a good idea. Headaches have become a daily occurrence. Now, almost a week later, her sisters are encouraging her to see a doctor.

The last time she saw a doctor was when she questioned her life’s path. It doesn’t happen often, Teresa usually pushes these thoughts from her mind. She can do that, she’s been trained to be introspective so she knows when to consciously detour a line of thought.

Here’s how it went:

Teresa is the only woman in the waiting room. She’s nervous, but not too nervous to notice the pink theme of the room’s design. Pink flowers, framed in wood hues that lean in that same color direction. Someone has left half a plastic cup of water on the table. On a sideboard, there’s cookies, napkins, cucumber-infused water in an attractive glass dispenser. She doesn’t understand how anyone could drink water like that, so easily, when she’s so nauseated that the thought of cucumber burps is intolerable. She envies those who don’t have bodies that betray them in many ways, least of which perhaps isn’t a breast tumor. She’s so tired of her nerves affecting her thoughts, her muscles, digestive system.  She’s just tired.

Waiting in the room next to the consultation area, she’s one of several women who only sport a tiny gown. They all smile at each other, some just here for a routine mammogram, some here to find out if a growth has returned. Teresa can’t tell which women have more at stake…everyone thumbs through the waiting room’s magazines in a bland, disinterested way. She enjoys being anonymous, not a nun, just another woman at the doctor’s office.

Her devoted parents, in naming her Teresa, insured that her formal (nun) name would remain the same. This doesn’t always happen, of course, but the powers that be understood that Teresa needed to remain Teresa.

She dozes while waiting on the exam table. Teresa dreams of a parallel life. The one that would have unfolded had she not taken Father O’Connor’s advice and gone into the sisterhood.

Her life could have been this:

Teresa Goodrow’s big brown eyes are a magnet for boys. Her heavy brows, so cute in childhood, are becoming harder and harder to manage. Her mother would tell her “what’s to manage?” in admonition for her vanity, but Teresa wants desperately to fit in, to be like the other girls.

She grows to adulthood, marries. Like good Catholics, Teresa and Mike have many children. Like good Catholics, they bring them up in the faith, attending Catholic schools and participating in the church in ways other families not as reverent might skirt in favor of mainstream culture.

Teresa’s life consists of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, carpools, bedtime.

Knowing God sees her in those moments that no one else does, all the private moments, is a comfort instead of a burden.

Teresa’s dream evolves into her current life. Sister Teresa’s life is vastly different from Teresa Goodrow’s life. Even resting thoughts are not the same. Is this surprising? Of course not. But it seems even Teresa’s core personality, who she is and was at birth, has changed.

She dreams of cardinals judging her, of nuns who came before her, of Hildegard. Hildegard, that amazing mystic from the twelfth century, has always been a heroine to Teresa. Someone she aspires to…perhaps even the reason she chose the sisterhood. In her dream, she sees herself in Hildegard, an impossible descendant, seated in the Santa Maria Maggiore. She sees this even as Notre Dame burns itself into oblivion, Parisians sobbing in the streets.

When the technician bursts into the room, apologizing for the wait, Teresa is grateful instead of irritated. She has welcomed this short dream, allowing her to view a life not taken. She is so happy to be returned to Teresa the nun instead of Teresa the mother of five that she feels tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Not wanting the tech to assume she’s nervous, she bares herself: “I’ve just dreamt an alternate reality of my life. I’m so glad to return to my real life.” The technician smiles, not really understanding. Perhaps finding her odd. Teresa doesn’t care. This is one of the many benefits of her life as a nun…the dismissal of others’ judgements of her. She relaxes into the routine of the exam, saying a short prayer, thankful to be Sister Teresa.

Finding the Writer Within Workshop at Spring Creek Prairie Audubon

We were instructed to find an object on the prairie. I took a photograph of this oriole nest.

Nest

gray and
tightly knit
Like a woven basket

Or a rabbit's coat
in the
thick of winter

gray and uninhabited
you don't want to stand out

And yet
You do
as the blue sky hands you over
to us

Waiting
for a new family
or last year's family
to bring you back to
Life

to illuminate your purpose

thank you
for your promise of
spring and
regeneration

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: a mystery

Sheep

The mysterious chunk of metal, rusted almost to nothing, became an obsession for Calvin. He’s tried to figure out what it is on his own, but Google has failed him. Mixed in with the rust is possibly blood, which is the linchpin in the mystery. Cal really doesn’t care if it’s blood or not, he just wants to find out what it is, why it’s here. Why it was sticking up out of the ground at the restaurant, as if someone placed it there, waiting for him to discover it.

From the beginning, he'd decided to share his find with his coworkers. Perhaps someone else can shed light on this object, an object that’s really a hook, found in the dirt after the recent renovation of his workplace. Cal works at Tavern on the Green, a stepping stone to loftier pursuits (better reviewed restaurants, perhaps), he hopes.

His investigation has yielded mostly historical details that he’s surprised he never knew. For example, the fact that the building he toils in used to house a herd of sheep. A herd of sheep that plodded from the tavern space to the green space at Central Park, day after day. Of course, there were clues, like the logo from the Tavern, and the fact that the green space is called Sheep Meadow. Clues are only useful if you’re paying attention, thought Cal.

Tuesday evening after the crowd has thinned, Cal corners the manager in the kitchen. The manager’s getting ready to head outside for a smoke break, and is resistant to an interruption. Cal pulls out his cell phone, indicating that this interrupted break will only last a few minutes. He has taken a good photo of the hook, a couple of photos, actually, and they allow him to leave the hook safely at home.

His manager takes Cal’s phone, scrolls between the two photos. He appears to think, fidgets with his cigarette.

“Do you recall the murder of the young maître d in 1960?” Recall? Cal thinks. I wasn’t even born yet.

“No, tell me more. I haven’t heard that story yet”. His manager goes on to tell him about a young waiter, too young to be maître d, and how jealousy from the other wait staff became fodder for the gossip mill when he was found dead in an alley on the West Side.

“Dead how?” Cal asks.

“Stabbed, evidently,” explains the manager. “I’m not sure of any other details, but I’m sure you could find out.” He hands Cal’s phone back, resumes smoking, staring off across Central Park West. He’s clearly done with this conversation.

Later in the week, Cal finds someone else at work who knows a bit more about this crime. She’s an older waitress, old enough to have been alive in 1960. She tells what she knows about the crime in great detail.

Somehow, Cal doesn’t think the murder is related. Interesting story, perhaps, and a mystery to be solved, but not the source of the hook. He nods and mumbles “wow” at the appropriate times, but is already feeling a little let down.  Part of him thinks he’s foolish for even imagining he could get to the bottom of it; part of him thinks history and detective work often come together to help others solve mysteries, why not for Cal? He keeps the hook in his apartment, thinking that later, maybe next week, he’ll explore the mystery further.

A wealthy patron who is so elderly she recalls the beginnings of the Tavern, Mrs. Salmon (known only as Mrs. Salmon; no one seems to know her first name) comes in every Wednesday at noon for lunch, all by herself. Well, not really by herself, an “assistant” is usually present. This assistant’s name is Jenny, but that’s all Cal knows about her. She’s pretty, maybe in her 20s. A relative, perhaps? He feels that Jenny is the key to getting to know Mrs. Salmon.

Cal plans ahead, cornering Jenny as she waits for Mrs. Salmon outside the restroom. It’s Friday, and he asks if he can have a few moments with Mrs. Salmon the following Wednesday. If Jenny is suspicious, she doesn’t show it. She seems excited about the prospect of an additional guest at lunch.

On Wednesday morning, Cal is nervous, worried that Mrs. Salmon is the key to understanding what the hook is all about and he will fail to get the information she’s hoarding. He fears her wrath, for some reason.

Cal takes his lunch break and prepares to join Mrs. Salmon and Jenny. He sits down, greeting both of them warmly, but Mrs. Salmon looks resigned. He apologizes before they even begin.

“I’m sorry if I’m ruining your lunch…I just wanted to find out more about the history of the Tavern,” he explains. He explains about the hook again, showing Mrs. Salmon and Jenny the photos on his phone.

Mrs. Salmon looks at him, deeply. She stares into his eyes for so long, he’s tempted to look away. Maybe she’s just trying to affirm his readiness to hear the story. Maybe there is no story. She sets down her teacup, brings her napkin to her mouth. Her hands are lined, the skin delicate. He can see recent bruises.

“Do you recall the story of the young shepherd, back in 1920?” she asked, her voice creaky and slow. There’s that assumption again, someone asking if he can recall an event that happened prior to his birth. Recalling a story, though, Cal guesses is different. Giving Mrs. Salmon the benefit of the doubt, he answers: “no, I don’t, and I would love to hear it.”

She stops, sighs. Picks up her teacup again, sets it down. It seems she really doesn’t want to tell the story, thinks Cal. Maybe she was hoping he’d know the background, and then they could discuss the possibilities of the hook. 

He decides to help her along. Jenny has left them alone for now, probably thinking she was in the way. She wasn’t, Cal wishes she was here, but he’ll need to bridge this conversational gap himself.

Before Cal has a chance to prompt her, the old lady begins.

“It was 1924, I believe. No, 1923. Or maybe it was 1922…” she trails off, trying to remember the exact year. “Doesn’t matter,” she shakes her head, moving forward with the story, “it was a sad, lonely time for this particular shepherd.”

“Did you know him personally?” asks Cal, more interested now that he had found someone with a real link to the story.

“No, no…” she laughs, a creepy, rasping sound. “How old do you think I am?” She pauses. Cal reddens. "I’m just trying to create a story for you, here…” she croaks. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

Chastised, Cal sits silently through the rest of her tale of the shepherd.

One thing stands out. Back then, the shepherds lived in the barn alongside their sheep.

“Well, not really alongside,” explains Mrs. Salmon, “but their quarters were close by. As if you were in one, comfortable stall in a barn and your charges were in a larger, less comfortable space. But you could hear them, if they needed you.” Cal thinks of the shepherd’s charges, the sheep, and feels sad for the young shepherd. Was this all there was to his life, carting sheep back and forth, day in and day out? Cal imagines incessant bleating and baaing, going on all through the night so that one couldn’t get a wink of sleep. He’s glad he lives in the latter part of the 21st century.

The old lady hesitates when sharing the facts of his demise. 

She croaks along: “this shepherd was sad…I suppose we’d call it “depressed” today…” Lost in her thoughts again, Mrs. Salmon stares off into the distance. She starts to sip her soup, then thinks better of it. “He couldn’t go on.” She stopped staring into the distance and looked directly into Cal’s eyes. “He killed himself.” There are no details on how he killed himself, or even if it happened “on the job”, so to speak. The old lady is done with Cal, and is signaling for her dessert.

Somehow Cal thinks of the hook, and that the hook was the means by which this poor shepherd killed himself. This is probably not true, but Cal decides to imagine it, anyway. He decides this tragic, dramatic end to the mystery is preferable to thinking that the shepherd accidentally grabbed one of the sheep too roughly one evening and tore a hole in that fluffy, pristine wool coat. That he, in a fit of impatience, grabbed the neck and jerked hard enough to inadvertently prepare the poor sheep for slaughter.

Cal thinks of the poor, lonely shepherd and his poor, bloody sheep. He wonders what happened to the sheep after the Tavern became the Tavern. He would like to think that the herd was taken to a small farm just outside the city limits. He doesn’t want to think of lamb chops, lamb roast, lamb curry.

photo: inspiration for this assignment, taken when Joel and I sat at the outdoor bar at Tavern on the Green in November 2015.

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: scary story

Peanut

Peanut is finally off the clock. It’s midnight, just after, and she runs to her car on the far side of the parking lot, jumps in. It’s not winter yet, but it’s cold, and she can’t wait to get back to her cozy apartment and Frouf the kitty.

She hops in, oops, forgot to lock it, again, puts the key in the ignition, rubs her hands together to warm them while the engine revs a bit. Warms up.

All at once, she sees movement out of the corner of her right eye. Close. Closer than something going on outside the car. Her heart beats faster as she turns her head.

She screams. A man is there, in the backseat. He’s not reaching for her, but she’s paralyzed, can’t jump out of the car like she probably should. She can’t do anything but sputter: gahgahgah. She must sound ridiculous. Why can’t she move? She feels frozen.

He speaks, in a hurry: Don’t move, don’t worry, please.

Something about the way he says it calms her a bit. Okay, okay. He needs help. Maybe he’s a stranded motorist and jumped into her backseat to get warm while waiting for help. But he’s too close.

I just need someone to talk to…he pleads, sounding desperate. Now her anxiety ramps up again, and she thinks: he’s some psycho maniac and I’m dead, I’m dead.

But he looks all right, ordinary. He’s handsome in a 1950s sort of way. Peanut feels her heart start to return to normal, but she doesn’t feel safe turning back around in her seat just yet. What if a quick movement sets him off, makes him harm her? For all she knows he has a gun.

I just want to talk to you. I’ve been watching you for a while, he explains.

You were watching me tonight? Peanut asks. Her voice is froggy. It’s her vocal folds being paralyzed, briefly, that’s making her sound raspy.

She tries to think back on the night, wondering if he was sitting at the bar. He does look familiar.

No, I mean…I know you. I live in your building. I’ve just wanted to meet you, and haven’t had a chance to go about it the traditional way. He smiles, swipes the hair off his forehead, out of his eyes. I like your little kitten, he smiles, maybe winning her over without her feeling control slipping away.

Okay, but what are you doing in my car? You scared the hell out of me.

He doesn’t respond to this, not at first. He seems deep in thought, his smile gone, and Peanut starts to worry again. Why can’t she just get out of the car? Well, for one, she knows it’s her car. He should be the one to leave.

Can you just get out of my car? She says now. Maybe we can talk another night, at the bar. I work again on Friday. At this, he just stares at her. Maybe he didn’t understand me, Peanut thinks. This alternating between feeling okay and feeling panic is causing her head to hurt.

Well, maybe…he starts. He looks out the window, at the bar, and she follows his gaze. She begins to see a few other patrons make their way out the door, to their own cars. She’s not sure why she didn’t think of this before, but at least having others in the parking lot, including coworkers, will insure that she’s safe. She can just send a message with her eyes, through the window.  Malcolm, the part-time bartender, is walking out now.

But before she can muster a desperate enough look as Malcolm is strolling past to his car, the man behind her begins to speak again.

What would happen if we went back to your place now, he suggests. It’s the lack of confidence in his tone that helps Peanut understand that she can regain control of this situation, she just needs to be firm.

No, definitely not, she says. There’s something else that Peanut’s aware of that’s causing her to not want to flee.

Could it be she’s attracted to this stranger? Not wanting to think about this, Peanut strikes the thought from her mind and concentrates on getting him out of her car.

I’m Barry, by the way, he reaches over the seat, extending his hand for her to shake. Should she reveal her name? He probably already knows it, anyway, if he lives in her building and hangs out at her bar. She shakes his hand, which is warm, the handshake firm. She’s a little surprised by this, expecting his hand to be limp and sweaty. Since she goes by Peanut instead of her given name, this might be easier. Patricia, she answers.

It is here that Peanut realizes she must make a decision. Does she flee, hoping never to come across this Barry again, or does she plan to meet him, get to know him, either to appease him or quell her own curiosity?

Peanut has just finished reading a story about espionage. She realizes her own boring life is, well, boring in comparison, and thinks risk-taking just might be in her future. Is Barry in her future as well?

Meadowlark Story Society assignment: a creepy Chuck E. Cheese story

Charlie Cheese

Chuck E. Cheese hated his name. How could he not hate it? He shared his name with a deranged-looking mouse with protruding ears and a penchant for cheese pizza and arcade games. His parents, Juanita and Gerald Cheese, were self-styled comedians who, in their opinion (in their dreams, thought Chuck), were just as funny as the highest paid jokesters of the day.

As a child, Chuck loved his name. From age four to eight, being Chuck E. Cheese was the greatest!  He can still recall how he felt when he first entered the pizza joint in his neighborhood and felt like he owned the world. Around age 10 was when the teasing started. Luckily, his circle of friends and family was small enough (especially the Cheese relatives) that eventually it became a non-issue.

So, when he turned 20, Chuck decided to start going by Charlie. In certain situations, Charles. Reversing the typical name-to-nickname in this case, he thought that by slightly altering the fact that he was named after a pizza-eating mouse, he could continue to make his way in the larger world. He was going to college! Charlie was going to break out of the small town in which he had lived and dive into a bigger fishbowl.

His name change successful, Charlie started the fall semester at the University of Northern Colorado in  Greeley. Yes, that famous pizzeria for children is present in this hip college town.  Majoring in Aerospace Studies, Charlie was ready to conquer the world. Free of the stuffy little town in which he grew up, he was ripe for self-transformation (among other things).

Fast forward to his sophomore year:  Charlie has fooled no one by changing his first name. If anything, when he uses the stodgy version of Charles (not helped by the future King of England and his strong resemblance to the pizza mouse) it makes him the brunt of jokes AND nerdy by extension.

As if this wasn’t enough, Charlie decided to take a job at Chuck E. Cheese. Perhaps he thought, why not? Perhaps he thought he was doomed, anyway. He started the job near the pizzeria near 28th Street just before Thanksgiving his sophomore year. Classes were hard. Instead of studying more, Charlie decided a diversion was in order.

Things went well at first. His coworkers liked him, and thought it cool and amusing that his name matched the sign out front. Many thought it a trick, a prank he played (pretty extensive prank, name changing, Charlie thought). It was during one of the nights that the animated band malfunctioned that Charlie’s life began to change. Charlie hated the band, but happened to be the only employee who could get it working again, much to his manager’s chagrin, or delight, he couldn’t tell.

The stupid animated band was always malfunctioning. Those creepy animals were too large; too, well, CREEPY for kids to fully embrace, argued Charlie to his manager.

“They’re awful, and the kids are afraid of them,” Charlie often said. “We need to just take the whole damn thing out of the store.” The store manager, Harry, glowered at him, and Charlie thought maybe he had gone too far. He needed this job; he didn’t need to get fired.

“I agree” piped a voice from nowhere, it seemed. Then, a girl, walking into the kitchen. “They’re outdated and beyond creepy,” she replied. She had dark brown hair, bright blue eyes. Stunning. Charlie wondered where she came from.

“Charlie, this is Sonia,” Harry introduced them. “Sonia, Charlie. Sonia’s our new evening manager.”

This was the first Charlie had heard that they had an evening manager. Why didn’t HE get a chance at being hired as the new evening manager? He’d been the most reliable employee thus far. Which wasn’t saying much in a college town, but, still.

After this initial introduction, Sonia sided with Charlie on all points relating to the animated band. Not worth the hassle, creepy, the kids made fun of them. But the store manager wouldn’t budge.

“They’re a part of Chuck E. Cheese legacy, brand, whatever,” he defended, tossing his hands around. Then, raising his voice: “Just drop it, Charlie.”

Sonia and Charlie began to spend more time together, and Charlie quickly got over his jealousy over her position over him. They would sit next to each other during breaks, sharing the fantastic specialty pizza that one of the cooks prepared just for them. Charlie began to hope their friendship would turn into something more, but he thought it best to take things slow. For now, he enjoyed sharing meals with Sonia.

“I have an idea,” Sonia shared one night when no other employees were in hearing distance. “Let’s disable the band completely. Then he’ll have no other choice but to eventually remove the whole thing from the store. You’re the only one who can fix it, right now…he’s not going to take the time and money to call a repair person.”

Charlie thought this was a great idea, and was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

The next night, he started to think through the plan…how he could disable the machine, but still make it appear accidental, and, at the same time, make it appear hopeless. This last bit would require some acting on his part, but he thought he was up to the task. Sonia’s enthusiasm buoyed him.

Charlie and Sonia decided to take matters into their own hands on a Sunday night. Sunday nights were typically slow, and, after the busy weekend, it would seem logical that the band had had enough.

Disabling the band was harder than Charlie thought it would be. He was hoping to tinker with a bolt, loosen something, and it would just fail to start the next morning. But he felt he needed to have it appear as if nothing at all had been touched, or at least nothing that his manager would notice.

Sonia stepped in and reminded him that Harry, the manager, wouldn’t touch the band with a ten-foot pole. He liked the band, liked its place in Chuck E Cheese lore, but was slightly afraid of the gorilla. Not wanting to explore the gorilla fear further, Charlie nodded and decided to take a risk. He’d remove the entire motor mechanism from the trap set, where it was located. He banked on the fact that Harry would steer clear of the band and would just rely on him, Charlie, to fix it.

Even this proved more difficult than he thought, and by 1:00 am, Charlie and Sonia were still at the restaurant.

“Dammit, why is this goddamn thing not budging?” Charlie’s frustration mounted with each passing minute. The motor mechanism was caked with grease and looked like something from 1900. If he ever got it out, he certainly wouldn’t be able to re-install it. Sweat dripped from his brow as Sonia patted his back.

“You’ll get it, keep going,” she reassured him.

She was right. By 2:00 am, exhausted beyond comprehension and anxious as well, Charlie hauled the motor out to his car and heaved it into the trunk.

The next day, when Sonia and Charlie arrived, the rest of the staff was hopping around excitedly.

It appeared that the band not only wasn’t NOT working, they/it had added two new songs to their repertoire. Sonia and Charlie stood staring at the band, mouths on the floor, as it started playing Sylvia’s Mother by Doctor Hook. Was it a coincidence that this was one of Charlie’s favorite songs?

Running from the store, Charlie jumped into his car and drove around the block, smoking cigarette after cigarette in order to quell his feelings of horror. By the time Sonia had texted him, and he had calmed down, but he was beginning to feel this effects of his name. Because, really, wasn’t that was this was all about? He either needed to embrace being Chuck E. Cheese, or he needed to get the hell away from it.

Maybe this was his destiny. Maybe instead of Aerospace Engineering, Charlie needed to look at restaurant management. The alternative, the possibility of drifting away from Sonia, was unthinkable.

From now on, he would be Chuck E. Cheese. He’d return to his roots, he’d embrace his full name, and fix the Chuck E. Cheese legacy, one animated band at a time.

Note: Chuck E. Cheese restaurants are retiring the animatronic bands in most locations. Because they're too creepy? No, it appears kids just don't care about the band anymore.