Notes from the Laundry Pile

There be Dragons....

2012-01-06T13:11:00.000-06:00

Okay - so sometimes I remember to throw in the extra stuff that's more fun than it is important. Except that we're still having problems saying our "r's" around here....

It's getting better - but there are times of speed talking that an interpreter is needed.

Or a babel fish.

A tic-tac-toe game with J-man led to Mini-E's insistence that she get to play, too.

Except -- She cheats.

I kid you not.

Of course, she's also not very good at it. She's 5 and I'm still (mostly) smarter than a 5 year old.

There was only one place to play, and she knew it. That one place for me to put my token and win the game...

Except.. there was something in the way.

Her finger....and .... another tactic

"You can't play there mom..... It's scary."

She won by cute default.

1000+

2011-12-30T17:38:00.000-06:00

You know you've neglected your blog when you're Google Reader says you've got 1000+ unread items. Granted. 500 of those were from my brother-in-law's celebrity twitter postings. (He's twit-prolific).

I hadn't INTENTIONALLY neglected my blog - I just didn't have much to say.
November is now gone (that was my last post, you know.) And December is fading away.

If I were to make resolutions - I would make a bloggy one. I would resolve to blog those crazy moments that come so randomly and quick that they're gone in just moments.

Like today...our SINGLE oak tree has finally lost all its leaves.
EVERY. SINGLE. ONE!
It got down into the 20's during the nights here recently. That cold plus the wind probably helped clean the branches of their leaves. Of course, You'd never know it had been that cold if you judged by the 65+ weather we had during the day. A nice warm breeze was blowing.

THere was extra energy in the house - it needed to be expended.

J-man has been asking for a job to do to earn a special toy (Of his choosing). So Today I had the brilliant idea to couple those ideas together.

I offered to pay the boys money to rake the leaves. Of course, I was going to help them with this endeavor. So we get it started...

we were ten minutes - TEN MINUTES - into the endeavor and J-man (who's seven) leans on the mini-van and tells me, "You know we're only doing this for money, right, Mom?"

Yeah.

I figured. He made me laugh, bless his little mercenary heart.
He takes after his mommy.

The Perceptions of Others...

2011-11-04T17:51:00.000-05:00

I've come to a place in my life, and it did take me quite a long time to get here, where I am seriously confident in who I am.

There are times, though, and I admit it that my confidence can be shaken.
Regarding my writing, it gets shake a lot.
Regarding my self-image, I shake it myself.

Heh. Pun.

But I'm never sure what to do when I'm the topic of conversation. The perception of others is basically what people think of me. I am what I am. What you see is what you get.

I don't have it all together but i certainly won't be smattering my issues all over you.

Unless you ask.

But ... The perceptions of others.

It's almost like this .... standard.... which I have to achieve.

Like: happy all the time.
--- I'm not.

Witty
--- mostly. But sometimes i'm quite wit less.

confident
--- not every moment of every day.

I'm never sure what to do with the wrong perceptions either..

I've been told I'm religious.
-- I'm not. He meant I'm a person of faith - but he used the phrase religious because he misunderstood the meaning. But it still made me question where I might be walking in a religious mindset.

The perceptions that hurt the most are the ones from my kids, i think..

I've been told I'm fat. (I'm not skinny...but I prefer chubby to fat)

The other day I waxed poetic for a moment, wondering aloud if I could handle having a baby right now. (Writing about pregnant characters brings up some odd emotions, let me tell you)

J-man said, "Why would she want another kid, she's always stressed out now."

He's 7.

He's a meanie-head.

I'm not stressed out...but it's a phrase The Professor brings to the table when things are not smooth sailing. I know stress. This isn't it.

This is life with four world changers. Who are completely different personalities.
Who are often at odds with each other.
Who are constantly having to be reminded to honor each other.
I see glimpses of this love and honor but we're not fully walking in it -- yet.

However, his perception hurt my feelings.
I don't like being the bad cop all the time. I don't like it when the Professor gets to come home from work all happy and cheerful, glad to be home, and I'm still the bad cop.
It's not fair... and I realize that life is no fair...

but I find this perception of me just a bit concerning. Yes. Fine. I'll say it. It bothers me.

I don't want him growing up with only memories of me 'being stressed out' in his brain.
I'm not sure what to do to counter it except to trust that God can and will deliver my children from my mistakes.

In the meantime, I've found myself curiously introspective and watchful on how I react to things...
I'm not sure much can be done.

I'm out numbered.

Seasons...

2011-10-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

The seasons change each ...well.. each season. We have the natural progression of seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter.

Lather Rinse Repeat

The seasons of life, apparently, aren't quite so easy to predict.
The Laundry Pile is in a hard season.
It's a pressing season.
It's a training season.

I've got some majorly dramatic children. I've got 4 world-changing individuals on my hands. And often they don't get along. It makes life very challenging. J-man is learning to deal with anger and frustrations. Mini-E has to learn not to annoy people to the point of anger. G-man has to know that it's NOT okay to be alone in the middle of a small house filled with 6 people and try to stand in the middle of his room. Mini-Me is just trying to walk on egg shells.

i don't like any of it. It's difficult work.

The Professor is in a hard place, much like Joseph in Pharoah's prison. The work conditions suck -but unlike Joseph, The Professor doesn't seem to have much favor with the jailor. So that's also to be contended with...as you know, Daddy's mood also effects the household just as much as the mommy's does.

All of this combines into extra work.
It combines to wear against me, like sandpaper, until I feel fractious and emotionally drained.

It's just the season and things will get better... They have to because God promised.
Keeping a hold that hope does...well, sometimes my grip seems really slippery.

It's the season. I'm trying to hang on until it changes. Until that happens, this is really the only form of the phrase "this too shall pass" that I'll take.

I know it'll pass. I just really want more to hold onto than a cliche.

I giggle...

2011-10-10T02:12:00.000-05:00

And i'm not normally a giggler.

I chortle. Chuckle. and just out right laugh...

but I giggle..

I heard from the random conversation game guy.

His infection is healing. His prognosis is good.

=) He is surprised.

I'm not.

I told him, "i prayed for you."

He said, "Thank you."

and that's all that needed to happen.

I'm sure that's not all that is GOING to happen...but I may not see the rest.
and I'm okay with that.

Inadequate...

2011-10-04T21:31:00.000-05:00

In the game The Professor and I have been playing, you can meet all manner of people. From all over the world. My character has introduced me to some pretty amazing people.

And some not so amazing. (Just wanted to throw that in there)

Sometimes, you get random conversations going with random players and they stick with you. Or check up with you, or you them.

"Hey how's it going!"

"Congrats on turning 60!"

"Need a new weapon?"

"Make me some bling?"

"where is.... how do I...." Those kind of conversations.'

I struck up a conversation with someone several days ago. I don't remember what started it...excpept that we were in the same place at the same time.

I haven't really talked to him much since then..

Until today. I got an "IM" (Instant Message) from him...

"i'm Dying."

It's a game. Sometimes you can stand there and watch your character die and not do much about it. So I was empathetic. I wrote back, "I'm sorry."

He said, "yeah, the infection has spread to my bones and I can't go to the dentist."

...

...

...

"Wait." I said, "What? You were serious? You weren't talking about in the game?"

He told me, "dead serious."

Words, at that point, were, literally pointless. What could I say? So I told him, "I'm so very sorry."

I don't like platitudes. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

Of course, my first thought was, where is he going when/if he dies? Is he pulling my leg?

He told me that he planned to get high and die a decent death.

I called The Professor. I needed wisdom. Do I talk salvation with a player? over a chat window?

How callous does that appear?

We both agreed that it's doable - but has to be done carefully.
I couldn't see him. He couldn't see me. That connection was important to have in that instance, i think..

Then I realized...I don't have to be there.

My words can change atmospheres.

So I spoke to the situation from where I was knowing God would respond. Knowing that God would send someone to him. Knowing that there would be a battle until an answer was found.

I felt very inadequate.
There wasn't much else I could do - so It had to be enough...

The woman with the oil had an inadequate supply that turned out to be more than enough.
There's hope in that.

My kitchen windowsill

2011-10-03T20:10:00.001-05:00


My windowsill

It started out innocently enough. I picked up a piece from the floor or counter and added it to my windowsill. I added it to see how long it would remain until someone noticed it.

Then one day, J-man brought me 'Mario' and told me that the set needed to stay together.

Then i realized how much this suited my personality. I've got the sentiments (coffee cup from a friend, flower from Hawai'i) I've got the bling. (sparkly flower, shiny rocks in a crystal vase (yes, it's crystal) The the whimsy in the crystal blocks....

My writing - is actually represented with the spork. That's also just for fun.

Then there's the rest of it. My family. the cute little pig I bought randomly at the craft store... the bracelet hanging out of the cup...

It all adds up to one thing.

Me.

Thought I'd share.

(I do find myself changing things around since J-man finally claimed his Mario set. No matter. ^_^ it's still me...and I have pictoral proof. )

Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes

2011-09-26T10:40:00.000-05:00

A book review by Mini-Me

Peter Nimble and his Fantastic Eyes by Jonathan Auxier is about a blind boy who was found at seaby sailors when he was a baby. The sailors had no use for the found boy andwere just going to leave him at their current port. The local law of the porttown required the sailors to at least give the boy a name since the sailorswouldn’t take him in. The sailors namedhim after an old forgotten nursery rhyme called “Peter Nimble.”

Unwanted, Peter grew up inthe streets of this port town becoming a great pickpocket and thief. He was a beggar by trade and a threat to the local market. ^_^ His nosecould smell food from ten feet away. While Peter was still a little boy sittingin the streets a man named Mr. Seamus took him in.

What Peter didn’tknow was that Mr. Seamus was a beggar monger. Mr. Seamus took in orphans and trainedthem to beg for coins and steal them for him. While Peter was stealing from atraveling merchant he found a really cool box, inside the box that containedthree pairs of fantastic eyes. He touched the eyes and had what I would call aflash-back. Realizing he held eyes, he took a pair and put them in his eyesockets.

The first time heput on the gold pair, he was transported to the Island of Professor Cake. Therehe realized Professor Cake had made the eyes for …. Peter!! Each pair of eyesdid something different. The traveling merchant was actually…. Well, you’llhave to read that for yourself.

One of myfavorite parts is when Peter meets a strange night named Sir Tode who was undera spell that had turned him into a cat and a horse mixed into one.

The bad guy isthe king, who wasn’t really the king. He was a usurper. He put some form ofspice in everyone’s food that made them sort of drunk.

I really like thecomedy, imagination and the part where Peter defeated the bad guy. It was agreat book. I highly recommend it.

A note from Me: I bought this book on a whim. Mini-me devoured it in just over 1 24-hour period. We did make her sleep. And eat.

I've been researching....

2011-09-21T00:12:00.001-05:00

A writer writes to eventually have their ramblings/stories/ideas read by more than themselves. After receiving numerous rejections for a story, and researching more, I realized that the line 'publishing is subjective' is a big fat lie.

Agents are looking for something - and they try to tell you what it is - but achieving that 'imagined perfection' is difficult, I'm guessing. In that way publishing is subjective - they're looking at the story wondering if can be sold to a publisher...

but that's really not what I was going to tell you.

In my research, there's a lot of time spent talking about developing your platform - earning an audience before you're published. I'm all for that unless it's annoying. I've someone on my facebook list who became annoying quickly with her platform building.

A blog is one thing that is talked about having...and apparently it's met with approval.

So I thought of this blog. I've thought of those of you who have stuck with me even through my times of silence... I'm not changing a thing. Except maybe the back ground. You know me, Easily distracted.

But one thing I need you to hold me accountable for...if I get too busy talking about writing - would you slap me?? Someone's complaint was that all writer's seem to write about -- writing on their blogs.

Which makes sense when you stop and think about it - you tend to write about what you're passionate about. but here in the Laundry Pile - there's so much to talk about - that it's often difficult to choose just one thing -- so I don't write.

I should stop that.

I just can't see a way to separate the parts of me - the parts of me are entwined here in the Laundry Pile. I can't see a way to separate them from each other. My characters show up when I'm gaming. when I'm working on school with the kids. God talks to me when I'm doing dishes - and inspires me when I'm going about my day. The kids ... well you see? It's all meshed together....

to make me.

So really --- all that rambling that's been pent up inside of me really means nothing is changing.

Not really.

I just needed to say it out loud.

tricky mom...

2011-09-20T13:12:00.000-05:00

School is underway yet again!!!
but that is only one reason for my absence.

I started playing a game before school started. In august when I was fighting the most incredible case of self-doubt I've had in a very long time. It's a fun game. Actually The Professor suggested we play together...

but that's not what I was going to tell you ...

I was teaching J-man and trying to figure out where the review will end for him and the actual hard-core learning begins.

I told him amid the flood of stuff we were working on, "Wow! You're smart!"

He told me, "I know. It's because you tricked me when I was younger."

.
.
.

He did qualify it all - and explain what he meant - but it was hard to hear over how amused I was.

Vehicles...

2011-08-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

Was driving last week with Mini-E, who I've taken to calling Kidlet #4 thanks to in-game chatter on LOTRO. It fits. She's #4. She's the youngest kid... hence Kidlet #4.

And "Thing 1" and "Thing 2" are taken.

Because it does make sense - you'll have to forgive me if I accidentally change names here. I never really liked calling her Mini-E. She's such a huge personality and it was such a copy of "Mini-Me" (Which is misnomer, really. Kidlet #4 looks more like me. But we didn't know that at the time...)

I had a reason for telling you this...

What was it?

Oh yeah. So It was the girls night at our Wednesday church.

I dropped Mini-Me off at the Youth building. (yes. Youth.) (Wow, huh?)

and it was just #4 and I in the car as we drove around the parking lot. She was noticing the cars that are just like our mini-van.

Yup. It's pretty bland.

and she noticed the cars that are just like The Professor's car...

Then she said..

I like the Red shiny ones best.

I had to smile. That's my girl.

Me, too, Kid. Me, too.

Shiny. Very Shiny.

Talk of Marriage...

2011-08-24T18:18:00.000-05:00

J-man has a very unique talent.
It's a talent to have something to talk about - at probably the most unlikely times.
Invariably, this conversation is deep.

DEEP, I tell you.
We've discussed his fear of death.
Heaven.
Salvation.
Video Games.
Life.
My hair.....

okay. Not all our conversations are deep.

But you can see why I was a little trepidatious when he followed me to the bathroom (yes, you read that right) telling me he needed to talk to me. Privately.

I had this little lurch in my heart. I asked myself, could I handle the question? Would I fly off the handle? Would I answer incorrectly?

"Mom, do you think that one day some girl will want to marry me?"

.

.

.

I had two choices. I could go all serious.
Or I could try levity.

I tried both.

I blinked at him.

Slowly... I told him...

No.

He stared at me and I smiled, "You're seven. You're not allowed to get married."

He laughed, his blue eyes lit up and the mood shifted.

"No, Mooooom. Later. when I'm grown up?"

"Yes. Someday some girl is going to LOVE being married to you."

He appeared dubious.

I nodded... "I promise."

I could have pointed out that Uncle Kick-butt finally got himself hitched -- but figured that was a conversation for another time.

He smiled..he hugged me.

Sigh.

My little guy's a budding romantic.
To his future wife???

You're welcome.

Five minutes can be important

2011-08-15T21:11:00.000-05:00

The Professor has been quietly looking for another place of employment for some time. It's a secret thing that only select family and select friends (and you) know about. We never put it out in public that he's seeking. We never put it on Facebook, either, so if you see me on Facebook remember: Mums the word about 'the search'.

In the house, it's another thing entirely.
Every so often, tears are shed over "a move".

We've had to explain to the kids, Mini-Me particularly (Who really doesn't like surprises like moves and changes of plans). We've been careful to say that we don't know what is going to happen. The process is what it is. We search. We ask some questions. That doesn't mean we're moving there.

Our process is two fold. The Professor finds a place that looks like it might be an interesting place to work. Boring is not an option for him anymore. We visit a salary calculator that converts his current salary/location to the possible location and shows us what he might need to earn. It's an equal thing. What he earns here - they show the equivalent for the potential location.

We've learned that there's no way he can earn a good living on either coast or Chicago. Just thought I should tell you.

Then we go to HSLDA to check how the homeschool rules affect the potential state. (they've recently changed this website and made it harder to see the states. I liked the color coded version they used to have. Red was harder legislation, Green was very light legislation (or none). Of course there was the middle ground. Oh, well. I'll have to learn how to use the new map - it's neither here or there. It's what we do. Those are the two things we check.

So then if those things are considered good in our eyes, we might go to the next level of applying for a job.

Needless to say, calling out, "How about Kansas?" or "What about Wyoming?" leads for some interesting conversations around the house.

The kids, being the smart buggers that they are, figured out pretty quickly that 'a move' might occur. Each have taken that knowledge in their own ways. Mostly, they've gotten used to it all by now. We've been at this a while.

Still... despite the fact that it's a possible occurrence, every so often one of the kids talks about it 'the move'. Brings it up randomly, in fact.

One day, J-man told me, in one of those random moments, "Mom, if we move, I'm really going to miss the box man."

The box man is our UPS delivery guy. He delivers mostly at Christmas, Birthdays and school year beginnings. So I guess we do see him a lot. Especially if we include the random things I randomly order over the internet.

He's got a dry sort of humor and he makes me laugh. He always has a funny thing to say to the kids. A dog biscuit for the dog. And we make him laugh and we give him food sometimes.

That J-man would miss him amused me but I knew it was something I had to share with our box man. I told him just this week. He was floored that he would be among the people in this list of 'missable people'.

I realized at that moment, how important five, reoccurring minutes can be.

Five minutes over a long stretch of time can be ... life changing.

I don't want to waste them.
I don't want to miss them.
They might be more important than first realized.

If you don't want the answer -- don't ask the question...

2011-08-05T00:12:00.020-05:00

Especially a kid.

There are some things - if you don't want to know the answer to, you shouldn't ask a kid.

"Does this look funny?" "How's my hair look?" "Where are my shoes?" "Do you know what happened?"

Asking a question can be like taking ... well... it can be dangerous.

I asked anyway.

I asked - what would you like to learn about? Or learn how to do? We're on our way to becoming unschoolers... but I'm going slow and incrementally. Usually I'd dive off the deep end of things - but These are kids. I should practice first.

Mini-Me had an interesting list.
She went back and scratched some things off the list.
She'd like to learn to be a life-guard. But she scratched that off. I'm going to remember it though.
She wants to learn to scuba dive.
She'd like to learn how to have a pet parrot.
---- She's hoping I'll buy her a parrot. I bought her a book on how to have a pet parrot.
Violin and Piano are on the list.
She'd like to learn about Sharks and seals, too.
Shipwrecks.

I've books coming on shipwrecks.
We'll study the ocean this year for her - and bonus - The Professor took her to the aquarium on Tuesday.

G-man wants to learn to do things with his hands.
Carpentry.
Crochet
Guitar
Carving (NOT gonna happen this year)
Making movies.
Comics.

J-man is still thinking...but he's spending LOTS of time on the 'create your own levels' on LittleBigPlanet. Each of his levels tells a story. He'll be getting LBP2 for Christmas.

Mini-E (Bubbles) made me laugh and wince at the same time.
She wants to learn how to fold laundry.
The girl is an artist and a dancer. I'll go with those and let her fold laundry on the side.

So along with the core of our books....which includes math for all, phonics for 2, grammar for 1 - it's going to be an interesting year.

Shipwrecks??
Told you - if you don't want to know the answer...Don't ask the question.
Nothing says 'I love you' like research.

Except maybe brownies.

Don't Discount Hope...

2011-08-04T18:22:00.001-05:00

The importance of hope came home to me once again. I mentioned here, at the end of the post, this:

2010 will not be my favorite year. I don't care what memories we might have - it has been a very, very hard year.

God seemed so distant then and He probably was - it was training time, a pruning time, a hard time -- But sitting here NOW, as I blog as I ponder, I can point to it and say "THERE was God." And "There."

Because it still comes down to one simple fact...

I still Believe in God.

I can't say as how 2011 has been any better - BUT - I have this statement.

I still believe in God.

The husband is in a weird situation at work. Imagine if you will, one hamster cage. Inside the hamster cage are little hamster homes. Each home holds a group within the company.

They do not work together, yet they are of the same company.

Trust me when I say the similarities between this company and most churches (and even the body of Christ as a whole) are striking.

The Professor belonged in one group for years. I'm trying to condense here for the sake of the story -- and it's difficult. There's sooo much.

We'll go with this: ... suddenly he was no longer in a group. He was given junior engineer work but he's a senior. He has years of experience and knowledge - yet suddenly he was faced with having everything he did questioned by those of lesser years and lesser experience.

In July, he was given the task of going to a local air plane ... place. Where they galvanize the parts. The task was to measure and inspect the building's support beams for structural integrity. My husband, the father of my children, was given a junior engineer's job. Without support. Without help. Without regard to his safety.

He worked over vats of acid. Under them. He had to have a spotter in several places in the building. They told him that if you feel a burning, don't wonder about it - just run for the showers.

The foreman offered the wisdom that he might want to buy coveralls, take a shower and change clothes before he left. Oh, don't wash these clothes with your household clothes.

Then the fun part began. He worked at night.

Misery must have loved company because a couple of us got sick with head colds during that time.

One interesting thing that happened was a contact from a recruiter. Someone who carefully spoke to the professor, knowing that my professor was employed.

Professor was impressed with how the head hunter handled himself and the situation. He was impressed with the opportunity that was suddenly presented to him. It was a place that appeared to be built for him.

He told me, with vats of acid in his future, "I have hope."

This was huge for us. The professor has been looking for another place of employment for sometime now. The market in his field is ... well ... there's not many looking for his particular skillset. And he's got skills.

And if he does find someone who does want his skills - they don't want to pay him. Which actually equals to the same thing.

I was struck by how important it was. Hope at that very dark moment.

As we've progressed through this - we've progressed and then stalled out.
Then progressed a little bit and .....

it's like playing red light- green light. In real life. For Life.

But there's hope.
We can't discount hope. Hope is what keeps us moving forward.
Hope is what keeps my husband going to work where it's obvious he's unwanted and unappreciated.
Hope keeps me knowing that while things around me are not right.... they won't always stay that way.

Hope.
I'm a fan.

in response

2011-08-03T16:05:00.003-05:00

I was just thinking the other day, "Self, it's August. You should really do some blogging. There's lots to talk about."

I agreed with myself.

Then I read this post over at The Gang's blogging hangout. I am very pleased to count The Gang's Mama as a very dear friend. So when she hinted I should read, I took it as a hint that maybe I should read. Which I also took as a hint that maybe I should blog. I mean, since I was talking to myself about it anyway, it was a natural progression.

Then I did some reading...and I got just a bit steamed. Then I got wordy...

Apparently, there are two camps in the international adoption community. I had no idea. None. That the question of fundraising or not was an issue until I read the Gang's post. I did what she suggested, I link hopped to get more information. I started with the original question, here. I could NOT believe the answer given. But I moved on -- to here where the question was open for comments. Then I followed up and Read Dawn's response to Dear Abby's question - Here.

I wanted to cheer for Dawn....but since I don't know her, I cheered from here. Now, if you'll allow me - and you will because it's my blog -- here's what I think...I wrote it last night. It was too big to fit in The Gang's comment box.

Opinions are like belly buttons -- here's mine.

Okay. I'm writing this in my e-mail program so I can write and read and edit. My thoughts on this topic are .... well.... categorized, actually. I was going to say they're rambling but really they're categorized. Welll...they''ll probably end up being categorized rambles...

The answer from Dear Abby is INSANELY uninformed. How wrong of her to suggest that fostering, where children come and go would fill empty arms. Dawn did a phenomenal job responding that bit of absurdity. The system is Broken!!!! and that answer is... well it's just... *snarl* ...

Then I read the comments on the Adoptiontalk blog. Where most people talked about 'fund raising' for adoption. There were several EXCELLENT answers in the comments sections and what stuck out to me were the great mass of ... well... judgmental comments.

I could not imagine all the comments venting negativity toward fund raising for international adoptions. I was amazed at how many people laid down such VERY strong opinions on the matter. Never once did they seem to take into consideration that EACH and EVERY adoption is unique. Each and Every family is unique and therefore in unique situations.

I was struck by how many commentors offered such blatant comments, such as: "we didn't fund raise. We saved our money and didn't drive around in big fancy cars."

Really??? That's what you're going with?? that's such a categorizing comment to make. Such a stupid biased thing to say. I'm sorry. It may seem fancy to you but maybe the family bought that big fancy car because they needed it to transport everyone at once???

It amazes me how many people can throw out those kind of extremes. Apparently, they've forgotten that there are the middle ground sort of instances.

--- The comments about "people who have to fund raise to adopt probably can't afford the children after they arrive in their home"

*stunned silence*

Just come over here so I can slap you. I have four children. I can't afford my children now. Gosh. the little buggers are expensive!!! Clothes. Books. Toys. Clothes. Food. Food. Have you ever fed pre-teen boys??? oh my goodness!! BUT HOW DARE YOU MAKE SUCH AN IGNORANT statement as if you knew the life I was living.

That gets my sense of justice up. How dare you try to make someone else feel INFERIOR because of the choices they make???

Why not find a real problem and an appropriate soap box. Take your religious stereotypes and go away.

(I see this kind of nonsense in homeschool circles, too. I refuse to use a certain, major curriculum because of the followers on that business's forum.) So go away... I don't want to play with you anymore.

Fund raising.

Funny thing that it creates SUCH a controversy.

How many of us buy a CD at a concert? That's fund raising and we don't mind it.
How about a t-shirt? We wear the brand name - that serves as free advertising for the band/artist/whatever AND it's fund raising.
How about a book at an event?

How about .... donations at special events. Or Tithes. Offerings. Goodwill donations. Donations to mission trip fundraisers?

To sit there and say that it's not as important as cancer healing or car accident aftermath shows just how strongly you quantify things. To judge someone for fundraising -- shows just how self-righteous you are. Both are limiting your perspective. Both are stunting your heart.

You have issues? Don't donate.... but don't judge. And be sure to search your heart. How self-righteous were you in how you went about your business? Did you let everyone know how much you were sacrificing for your adoption? I ask because I know people who are like this.

I've given money to friends because God said so. ... That's Holy Spirit fundraising.
No one objects.

Here's the trick about fundraising --- it's a yes or no proposition.
If you don't want to give.... you're not being forced. It's not taxes.

And it's not your mother, there's no guilt trip involved.
Just -- don't sit there and tell my friends how to go about their business. They certainly don't tell you.

I'm having a difficult time believing that any child adopted and LOVED will ever have problems knowing that the family worked really, really hard to bring them into their lives. The trick is not to constantly put in front of the child by saying things like: "we went without sooo much to have you in our family..." The trick is to put before the child: We loved you so much we had to have you.

That works for any child.

I'm rather wondering how many comments out there on this topic are actually knee jerk reactions. I'll be more than happy to admit that I've had more than my fair share. The trick is waiting and watching. Get informed. You form an opinion and a judgement on your knee's jerk, before you know all the facts and you've pretty much made yourself useless.

You see, I come from the opinion that NO child comes at an opportune moment. Mine certainly didn't.
I see no harm in a family going to their circle of friends, family, acquaintances and saying, "Here's what we're doing - if you'd like to sow into this we would be blessed and honored to have your support."

Giving would be an act of love.
Supporting would be an act of support.
There's nothing wrong with that.
We all need love.
We all need support.

You don't think we do?
Let's have a chat.

July? Excuse me?

2011-06-23T15:37:00.000-05:00

But ... isn't it just June 2nd? or 3rd?

No?

I see it's not. The little calendar on the bottom corner of my computer screen mocks me with the date if I happen to put my mouse pointer over it. The month of June is soon to fade away and I'm not entirely certain I have much to show for it. I certainly had planned to get more accomplished. Isn't that always the way, though?

I've read scads of books. To myself and to the kids.

I've sent scads of query letters - in turn I've received scads of form rejections. Which means I'm needing my "I don't suck" file.

I've watched the kids splash in our soft sided pool. I got my first sunburn. I thought, "I won't need sunscreen. I won't be out there very long." I was wrong. Luckily, it wasn't bad. It just stung a bit.

We've watched "Wild Kratts" and we've been amused.

I had a birthday. I really need to work on that list on the sidebar. Here's part of what I received....

Birthday Bounty from my mother-in-law

My brother, Uncle Kick-butt, maintains that rock music tends to be about three things: Drugs, Sex and Money. I would offer that occasionally there's friendship and love lost. If there wasn't love lost we wouldn't have country music or the blues. That said, Bruno Mars (The yellow disc in the picture) really likes to sing about sex. I mean ... REALLY. Like I can't let the kids listen to the CD because they'd UNDERSTAND what he was talking about. Most songs, when talking about sex generally use innuendo. Not Mr. Mars.

The Professor and I once attended a stage show at our local Ren Faire. The couple made a statement that we laughed over. We laughed because there was such wisdom in the statement and because it amused us. "If your children get the innuendo - it's NOT OUR FAULT." Mr. Mars....doesn't hide his innuendo well.

snicker.

June saw G-man's 11th birthday.

I got all sorts of music- he got Legos. The dude likes his legos.

June will wrap up with The Professor's 42 birthday. It's an important number around here. He wants to go out to eat with the family and then head to the movies. With all of us. We don't do that since last time. Did I tell you about the time Mini-E stuffed her mouth so full of popcorn she nearly hurled in the theater? After was not fun because she didn't want to obey. I decreed that she wasn't going back to a theater until she was 6.

J-man responded, "That's harsh."

The professor is allowed to change the rules. It's his birthday.

June is hurrying by. I'm not going to hang onto the coat tails - but I'm going to try to enjoy the time we've got left in the month.

Reading ....

2011-06-14T11:48:00.002-05:00

One of the things a writer MUST do is Read. I've heard this many times over. MANY MANY Times. I usually have a problem with reading WHILE I'm writing. Namely - Comparison. I tend to compare what I write to what I've been reading. Let me tell you -- some days I just want to quit.

Then part of me doesn't want to try to copy what I'm reading.

I realized - It's all relative. And it's all excuses.

I love reading. I love writing. sometimes I try to do them at the same time. If I hit a snag in typing- I'll pick up a book. THat's how I managed my NaNo back in November. It was me and "JD Robb" sitting in the quiet, dark house trying to figure out how a shape shifter would manage life.

There's a problem with that plan, though.
sometimes the book at hand is FAR more interesting than the transition from point A to point B *my* character might be attempting.

It's much easier to read, than it is to write.

On a similar but rather different note - I've been reading Stephen King's book "On Writing" and enjoying it. He used himself as an example and claims that he makes a goal of how many books he's going to read.

I wonder if he has a Kindle or a Nook. Maybe an iPad. There's no telling. It was a random Question anyway. Still, if he stumbles upon my minor blog, I'd like to have an answer. Just because I'm curious.

I have a Kindle. I got it for Christmas.
I wasn't sure I'd like it - but I do. My favorite form of book is still actual paper.
It's more difficult to read the end of the book on a Kindle.

What brought all this up, you ask? Besides my random thought patterns...
Let me tell you...

We've been doing the 'summer reading' program through our library. You know the sort. Read a certain number of books and you get a medal. Read an even greater number of books and you win a prize. This year's prize is an inflatable Jet plane. I can't WAIT to see that bouncing around my house. The sarcasm is implied. Oh. Who am I kidding? It'll be fun. ESPECIALLY since there will be THREE of them. I refuse to play "air traffic controller."

Mini-Me has hit the grade level for the teen program. AND lo!!! Our small library has a small section of "Teen" books. Of course, it's filled with fantasy and paranormal fantasy books. BUT There are Mysteries, too.

Mysteries are Mini-Me's favorite.

She's discovered the Sammy Keyes series. She will come laughing to me with parts she has considered hilarious. She'll tell me all about the bad guy and the antics of the heroes.

One book she didn't think she would like was "Neil Flambe and the Marco Polo Murders" - I rather insisted that she give it a try. She fought me because she didn't think it sounded good. A chef?? Then she read that Neil's parents read to him from cook books when he couldn't sleep. I think she was hooked. She devoured it (pun. HA!) and was glad she read it. So glad that she was interested to learn there was a sequel.

Another author she wants more of is Blue Balliett. She started with "Chasing Vermeer" and went from there.

She's enjoyed these books so much that the American Girl mysteries she'd read and loved have lost interest for her. It's a fun progression to watch for this mom who remembers with much fondness her absolute love of mysteries.

G-man has discovered a love of the personalities in History. Marco Polo was the latest one.

J-man and Mini-E just have a love of books.

Me?? I've devoured Nora Roberts, Julia Quinn, Robyn Carr and Kerrelynn Sparks. (It comes from being a romantic who was writing a romance.) (and my absolute love of characters.)

And, I admit this, I love quick reads. If I'm entertained, I'm happy. Regaining my lost vocabulary is a happy coincidence.

On my 'to read pile' are JD Robb, Lee Child, Mark Greaney, William Dietz (who, incidentally, spent a lot of time on The Professor's Kindle while The Prof. was traveling), John Flanagan, Charlaine Harris and ... LOTS of others. I'm a biblioholic and not bothered by this distinction at all. I've learned to stop reading if I want to A) slap the main character until they snap B) find myself thinking it's a good time to scrub the shower.

I coined my own phrase, allow me to quote myself: "Life is too short to read bad books and waste good dreams"

Happy Sigh

Now - what about you?
What are you reading?
'cause I might want to read it.

A current view of life...

2011-06-13T21:54:00.002-05:00

...Otherwise known as: What happens when I'm editing and my camera is at my elbow.

As you can see, I've nearly completed the edits. There were a few days in there that everything I wrote absolutely sucked -- but I pressed on. Because most of the time, I like what I've written. My readers like what I've written. The manuscript is nearly completed. I liked seeing how much I've gotten done since I started working on it again. (Right after I finished Meg & DJ's journey)

Then I'll have the task of going back through and finding all the times I transitioned from one point to another with the word "As".

As that's what happened when I was trying to quickly get the visual from brain to paper ....many times over.

I really do have one...

2011-06-04T23:00:00.002-05:00

Paula asked me, "Do you really have an "I don't suck" file? That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

I thought to myself, "Yes, yes I do."

Then I thought again - "I'll even take a picture of it!!"

Voila!!!

I really don't - even if I sometimes think I do...

I've always kept notes that were particularly encouraging. But after I read This, I knew I had to have one of my own. AND I knew I had to call it my "I don't suck" file. I mentioned it on this post back in April. Now, I will admit that it took me a few days after I wrote the blog post to actually put the thought into motion.

But I did - and, being easily amused, I have to say it's been fun. Even creating it was fun.

It's the perfect remedy for a rejection letter! Or just a bad case of 'Monday'

The contents MIGHT seem minor at the moment. The file doesn't include the cards I have between books on the book shelves. AND it doesn't count two e-mail programs worth of notes.

Laptop e-mail. I have 3 new e-mails that I moved to my "I don't suck" folder.

For as long as I can remember, I've kept folders in my e-mail programs that I wanted to keep. E-mails that have blessed me. I might delete them after the warm fuzzy has diminished but that's because the e-mail did its job. It told me I didn't suck.

Making an "I don't suck" file made me realize that I was already doing much the same thing under a different name. So, I went so far as to make a folder on my e-mail program. It'll save me ink and paper. But mostly - it's there for the times I need encouragement.

NOW - the trick, I'm learning - is to go back through and actually READ the contents.

There you go.
I really do have such a file..
I can recommend it.

I think I'll put stickers on mine.....

Birthdays and accidental traditions...

2011-06-02T13:52:00.002-05:00

Some months ago, in preparing for a get together with my family, I mentioned to my mom, "Why don't we just have pizza? Wouldn't that be easier?"

She pointed out that we seem to have that during birthday events. Which is true. There isn't much else to order/prepare that won't heat up my small kitchen or will be as readily received. Pizza has become my go-to food for birthday nights.

I'm not sure what's going to happen when the kids start asking for their favorite foods on their birthdays. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Pizza on a birthday has become an accidental tradition. This fact became glaringly obvious yesterday.

Yesterday was my birthday.

The kids decided to take care of me. I had breakfast in bed. Eggs and toast.
Then, thanks The Professor's tutelage, they teamed up (which proves that they can work together) to make a cake. It was a sweet moment. They made my favorite - strawberry.

Apparently, they spilled batter on the floor.
Mini-Me came to me and said, "Um... don't come out (of your room) but ..um...where's the windex?"

So the cake was made (it was a little flat). They forgot to grease the pan which was a fun situation when it came time to dish it out. At first the kids were surprised that I'd serve cake before lunch.

"It's my birthday!" said I. (And there wasn't anyone else coming) So I spooned out cake into bowls.

Mini-E looked at her cake and then looked at me, "Where's the pizza?"

Accidental tradition achieved.

There's a rather ironic side-story that happened during the week.

My mom was going to sit with the kids so The Professor and I could have a night out. When discussing having food on-hand for Mom to prepare for their dinner, The Professor said, "Well, let's just order Pizza. It's easier and it is a payday."

It's another level of tradition.

---

Okay. So my birthday included the kids making breakfast and lunch. I didn't worry about school - I read a novel. The Professor gave me new ear buds for my MP3 player and Season Three of Burn Notice. Mini-Me made me a cat, G-man made me a decoration, J-man made me a necklace and Mini-E gave me some drawings. She's quite fun.

The way they took care of me just blessed me. It was better than mother's day. ^_^

To answer Toby's question... For my birthday, my In-Laws gave me a gift certificate to Amazon. I just didn't know what I wanted. Last year, I knew I wanted shoes of awesomeness. This year...I just didn't know.

I love gift cards. It's the chance to buy yourself something you might not ordinarily purchase for yourself.

So for my birthday I bought Music.

It was The Professor's idea. He told me "You're hard to buy for. Michael Buble came up on the recommendation list...."

"I don't like him," I interrupted.

"Exactly."

"He's a poser."

"Got that. You're hard to buy for. Why don't you buy music?"

So I did.

I bought a CD from The Fray. An album I didn't have by Kelanie Gloeckler. I purchased the soundtracks from Fast Five. I enjoy that movie. Because I was feeling adventurous, I ordered "Doo-Wap and Hooligans" by Bruno Mars. I've not heard his music before but I liked the title. It made me smile.

Just for Randomness - I bought a book on Castles.

From my own personal wishlist I bought a copy of Animusic 2.

If you've not heard of them -- Let me share.

There were lots of comments on Facebook wishing me a happy birthday - I wish I could save them all and put them in my "I don't suck" file.

All in all - it was a good birthday. When my box of music arrives, It'll be just a continuation of the celebration.

For our date, The Professor and I went to dinner at an artsy sort of place just to try something new. Then we went to see Thor. I really liked the movie. It was so much better than the green hornet which, really, -- it sucked.

While we were at the theater, my brother texted me and asked, "So how does it feel to have more experience at being 25?"

He gets me. He knows that my age and my brain are not the same.

I mentioned that If I knew THEN what I know now, I kinda wonder how much more I might have accomplished.

He said, "You'd have gone nuts."

He was right. THEN - I was in no position to break out of a mold...I had no support.
It took a journey to get here to the NOW.

The journey is not over. Far from it in fact -- but without all the in-between stuff that's happened, I wouldn't be me...now.

And I pretty much rock.

It was a good birthday.

A pointless post ...

2011-05-31T10:40:00.000-05:00

I have been finding myself with weird sleep patterns. I blame it equally on a sinus infection, the resulting medications and the changes in the weather. (When the night warms up and my normal nesting habits create sweltering hot flashes.)

Lately, I find myself waking up in the night. The clock, normally by the bedside, would be checked for time. If it's morning, I'd get up. If it's early enough, I'll try to eek out just a little bit more sleep. It's amazing how quickly time flies when you're TRYING to sleep.

I have, in case you wanted to know, moved the clock to the floor so I can't see it anymore. Really, I got tired of the glow of the LED.

I've noticed a strange pattern to my dreaming as well.

Because of the weird sleep pattern, I'm having dream vignettes. Instead of a long drawn out dream, I'll dream in patches. Like the time I dreamed the professor callled me from work and I couldn't wake up to answer it. He didn't call. It really was a dream. I checked.

There was the dream where The Professor was working and hit his finger? Thumb? with a hammer. The nail turned purple. I know this was a prophetic dream....the injuries he's sustained while working are minor. (I just figured that out.) (It's not been a happy place for him, this work)

Then there are the imaginations. Semi-Story plots that become part of the dream, waking me up or ending when I wake up. They're not important, either. They're just there in the sleeping snatches of night and most often discarded in the morning.

I've had GOOD stuff come to me in the middle of the night. I once had a shape-shifter keep me up until the wee hours of the morning. She ended up being the main character of my NaNo novel back in November. And then there are the plot points of other stories - even Meg & DJ kept me up more than once.

So I'm trying to decide what to do with it. If anything?

Probably not. Life around here is often full of short snatches of 'stuff'. Yesterday, the kids played in a bucket of water. They played long enough to fight and get wet.

We had a spurt of laundry activity afterward.

I worked on editing a story I hope to get published.

The professor found a game.

I ordered new music from Amazon.

The kids played.

I have been reading "On Writing" by Stephen King. He made me laugh with his memories. Memories he'd written in vignettes. He made me realize that I'm doing something right with my writing. I may never qualify myself as a fan - but I can appreciate him and his talent. I can't blame him for my vignette dreams, though. I've only been reading his book for two days. I've had a sinus infection for over a week.

As I write this I'm realizing, now, that snatches of sleep and vignette dreams probably shouldn't be considered weird for me.Considering how my days progress....

Except for one single thing. One very important fact.

I tend to like my sleep.

The Angst of a Seven-year-old

2011-05-27T21:15:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder about my kids. I wonder if I've broken them.
I wonder if I play with them enough. Or interact with them enough.
If I nurture them enough.

Then there are the times when I just wonder what I did to deserve it....

You know...that average mom stuff.

Today, in a random sort of way, G-man started talking about how old everyone will be in a decade. First of all, it's nice to know that he's paying attention to SOMETHING.
but sometimes I have to wonder (There I go again) about his timing.

He mentioned that he'd be nearly 21 in a decade.

Which made me feel VERY old. I mean, hypothetically speaking. In the future. In a decade. I'll be nearly 48.

So I mentioned to the kids that while a decade might seem to go by really quickly, let's enjoy one year, one day, one moment at a time.

Mostly because I wasn't ready to talk about things that might happen in a decade.

Was that to happen???
OH, Nooooo! It was not to be.

J-man started to cry.
Actual tears.
Who knew that talking about things a decade away would bring tears. I mean, besides my own.

J-man focused on the fact that G-man would be an adult. I tried to assuage his fear. "Most guys really aren't grown up until about 25."

He didn't want to hear that EITHER.
I can't win.

So that was the beginning. He didn't want G-man to move away. He wanted to keep his friend close at hand.

From there he started talking about his own children.
Just so you remember....J-man is 7.
"When I have kids, I'm going to encourage them to make up their own games. Like I do."
(Which is -- he'll encourage them to use their imaginations)

And "I'll play with my kids when they're lonely."

I looked at him. "Are you lonely?"

He got teary eyed again.

Then I got to listen to more plans about his own kids. And how he planned to parent them.
He's left me wondering about me.
Does he find me deficient?

I must be doing SOMETHING right, though.
I mean....he's at least PLANNING to have children in the future.
That's gotta count for something. Somewhere.

Atmospheric Pressure...

2011-05-25T22:21:00.001-05:00

I grew up in this state. I've only known a tornado to hit close enough to my home to scare me. I was young ... but not too young to appreciate sitting with my head in my mom's lap to watch "Simon & Simon" while Dad stood at the glass door looking out.

It's an Oklahoma thing. ... Watching tornadoes.

The tornado hit just a short distance from our town.

Really, we all know that tornadoes happen. It's just the way of it around here. We live in an area called Tornado Alley, by example. We take precautions...but somewhere deep down inside, We just never think that it's going to actually happen, That a tornado is actually going to materialize.

Sunday night, The Professer was called up for deployment to Joplin as part of a search and rescue operation. Don't look - most of the press went to the search dogs. They were the stars of the show. He was gone from Sunday night until Tuesday evening.

I didn't go to church Sunday night because I didn't feel good. (Come to find out, I had a sinus infection). He called and asked me to load up his car.

I did. He came home, dropped off the kids, kissed me goodbye, and booked it to the deployment site.

Joplin. The pictures are amazing. The professor described the scene to me after he came home. But really? The news coverage was enough to make your heart stop. I watched the news, looking for signs of him as his team walked over the rubble looking to make rescues.

The one thing The Professor said was that the people of Joplin were amazingly generous. Amazingly hospitable. (Unlike New Orleans where teams were cussed and shot at. )

While he was in Joplin, we prayed for him. We prayed for Joplin. I still didn't feel good.

The weathermen here kept telling us that Tuesday would be our turn. A dry line was going to push through. Storms would build and could possibly bring long track tornadoes. Goody. Just what you want to hear. NOT.

Tuesday came and my mom stayed with the kids so I could go to the doctor and the pharmacy. Yay for doctors and pharmacies!!! Not to mention Sonic's drive-thru with diet coke. Mom goes home and we both agree that we'll watch the weather.

She lives in a mobile home and I live in the middle of nowhere. Tornadoes don't like either of those. After looking at the Joplin destruction, it's apparent a direct hit from a tornado does not do good things to a house.

Whether it was because I didn't feel good - whether it was my emotional side NOT being balanced by the Professor's reality checks -- I felt the atmosphere.

I felt the tension.

I didn't like it.

I had to be the only strong, staid person in the house.

I didn't feel good.

HOWEVER - I knew I had a choice.

You see? I have a son who tends to over react. He knows what a tornado is...he's only 7 and he's had to spend some time in the bathroom. Even if I didn't feel good - I had to take care of them.

I had to take care of me.

The way you silence fear is to give attention to faith. - Bill Johnson.

Every time I would start to get tense or anxious - I spoke to my atmosphere.

From Psalm 91.. "No disaster shall befall our tent.."

Then I started thinking - well, but what if half the house were gone?

I can't afford to lose school books.

NO disaster shall befall our tent.

I have stories and unfinished manuscripts.

NO Disaster shall befall our tent.

It became my conversation of the day. Because I had to counter any tension and fear with Faith - otherwise I would become fearful. Or Fear-filled, instead of faith-filled. It's just a fact.

We made plans. The one the Professor can attest to, after walking in Joplin, Interior rooms and bathrooms, really DO stand up better than other parts of the house during a tornado. Our hidey hole is the bathroom.

Tornadoes did start coming our way. From the west...and I was glued to the TV (and my book) and the kids watched phineas and Ferb on the internet. I had my backpack filled with my laptop, a manuscript I need to pick up the redmarks on, my passport, my kindle and a charger. The kids had games.

Just as I was thinking things over, The Professor walked in and said, "Everyone in the bathroom."

He'd seen a lowering cloud just to our East.
The news had mentioned nothing about it. Of course, the lovely digital TV thing we have going sans cable is a pain. We lost the signal. I lost Cell strength - and we were stuck in our bathroom while they told us about everything else going on around us.

It was frustrating not knowing. It was frustrating having cranky, slightly frightened kids. The professor ate his lunch and I made breaks from the bath to check the screens and the internet.

When the sirens went off again, sounding the all clear, we were already out of the bathroom and checking the radars on-line. It was weird how we were ignored by the storm trackers.

But maybe it was atmospheric.
I do have that authority.
Even if I don't feel good.

Still...I look at the pictures of the damage done and think...would it have been better to have a safe room?? Or would I have put my faith in that?

It's a question I'll be asking for awhile, I think.

Journey - Epilogue

2011-05-24T00:12:00.004-05:00

This has been SOOO much fun to write. Thank you for enjoying it with me.
Hopefully I'll be able to share something again in the very near future.

I was going to stop the story with the last post - but DJ wanted to share this part of the story with you, too. So without further ado - I give you The Epilogue....which really isn't an ending but a beginning. The rest is up to your imagination.

And to think...it all started with a prologue.

February 2012

    “Don’t answer it.” DJ muttered without moving, knowing she would anyway.

    Meg rolled away from the warmth of his body and answered the phone, "Rediker.”

    Hearing her use his name, never grew old. Draping an arm around her waist, DJ kissed her shoulder and listened.

    “It’s Spiro. We’ve got a lead on the Dumont robbery. The necklace was pawned. It’s such a nice cheerful day to be out on the street.”

    “Bite me, Spiro. There’s two inches of ice on the roads. Who in their right mind would try to fence jewelry on a day like this?”

    “Don’t know. The owner of the shop called it in. You get to corroborate.”

    Swearing into the pillow, she slammed the phone down, “It’s just no fun anymore.”

    “What?” DJ Muttered, kissing the soft skin between her shoulder blades.

    “Slamming phones. There’s no satisfaction to a ‘beep’.” Meg squirmed away from her husband before he could make her forget that she was a cop. “I have to go out. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

    Tugging on pants she was sure she wore the day before, Meg ran through her mental check list. She slid on the bra gratefully. Weeks of therapy had helped her regain full range of motion. Determination had her continually grateful whenever slipping on the annoying and often binding undergarment. Wearing nothing but pants and her bra she was half-way ready to walk out the door. At least mentally.

    DJ watched with appreciation as his wife stopped in the middle of the room. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. The scars were far from faded and served as constant reminders to him of what might have been. Propping himself up on his elbow, DJ grinned, “You alright, baby?”

    “I’m fine. I just had a twinge of....”

    DJ smirked and watched Meg put her hand to her stomach moments before she dashed to the bathroom. Knowing that laughing would result in pain, DJ swallowed the urge. Tossing back the blanket, he joyfully followed his wife. Holding her hair with one hand he wet a cloth with the other. Third time it had happened, by his calculations. Never in a row but she wasn’t eating normally either.

    The first time it had happened, his wife had shrugged it off as something she’d eaten. The second time, she had wondered if she’d gotten a stomach bug. She never mentioned her lack of appetite but DJ had noticed and had bided his time.

    “Oh, I simply hate throwing up.” Meg leaned against his shoulder and let him wipe her face with the wash cloth.

    “Well,” He reached over and pulled down on the handle to send her stomach contents far away from them, “I’m not exactly fond of you throwing up, to be honest.”

    Kissing her forehead, DJ got to his feet and poured mouth wash into a small cup. Handing it down to her, he listened to her rinse out her mouth. With a surge of happiness, DJ reached into his drawer and pulled out the white box he's purchased. Purchased with a feeling of glee after the second morning of vomiting. Grinning into her hair, he placed the box in Meg’s hands.

    “A pregnancy test?” Meg laughed, “Seriously, Darcy.”

    “No contraceptive is one-hundred percent and you know it.” DJ settled himself against the cabinet door and snugged her between his flannel covered legs, “Shall we consider the evidence, Detective?” He held out his thumb, “One, you have claimed that you are NEVER sick.”

    Meg opened her mouth to be told, with a finger in her face, “Two, there was a series of robberies right around Christmas. You were very busy with those - you pulled several late nights. Trying, I believe, to save the department from bad press. And while I don’t like watching you stress, being your stress reliever has some definite perks.”

    Her smirk told him that she thought so, too. He continued before she could comment, “Three. Christmas weekend we rarely left our bed. I’m not complaining. Just pointing out the evidence.”

    “Four. At the end of the month, you mentioned that you must have missed days on your pills because you had at least three left. What do you want to bet you missed three in a row?”

    Meg opened her mouth to be shushed again. DJ was on a roll and wasn’t about to be deterred, “Five. You’ve been without an appetite and this is the third time you’ve been vomiting in the morning. It certainly wasn’t food poisoning because I ate the exact same thing you did. I never got sick that day.”

    “Fine.” Meg shifted out of his arms, “I’ll pee on a stick. Just to shut you up.”

    DJ brought his knees up and rested his hands on them, “The evidence requires it. Not me.”

    “Leave.” Meg motioned with the pregnancy test, “Go.”

    His smile was brilliant, “I’m not leaving. I’m not giving you an opportunity to tamper with the evidence.”

    Narrowing her eyes, “Fine. But if this is negative, you’re driving me to interview the shop owner.”

    Watching her face, DJ nodded once, “Challenge accepted. However, if it’s positive you call Spiro back and tell him to send someone else. Then you spend the rest of the day in bed with me.”

    “Fine.” Meg opened the box and broke the seal on the pregnancy test. She followed the instructions carefully, as to not tamper with evidence. Meg set the pregnancy test on the floor and they both stared at it. They didn’t have to wait the full three minutes before DJ’s laughter rang through the house.

    “I'm going to be a dad!” On his knees in a moment, he kissed his wife with passion and glee, “And you said you got all the brains in the family.”

    She couldn't help get caught up in his happiness, especially when he lifted her like she was weightless. Meg settled herself back in the bed and reached for the phone.

    When her partner answered, Meg grinned, “I’m not going to be able to make it after all. Send Ericson down to get a statement. I’ll do a follow up if it’s necessary. Tomorrow or the next day.”

    She could all but see Spiro’s eyes narrow and his bushy eyebrows draw together, “I had to drive in his fantastic mess, so do you.”

    “Actually, I can’t. I lost a bet with my husband. You’ll need to send Ericson.”

    Silence on the other end of the phone and Darcy nibbling on her shoulder, Meg clamped her lips down to keep from laughing, “What sort of bet, Detective?”

    “I'm pregnant.”

    “Well, I’ll be.” There was a long pause and a low chuckle filled the phone, “I'm going to be an uncle.” Spiro outright laughed before declaring, “Well. Damn. I’ll send Ericson.”

    Taking the phone from Meg, DJ tossed the unit under the bed. With a grin, he tugged on Meg’s hips until she was flat on the bed and laughing.

    “You’re going to have to go under there and get that, you know.”

    DJ kissed the scar on her stomach, as he did every time he had the chance. This time he kissed her low on her abdomen, where his baby grew, “Later.”

    Meg grinned at the tender kisses on her stomach, “Do you want to know something, Darcy Rediker?”

    Kissing his way up to look in her face, DJ smiled, he couldn’t seem to stop. He was going to be a dad. “Tell me?”

    “You were worth waiting for.”

    © 2011 Amelia Antwiler/ComfyDenim

Journey - Finally

2011-05-23T00:12:00.043-05:00

I'm finally over the word count for making this a "Novella". Warning -- in an effort not to make this another cliff hanger -- I've included the entire last bit here. It's long.

You've been warned.

Prologue
Recovery Begins

Our story continues:

    Released to go home, Meg was armed with severe restrictions. How much she could lift. How long she should stay down and up. Do not push yourself too hard. Too far.

    Meg had scowled. She was a cop. Pushing herself too hard and too far is what she did regularly. Being a patient was going to be more work than she realized. Instead of letting her go home, her family outvoted her and she found herself neatly situated in the recliner in her family home. A table to her left held everything she needed. Water, her pain prescription and the small bottle of non-prescription analgesic. Other items were close at hand. Books. A newspaper. The television remote. Hand-drawn cards from her nieces and nephew were waiting to welcome her home.

    Flowers and balloons that had filtered into her hospital room after she’d moved from the critical care unit, now filled her mother’s home. Once tucked in the recliner, Norma instituted a day of rest. Meg protested when the day slowly stretched into a week.

    “I'm not a puppy who needs to get used to new surroundings, Mom!”

    Norma was firm and her family knew better than to argue with her. Knowing Meg would need distractions, they secretly compromised. Her brothers came together or alone. Her sisters-in-law came off an on with children and without. They came for only a little while and they came bearing gifts. New books. Her stack continued to grow.

    DJ did not come the first day she was home but he came the second. From her apartment, he brought her laptop and all the things she needed to run it. He pulled an ottoman close and sat at her elbow. The conversation flowed over many things. DJ held her hand, touched her cheek and gave tender kisses. Meg reveled in his attention and the tenderness.

    Meg expected to be bored over the week she was essentially confined to home. Instead, she found the peace soothing. She alternated between napping and reading.

    Dressing herself was a challenge. Her right arm was kept hugged close to her body. The easiest thing to layer herself into for clothes were layered tank tops. Her sister-in-laws both offered button-down shirts from their husbands. With a grin, DJ offered a few of his own. After DJ murmured in her ear that he liked the look of his shirts on her, they were Meg’s favorites. The combination of layers became her uniform. Never in all the years she’d been required to wear a bra had she thought she’d miss that particular piece of clothing. It was often an implement of torture. Because she couldn’t move her arm, Meg found herself missing it.

    Refusing to be completely waited upon, Meg shuffled through the house. She gained strength as days passed. Even so, her mother was constantly shuffling her back to the recliner. Meg smiled bright when roses were unexpectedly delivered. The card read, “Making up for lost time. love, DJ” He didn’t visit every day and Meg didn’t mind. No one visited every day. It kept her from the feeling of suffocating and each visit was a welcome distraction.

    Somehow, through instinct or phone calls, the isolation was broken on Sunday. What started out as a slow day grew in noise. Her family had intended to gather for the traditional Sunday dinner. Since it was a well-known fact that they did so, it was no surprise when the bell rang just before eleven in the morning. It was a surprise to Meg that the guest turned out to be Neil Spiro No stranger to Sunday dinner, he was welcomed by all. Travis Winkler, in the neighborhood, stopped by with his son. A child who was the spitting image of his father. Luckily, without the bullying tendencies. Charlotte and Paul Rediker were loudly welcomed and the party was moved to the back yard. In the warming day, sunday dinner was quickly turned into a cook out. Paul Rediker and Uncle Mark manned the grill. Sara and Trish quickly made a huge salad while Charlotte and Norma worked at making hamburger patties.

    Meg was put in a chair in the shade of the patio, sitting while her family gathered. Captain Zuck came by for a visit, thinking Sunday would be a nice quiet day. He’d been pleasantly surprised to be wrong. A phone call and thirty minutes later several of Meg’s friends appeared on the stoop with sodas, beer and ice. Sam Paris, called by Travis and armed with store bought cupcakes, appeared with his wife and twin daughters. The yard filled with laughter, friends and cops. Watching from the patio, Meg knew they were all family.

    The only person missing, and he was asked about, was DJ. Since Meg didn’t know where he was, she shrugged her good shoulder and tried not to groan when her mother cut up her hamburger into halves. It was no secret anymore that he was bunking at her apartment, her brothers thought it was amusing. Still, no one knew where he was.

    Hugging a pillow to her stomach more often than she wasn’t, Meg enjoyed the time. Even if she ate sparingly, Meg ate with relish. Hearing her name, Meg looked up. Her uncle grinned and motioned with his head. Looking behind her, she smiled at DJ’s surprise. He stood just to the side of the back door, a bemused expression on his face.

    His broad-shoulders and chest well-filled his t-shirt. He chose a dusky green that highlighted the tan that still glinted over his skin. In a purely female frame of mind, Meg allowed herself to enjoy the view of him before he was greeted by family.

    With a laugh, DJ finally found himself sitting next to Meg. He had a plate of food he didn’t want and a convenient moment alone with Meg that he did want.

    His eyes skimmed over the group. A game of Bocce Ball had been set up in the grass. Laughter and good natured teasing bounced back to where they sat. DJ grinned at her, confusion filled his eyes, “I didn’t realize there was going to be a party.”

    “There wasn’t. It was just going to be family.” Her grin matched his, “Then the extended family showed up.”

    DJ picked her hand up and pressed her knuckles to his lips, “I’m sorry I was late. I wanted to pick something up.”

    “There’s plenty of food, though,” She eyed his plate, “you don’t seem to be interested in eating.” Meg swiveled in the chair, “Why are you nervous?”

    His laugh was filled with amusement and good humor, “Detective Addison is back, I see.”

    “She was only momentarily out of commission.” Meg grinned slightly, “But, really, Darcy, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

    “Actually. There is.” He inhaled and surveyed the group, “Listen. Are you up for a drive?”

    Knowing something was up, Meg steadied the rise of nerves. She had no reason for them. At least, not yet, “A change of scenery would be nice. I’m not up for walking, though.”

    “There won’t be much walking. I’ll take care of you.”

    Whatever it was that bothered DJ it was important. Meg nodded, “Let me get my shoes.”




    By the time Meg was in the passenger seat of her own car, she’d had a murmured conversation with her stepfather uncle. After giving her an understanding squeeze on the arm, he’d in turn had a conversation with his wife. As far as Meg could tell, DJ was not aware. The sling held her right arm against her body, a restriction she’d be thrilled to have removed.

    Instinctively she watched his body language. She saw the tensing play over his jaw and the stress in the tendons in his neck.

    “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

    “No. Do you want to stop along the way? Get coffee?”

    “That’s alright.” Meg grinned in a manner she hoped was pleasant and not murderous, “I’m more curious about where we’re going. It’ll be agony if I try to drink coffee and wonder.” It would also delay the inevitable she feared was coming.
    “Okay.” DJ glanced over at her. He opened his mouth to talk and then closed it again. Giving his head a slight shake, DJ turned his eyes back to the road.

    “Darcy, if something’s on your mind, it might be easier if you just blurted it out.”

    “I seem to be fumbling over my own tongue with you. I want to wait.”

    Meg lifted an eyebrow at his profile, “Don’t wait too long.”

    DJ nodded once but kept his focus on the road. Meg contented herself with watching the scenery. Knowing the city and many of the suburban area around it, Meg knew where she was as DJ drove in silence. She was more puzzled by DJ’s deliberate driving. She’d already known by the silence that they weren’t going on a simple drive. Though, it would have been easier for him to break off their relationship at home. With her in the recliner and unable to easily kill him.

    When she couldn’t come up with a reason behind his actions, Meg watched the landscape change. Less urban and more country, the houses were further apart, the yards larger and the distance between neighbors greatly lengthened.

    Meg tapped the window, “That house there was auctioned off by the Sheriff’s department several years ago. It was confiscated in a burglary ring. All the owner’s assets were frozen.”

    “Were you in on the sting?”

    “Yeah. I was a buyer. I bet you I could meet the guy on the street today and he’d not recognize me.” She held her hands out in front of her, “He never looked above here.”

    “Assets well placed." DJ's grin was there and gone quickly.

    Meg laughed carefully, “I’m glad you noticed. After the case was closed, no one could prove ownership of the house. The Sheriff’s department didn’t want it. The mortgage company counted it is as a loss - especially since the paper work was so screwed up. So it was sold. Who ever bought it probably got an amazing deal.”

    “Probably.” His distraction was obvious and Meg merely narrowed her eyes at him.

    Leaving the stolen house behind them, DJ turned the car onto a wide tree-lined street and then jogged immediately into a driveway. The drive curled around a fence, over a crest and stopped right in front of a wide, sprawling house. It seemed to rise and fall with the contours of the land. Intrigued, Meg looked up at the twisted trees that served as pillars for the portico extending from the house to the drive. The wide front door was heavy wood, the knots and dings in the wood gave it character and charmed Meg immediately.

    The house was mostly rock, but the wood used in the details and design was golden and buffed over time. DJ moved around the hood of the car and to her side, helping her step out onto the drive. Steadier on her feet than she’d been for days, she still held onto his arm for support as they went up the single step. DJ opened the massive front door and they stepped in.

    The entry was domed and Meg glanced up. Painting on the stuccoed ceiling perpetually announced spring. DJ watched without trying to appear that he was doing so.

    Meg stepped into the great room and offered an ‘oooo’ of appreciation. There was no furniture in the house but her eye was drawn to the magnificent fireplace on the other side of the room. The mantle was wood, natural in its imperfections. Tall candle sticks would be perfect there. A door to one side of the fireplace led into the next room. From where she stood, the Spanish tile led deeper into the middle of the house. To her right, wide windows let light into the room. The room could be arranged as two living areas, or one great room. It was, simply put, huge.

    “I realize that you opened the door, so breaking and entering isn’t a problem. Still, I gotta know - are we supposed to be here?”

    “I have permission.” DJ pointed down the corridor, “You want to keep looking?”

    “Why the hell not? I mean, since we’re here.” The kitchen was filled with gray marble counter tops, gleaming fixtures and glass fronted cabinets with unique handles on each door. Meg grinned and rounded the island to the French doors, she suspected opened onto the yard. “How many bedrooms?”

    "Depends on how it’s arranged.” DJ answered, hooking his thumbs on his jean pockets. “Not all the rooms need to be bedrooms. A couple have built in book cases. Offices could be arranged.”

    Meg opened the doors and laughed at the covered Lanai. A hammock still hung between two of the porch supports. “It’s amazing. Why is it empty?”

    DJ didn't answer.

    Meg looked out over the grounds. She could smell the chlorine of the pool and made her way to the corner of the house. The pool wasn’t tiled to be blue like so many were, it was tiled to be a grotto, deep and clear. It was long enough for floating or exercise but small enough to be intimate. It fit in the rolling yard. Steps down from the portico.

    “That door there, at the top of the path, is the master suite.” Holding her arm, DJ led the way to the door and opened it. They stood just inside the door. A fireplace was situated in the corner of the room. Over it was a painting, with swipes of pale pink, brown and cream. In startling contrast was sapphire blue streaked over the canvas.

    “Odd that there’s a painting when the rest of the house is empty.”

    “Do you like it?” DJ asked.

    “I do. I liked it immediately.” Meg turned slowly, she liked the warmth of the walls. They weren’t blandly white. The carpet was a color that looked almost pink instead of cream. It matched the color in the painting. One of the reasons, DJ had bought the crazy piece of art. The other was the blue that had immediately attracted his attention and summoned to Meg to his thoughts.

    “Meg. I have to go back.” The pain sounded in his voice.

    Nodding quickly, Meg murmured, “I thought you might.”

    “Well, it’s formality really.” DJ moved to stand in front of her. Bending his knees he ducked down, forcing her eyes to his, “I am going to do this badly, I’m afraid. I’ve done everything else badly.”

    Meg sighed hugely, “Would you just say it, already? I’m tired of the silence, Darcy. The nerves. You’re making me nervous and I’ve worked in tenser situations and kept my hands steady.” She held her hand out to show him the slight tremor. “Get on with it.”

    “You mean the world to me.” DJ held the hand in his and caressed the skin over her knuckles.

    Meg heard the unfinished sentence dangling and prompted, “but?”

    “No ‘buts’. I have two choices available to me when I go back. The first one is to pick up right where I left off. The second is to resign and retire.”

    “Why would you retire?”

    “I told you, if I got married I couldn’t serve with my unit. I'm stretching the rules simply by having a girlfriend. My commander allowed it because you're a cop. Because he knew you never ...” DJ sighed, "...you weren't hindering me."

    Unsure what she should say, Meg said nothing.

    “Meg,” he huffed, “I’m suddenly terrible with words. I need to know that if I go back and resign that you’ll be here waiting when I get back.”

    “I’ve waited this long, Darcy.” Meg frowned, “I’ll wait as long as you need me to...”

    DJ held a bit of silver between his thumb and forefinger. The sapphire winked at her, “No, Meg, I need to know that you’ll marry me. Will you be my wife and will you make this house our home?”

    “Oh...” Meg stared at the ring, his words filling her hears. Her heart stumbled on itself and she repeated, “Oh.”

    “I can’t go back until I know that you still want me. After all this time. I know it’s not been fair....”

    “Darcy,” Meg interrupted, “You did what you needed to do. I’ll never fault you for that. EVER. You have to understand that.”

    Thinking that he did understand, DJ waited.

    Meg grinned slightly, “My hand is shaking too much to put my finger in that circle. You’re going to have to do it for me.”

    His smile was bright and instant, “So that’s a yes?”

    “Yes! Hurry up!” Her laugh, when he slid the silver band around her finger was cut off by a moan, “We don’t get married until I can laugh without crying.”

    “Deal.” Once the ring was settled on her finger, DJ framed her face with his hands and kissed her soundly.

    Meg admired the ring on her finger and then looked up at him, “This is our house?”

    “Yes. I signed the papers on Friday.” DJ pulled his wallet from his back pocket and unfolded it, “My father has been taking care of my money for me. He’s done quite well with it.” He handed her a credit card.

    Running her finger over the embossed lettering of her name, Meg protested quietly, “I’m not Jessica. I don’t need money.”

    “I know. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. We’d be living in your cramped apartment.” Gingerly, DJ wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, “I’ve thought about it a lot. I want you to make this our home. What I know is that you will make it ours. It won’t be just yours.” He thought of the house he’d had to sell so many years ago. “It will be ours. I don’t care if you decide to make it all pink. Just, for the love of all things holy, please, don’t buy a floral couch.”

    Pressing her face into his chest, Meg did her best not to laugh, “I thought you were taking me away to break it off.”

    “No, baby. I love you so much. You’ve been my lifeline since we met. I just didn’t know how much I needed you. When I got here and you were so near to being gone, to leaving me, I thought I’d missed my chance to tell you and to ask you to marry me. I'm not taking the risk to wait until you’re completely recovered.”

    “If I’d said no?” Meg asked with honest curiosity, "What would you have done?”

    “Gone back to my unit and probably never come home again.”

    Tugging on his t-shirt, Meg urged his lips closer to hers so she could kiss him, “I love you, Darcy. Go make your peace with your unit. I’ll be here when you get back.”

    “I'm going to hold you to that.” With more tenderness than he thought he possessed, Darcy kissed his future wife in their home.

    “Finally.” was Meg’s thought before she thought of nothing else.

July 2011

    It took just under three months to get his affairs in order, pack the entirety of his life and return home. He’d counted the days. He’d been teased. He’d been congratulated. He’d signed privacy disclosures that his commander knew were unneeded. After his commanding officer made a phone call and got him on a transport, the flight home was shorter than normal. He’d easily made a connecting flight. With commendations and discharge papers in his backpack, DJ stepped off the plane. Quite possibly for the last time.

    He swallowed the memory that resurfaced from years before and shouldered his duffel bag. People naturally moved out of his way as he walked. His stride ate up the ground.

    Clearing the crowd heading into the terminals, his eyes swept those waiting. He shouldn’t have wondered if she’d be there or if he’d see her right away. With the badge around her neck, she stood with casual authority. Alone, her feet shoulder width apart and her hands on her hips, Meg sized him up as he walked toward her. Lifting an eyebrow as he walked directly to her, Meg smirked.

    “Hey.”

    “Hey.” His duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thud. Arms held to his sides, “How are you?”

    “Nearly as good as new. I’m on light duty until I can lift my shoulder.” She tilted her head slightly and grinned, “I'm well enough to be kissed.”

    DJ wrapped his arms around Meg and kissed her greedily. He had years to make up for and figured he’d wasted enough time.

    With her arms around his neck, DJ held her tight against him. Her feet dangled and Meg touched her nose to his, “Welcome home, Darcy.”

    Epilogue


    © 2011 Amelia Antwiler/ComfyDenim

Journey - Recovery Begins

2011-05-22T00:12:00.007-05:00

Beginning of it All

Previous Installment

    Meg tried to focus complete on what the doctor was telling her. Every now and again it felt like her brain sloshed from one side to another. He described the injuries and the ramifications. “You’ll need to take it easy. No heavy lifting for several weeks. It would be easier of you’d been injured in just one place or even one side of your body. You got hit from four different directions. You’re lucky to be alive.”

    Assimilating that information, Meg tilted her head drunkenly, “When can I go home?”

    Amused, Dr. Montgomery grinned slightly, “Not for a while. You’re going to need to be up and walking before I let you out of here.” He shifted and took hold of the blanket, “Now, let’s take a look at you.”


    The doctor had explained much to her and the information jumbled in her head as she fell into sleep. She didn’t want to use the morphine. The doctor had told her that using it to keep the edge off the pain wouldn’t create an addiction. Meg wasn’t quite so certain but the longer she was awake the more she ached. It was a top of the head to the bottom of her feet kind of ache.

    Uncertain how long she’d slept, Meg scraped her hand over her face. She needed water. She wanted to go home. The lights had been dimmed but she didn’t open her eyes very wide. She rolled her head to reach for the button on the computerized pump. It had a name. She'd been told. Meg glared at it, trying to remember. Inspired, she decided she would call it Simon.

    “Simon says,” Meg muttered hoarsely. Amusement bubbled in her brain but she hurt too much to laugh. Rolling her head, she glared at the water on the rolling tray. It had been moved out of the way and not moved back within reach. Either side was bad for reaching. IV’s and equipment on one side. On the other, her injured shoulder made raising her arm difficult. Even hefting the water glass was currently a painful and often weak endeavor. Even if she could reach it.

    Meg sighed and closed her eyes. It wasn’t worth it.

    Warm fingers lifted her hand from her stomach and the handle of the insulated mug was pressed into her palm. Her fingers wrapped around the handle instinctively. The hand stayed on hers keeping the mug steady. The faint smell of soap and an aftershave she didn’t recognize filled her nose.

    Rolling her head back to center, Meg opened her eyes. Delight surged through her and the heart monitor recorded her heart beat skipping.

    DJ smiled slowly, “Hey.”

    “Hey.” Meg contented herself with seeing him in person. “You look good.”

    “You don’t.” He grinned to rob the words of any offense. She’d have known he was lying anyway. “Take a drink, Meg.”

    He held the mug for her and she drank slowly, sipping from the edge of the spouted lids. No straws until she was certain her stomach could handle the extra air. Meg was fairly certain the extra air might be worth the price of not dribbling water down her chin every time she needed a drink.

    Putting the cup back on the tray, DJ leaned closer to Meg. With his hand on the mattress at the side of her head, he put his weight on his arm.

    Ignoring the IV’s and the pull of the tape, Meg reached up to touch his cheek. “Why are you here?”

    “Because you are.” He kissed her forehead.

    “Have you been here? When did you arrive stateside?”

    DJ kissed the crease in her forehead. His lips were soft and warm on her skin. “I hit land the same day you were shot. I spent the night in the chair watching you sleep.”

    “That must have been boring.”

    His smile was bright with humor, “Yeah. I fell asleep. I blamed the jet lag but really, I was just bored.”

    Meg stared at him, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

    “Surprise.”

    A laugh bubbled out of her before it was smothered with a groan. Pain quickly replaced humor. Meg pressed her hands to her side and focused on breathing. With her eyes closed against the burning, she didn’t see DJ lower his head again to kiss her cheek. Then her nose before gently settling his lips against hers. The distraction was as complete as the kiss was sweet.

    When he pulled away, DJ heard the soft sigh and felt the breath on his lips. Without asking, he pushed the button on her PCA, “Simon says.”

    “You heard that?” The corner of Meg’s mouth lifted.

    DJ rubbed his knuckles over her arm before standing completely upright, “I did. You’ve been taking the bare minimum. You can take one more this time.”

    “Bossy.” The pleasure of seeing him robbed the name-calling of any true conviction. Fatigue began to darken the room. “You’ll be around?”

    “Yes.” The conviction rang in his voice, “We have things to discuss.”

    Opening one eye, Meg peered at him, “Good things?”

    “I hope so.” He watched the eye close and her head rolled to the side, resting her cheek on the pillow. He curled his hand around her foot and watched the slow smile curl her lips.

    “I love you, Darcy.”

    He told her he loved her but Meg was already asleep. DJ stretched his legs out, being mindful of cords and cables and watched her sleep.


    Meg never knew who was going to be in her room when she resurfaced from sleeping. Since she was awake, the nurses had her up and walking. Meg was frustrated by the slow motion but she had no choice. The injury in her upper leg was by far the least painful but hampered her considerably. The core muscles in her trunk were bruised and battered by the insult of injury and then by surgeries. Meg had no choice but to move slow. By Tuesday they only thing connected to her body was Simon. By Thursday she was completely unhooked.

    It had been difficult being in the hospital the days her comrades were memorialized. Her brothers would have worn their dress blues, her uncle a dark suit. Knowing it would be difficult on Meg, Norma sat with her briefly. Captain Mulholland surprised her by rolling into her room. He had demanded that he be wheeled down to her room. They talked and comiserated for over an hour until they were both ready to succumb to fatigue.

    When she woke up, her brothers grinned at her. They’d snuck in coffee just for her. Meg gave herself a few sips but since her stomach was still on bland foods, Matthew drank the rest of it. They visited, telling her of the memorial. Both been surprised when DJ made an appearance wearing his dress uniform. He’d chosen to sit with her family but his presence had been noted by many. Michael put words to the emotions, “It was right, having him there. There was pride that he’d come and come dressed as he was. The honor showed.”

    Matthew grinned rakishly, “He had a chestful of medals.”

    Meg enjoyed their company for as long as she could. She enjoyed when anyone took time to visit. It broke the monotony she found herself suffering when she was awake. Brandon Carroll made her laugh and groan with pain. On a rainy afternoon when Meg found herself fighting an odd depression, Spiro was a surly companion but a welcome presence. For over an hour’s worth of gin rummy, he told her what happened after she’d been taken away in the ambulance. She hadn’t remembered the ambulance. No one else had mentioned that she’d nearly died in Spiro’s direct manner. He mentioned that her soldier had made an impression when he’d arrived in the lecture hall. Meg wasn’t at all surprised.

    “Big apes tend to attract attention.”

    “True,” Spiro grinned, “especially miserable ones.”

    Her soldier came to sit with her every night. Becoming more acclimated to the time difference, he began sleeping more often than he didn’t. The hospital’s choice of a couch and bed combination was not very comfortable for most people. For a soldier accustomed to the ground and sleeping where he could, DJ never complained and didn’t mind. He’d been sleeping on Meg’s couch with a bob cat on his chest. This flat surface was easy.

    It was one such night when Meg had awakened to the pain and let DJ talk her into calling for a nurse and another dose of a pain med. Laying with his hands resting on his chest, DJ watched Meg’s face in the dim light, “You know I'm going to marry you, right?”

    “Sure.” Meg yawned hugely, the pain was abating and sleep wanted to return. “Did you get your hamburger with pickles?”

    “Yes.” DJ looked at the ceiling, “Will you go back to work after you’re released?”

    Meg chuckled and groaned softly. Laughing was getting easier. Everything was getting easier. Recovery was just taking so long. The doctor was right. It would have been so much easier if she’d been shot in one place. When she laughed, her back and her stomach hurt. “Didn’t you? Go back to work?”

    “Yes.” Making a decision, DJ pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion. “Listen, Meg. The unit I'm with, if I get married ... the rules are ... “ DJ fumbled for the words and swore softly, “I'm out. I can’t be married and be in this outfit.”

    Meg’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Only training kept the frown from curving her mouth down in a moment of confusion. “Look, Darcy, I’ve never asked you to stop doing what you need to do. One day you might explain 2009 to me. Seriously. Not one letter? If this outfit is doing important stuff, I’m not going to stop you from going back.”

    “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” DJ shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “You’ve never made demands.”

    “Neither have you.”

    “If I asked you to leave the force?”

    “I don’t think you would, Darcy.” Meg studied his face, searched his eyes, for a long moment before answer carefully, “If you did, I’d tell you that you’re only reacting to my current state of injury. A condition which is improving daily.” She tilted her head, suddenly tired, “And I’d tell you that you’d need a damn good reason.”

    “It would only be fair.”

    “The reason? Or wanting one?”

    “Wanting one. My reasons would be selfish.”

    Uncertain of the motive behind this sudden turn of conversation, Meg offered a grin, “That’s good to know.”

    Words failed him. When had he gotten so bad with them? He could write her a letter. He could discuss strategy without stuttering. Why did he flub this so badly? Angry with himself, DJ scrubbed his hands over his the bristle that served as hair. With a quick kiss, DJ left her to sleep knowing Mark would be coming to replace him as sentry. He needed to move and put thoughts into actions and he couldn’t do it in the hospital.

Finally

Journey - Waking

2011-05-21T00:12:00.006-05:00

Prologue

Previous Installment

    After a short nap and a long shower, DJ decided to tend to Meg’s cat. Getting the chore out of the way early in the day seemed the best idea. Running his mental to-do list through his head, DJ slid the key into the door of Meg’s third floor apartment. DJ’s first meeting with Cinnamon nearly stopped his heart. Whether it was lack of food, loneliness or an uncanny knowledge that DJ was unaware, Cinnamon heard the key in the door and hunkered down. His vantage point behind a large pot used to hold a collection of baseball bats, an umbrella and an odd walking stick would be unfamiliar to DJ.

    When DJ stepped inside and closed the door behind him, Cinnamon lunged, swiping at a denim clad ankle. With an oath DJ jumped, his back slammed against the door, clattering it shut. Instinctively he reached for a sidearm that wasn’t there anymore.

    By the time he got his heart reseated in his chest, Cinnamon had easily perched himself on the coffee table, regally staring at the intruder. His cinnamon colored fur was streaked with cream. Golden eyes stared unblinking. If he was bothered by the intruder it didn’t show. Just the opposite seemed to be true. Cinnamon’s cream colored chest seemed to puff out.

    It was the first time DJ had come face to face with the Maine Coon breed and he wasn’t at all certain the beast was truly a cat. To his eyes it looked very much like a smaller version of a mountain lion. DJ understood the male ego, though.

    “I'm bigger.”

    The cat watched him approach, amber eyes unblinking.

    “Cinnamon is probably too tame a name for you,” DJ told him.

    An ear flickered.

    “Maybe Paprika? Chili powder?” Chuckling DJ moved into the kitchen to find cat food, “I guess I'm supposed to feed you.” He found the empty bowls on the floor. Water was refilled and replaced. DJ watched the cat sit on his haunches in the middle of the tiled floor. After finding a bag of dry cat food under the sink, DJ refilled that bowl, too. “There. Can we be friends now?”

    Cinnamon swished his bushy tail.

    “Silent type, are you?”

    Turning his attention away from the cat, DJ surveyed the kitchen. It looked much like an apartment kitchen might look. It was practically square and completely utilitarian. The only flashes of color came from Meg’s dishes. She’d stacked blue and yellow dishes in her sink.

    The cat followed him as DJ wandered the apartment. Two bedrooms and two baths. To free up space, she had a small television screen mounted on the wall. She’d then surrounded it with pictures of her family. DJ recognized the center most place of honor in the grouping and felt a sentimental tug at the realization the picture was of her father. Attired in the dress uniform at the time, he smiled for the camera. His hair was the same color as Meg’s. Some hue between brown and red.

    His own picture was among the grouping. There were few pictures of Meg, which made sense. DJ wouldn’t want to decorate with pictures of himself, either. He shifted through the small rooms. The spare bedroom held a computer on a desk covered with stacks of ... stuff. Papers, books, a coffee cup. DJ was certain it made sense to Meg. On the top shelf was another picture of himself. Taken in Afghanistan, DJ recognized the building behind him. He’d been hot and covered in grit, if DJ recalled correctly. Sunglasses perched on top of his head glinted in the sunlight. He’d received a commendation and had been willing to smile for the camera. He’d sent the picture to his mother as a ‘proof of life’ gesture. Apparently, his mother had shared. A bookshelf held too many books for the shelf and there was no order of stacking. Softball trophies stood in rank on the very top. Various ribbons hung from the bats and around the necks of the little gold ball players. He’d missed those days, DJ realized. Swallowing the surge of emotions and the second-guessing, DJ moved to the bedroom. He ignored the cat sitting in the small hallway. He gave a glance into the bathroom and found the rubber ducky shower curtain to be amusing. Not as amusing as the collection pf actual rubber duckies lined up at the top of the shower wall.

    It was obvious that Meg preferred bright accent colors, particularly sapphire blue. Her bed looked like she had jumped out of it in a hurry. The comforter was a lump in the middle of the bed. The sheets revealed under the bed spread were the same sapphire blue DJ had seen scattered around the apartment. Clothes lay discarded on the floor by the closet door. His cop was not perfectly neat and the revelation brought a grin to his face. When a picture caught his eye, DJ moved to the bed side table and picked it up.

    He remembered the summer the picture had been taken. He’d been home from Fort Benning. His mother and Mrs. Addison had worked hard to put together a picnic for his friends to gather. If DJ remembered correctly, Jessica had been too busy with beginning wedding plans to attend. Or was it an engagement party? He didn’t remember the exact reason for her absence but he remembered that the picnic had been fun. He spent a considerable amount of time that afternoon talking to Meg and playing flag football with friends. It had been a good day. His father had been behind the camera, DJ remembered. They’d leaned together to smile for him.

    “My kids are growing up.” Paul had declared.

    Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, DJ sighed heavily.

    Launching himself gracefully on the bed, the cat peered at him from the corner of the mattress. DJ showed him the picture, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen this picture.”

    Cinnamon flicked an ear stood and stretched. He walked over the rumpled bed spread and nudged DJ’s arm with his head.

    “You’re not the only one who’s going to be in trouble if she doesn’t pull through.” DJ gave the cat a strong stroke with his fingers. When Cinnamon didn’t bite or hiss, DJ tried again. Cinnamon dropped down on his side and purred loudly.

    Not trusting the cat for even a heartbeat, DJ gave him one more stroke and scratch around his ear and stood to his feet. Replacing the picture, he left the cat to the bed. “I’ll do the dishes. You can listen to me pout. In a manly fashion, of course.”

    Cinnamon blinked before following him.


    Norma sat with her daughter as she had since the shooting. It was an accidental scheduling. She took the day time, Mark took the early mornings and because he’d yet to acclimate to the time difference, DJ took the night. Each day, she’d brought something to work on. The first day she’d been too nervous to do much but read and pray. The second day she’d written a letter and worked on embroidery. Today she was humming over her crocheting. Mark liked to watch television while he was with Meg. He’d keep a running dialogue over the sports channel just as they did when Meg was awake. Arriving just a few minutes earlier than they’d scheduled, Norma sent Mark home to spend time with the grand children while their sons slept and worked. The girls went shopping to buy food and, at Norma’s request, a hospital kit for Meg. Norma refused to believe that anything else but health would come to her daughter.

    It was the first thing she told Meg when she planted herself in the room’s only chair, “When you’re feeling up to it, there’s an entire list of people who want to see you. All the doctor wants is for you to open your eyes so they can move you to a room.” With only health in her thoughts, it was only fitting that something be prepared for Meg when she was up and around. Shampoo and soap, an easy fitting robe and something easy to put on and wear once the hospital discharged her.

    Instead of pointing out that they could find each of the items on her list at Meg’s apartment, Sara and Trish shopped. Norma knew the distraction would do both her girls good. She remembered all too well what it was like. Having a close loved one face the hazards of the job tended to make spouses of cops feel the edges of mortality. Norma was pleased with her decision to have them shop. As her crochet hook and yarn continued to flow into a pattern, Norma plotted over what she could give them to do next.

    Lost in thought and counting stitches, Norma didn’t see the form on the bed move. Instead, she heard the squeak from the pillows and looked up to find her daughter frowning at her. Swallowing the surprise, Norma smiled slowly, “Good morning.”

    Meg grunted and reached her hand up to pull on the oxygen tubing. Quickly rising to her feet, Norma dropped her project into the chair. She caught Meg’s fingers with one hand and pushed the ‘call nurse’ button with the other.

    Narrowed green eyes peered at her and Norma smiled brightly, “You can snap at me all you want.”

    “Itches,” Meg whispered and reached for the tubing with her other hand at the same time the nurse walked through the door.

    Sweeping the monitors with a well-practiced eye, the nurse moved to stand at the bed side, “Hello, Detective Addison. It’s so nice to see you awake. We were going to put in a feeding tube today. Looks like I’ll be able to cancel that.”

    Eyes narrowing again, Meg glared at the nurse. The nurse was completely unaffected by the scowl, “I’ll page Doctor Montgomery right away. He’ll want to look at you. How long as she been awake?”

    Meg waited a moment while both women became engaged in conversation over her and about her. With one motion, she pulled the oxygen tubes from her nose. The tape snapped away from her cheeks. Meg drew the blanket up over her face and rubbed as vigorously as she could. Her arms felt clumsy and her hands felt thick.

    The nurse grinned slightly, “Well, I guess I can see what sort of patient you’re going to be. I’ll send the aide for some water.” She leaned on the bed rail and looked at Meg, studying her eyes, “You’ll need to take it easy on your stomach.”

    Meg rolled her head to look at her mother, "Day?”

    “Saturday.” Norma touched Meg's hair, “Do you remember what happened?”

    “Got shot.” Meg lifted her hand and looked at the IV taped to the back of her hand. One of the ports was empty the other was hooked to a bag hanging over her head. Lifting her hand pulled the tape on her elbow. Meg frowned at the IV and followed the loop to another bag hanging with the first.

    “Yes, you did.” Norma had watched the news report. “You were on television.”

    “Spiro?” Meg wanted to know.

    “He got hit in the elbow. He says he’s going to have to quit playing tennis now.”

    He never played. With just the hint of a smile Meg looked in her mother’s face, “Michael?”

    “Flesh wound. Through and through, he called it.”

    Inhaling deeply, Meg nodded once, “Good.” Eyes burning, Meg closed them and tested her body. She moved her feet and wiggled her toes. She couldn’t lift her right arm very high and her mother put a restraining hand on her elbow, “Easy, baby girl. Don’t pull anything loose.”

    The aide came in with water and a smile. Meg took a few small sips before her mother pulled the cup away, earning a scowl.

    “You’re missing part of your stomach. You’ve got to take it easy.” Norma smiled at the frown on her daughter’s face.

    Doctor Montgomery was newly forty and had decided that he needed to have a mid-life crisis, just to see what it was all about. The result showed in his wardrobe and highlighted hair. Norma squeezed her daughter’s arm before stepping out of the room to let the doctor talk to Meg.

    Moving to the waiting room, she called her husband, “Meg woke up. She’s in a horrible mood but our girl woke up.”

Recovery

Journey - Waiting

2011-05-20T00:12:00.003-05:00

Prologue

Previous Installment

    DJ made himself as comfortable as he could. The foot of the bed had been the only place he felt he could sit without worrying that his feet would get caught in a cable or cord. Wanting to touch her but not willing to risk hurting her shoulder or interfering with the IV’s, DJ found another option. Sliding his hand under the blanket, he’d curled his fingers around her foot. For a very long time, he sat with his fingers wrapped around her foot watching her breathe. The nurse came in the room for her rounds, making notes in a chart. After one such visit, she grinned as she was leaving, “She’s still maintaining. Each hour she stays steady is one more hour out of worry.”

    Bolstered by the news but not fully willing to surrender to optimism, DJ finally dozed. When a hand squeezed his shoulder, DJ opened his eyes. Meg’s head was turned to the left instead of the right but she was still far too pale. Scrubbing his hands over his face, DJ was surprised to find that he’d slept at all. Jet Lag must have kicked in. Pulling his fingers from under the blanket and immediately missing the contact, DJ looked over his shoulder. Uncle Mark handed him a foam cup filled with coffee. Taking the offered cup, DJ started to rise but Uncle Mark shook his head.

    “Take a minute, son. ”

    His watch told him it was nearly four in the morning. He’d slept for a few hours. Which meant he’d slept through the last of the doctor’s checks on Meg. Her monitors were reading the same as they had a few hours before. Tasting the coffee, DJ found it good. It awakened his taste buds and his stomach. His stomach reminded him of the neglect DJ had given it.

    Mark stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at his step-daughter. DJ got to his feet, handing Norma’s cell phone over, “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

    “Take your time, son. I’ll call you if something changes.”

    Resettling his beret on his head, DJ squeezed Meg’s toes before leaving.


    The streets in the early hours of the morning were not completely deserted but they were sparse. DJ made good time to return to his parent’s house. He wasn’t sure what surprised him most, the fact that his mother was cooking breakfast or that Matthew Addison was sitting in his parent’s kitchen.

    Matthew lifted a cup of coffee in his direction, “How’d our girl do during the night?”

    “They’re watching her blood count for signs of internal bleeding. She didn’t move around much even when they check her bandages.”

    “Morphine.” Matthew sipped his coffee, “Michael’s on his way over. Your mom was nice enough to fix breakfast.”

    Charlotte hmphed over her stove and DJ grinned at her back. She wore jeans and an old button down of his fathers. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, I figure if I feed you boys, I’ll hear the news.”

    Matthew ran a hand through his brown hair, “I'm starting to get gray hairs and she’s still calling me a ‘boy’.”

    With a glance over her shoulder, Charlotte chuckled, “You are. My boys. I just didn’t give birth to you." She turned and set two plates of scrambled eggs, hashed potatoes and bacon on the table for them. “Eat. I’ll finish up Michael’s plate.”

    A cup of coffee for DJ followed and juice and glasses were placed in the middle. They ate in silence for a few minutes until Michael came through the front door. He grinned at DJ and dropped into an empty chair.

    “For some reason I take great comfort in seeing that you’re just as tired as we are.”

    DJ lifted an eyebrow but shoveled more eggs into his mouth without replying.

    Michael beamed a smile at Charlotte, “Thank you, Mrs. Rediker.”

    Charlotte had finally given up on having the Addison boys ever calling her anything else. Just as she’d given up on thinking of them as anything but boys. Looking at the three men at her table, she doubted she could have been prouder. Her heart swelled and before Charlotte knew it she smiled at them.

    Nearly as one, they stopped and stared at her.

    “You okay, Ma?” DJ finally asked.

    “I'm trying my best not to gush. I'm very proud of all three of you.”

    Three grins flashed at her before they bent back to eating.

    “No one can sleep through the smell of bacon.” Paul Rediker announced from the door way. He’d showered and dressed. If he was going to get up, he might as well do it properly. He’d arrived at the door in time to hear his wife’s declaration. He agreed with her and had waited to get a grip on the surprising rise of emotions before making his presence known. Meg was family, even if DJ had not taken the steps until recently to make it official. The threat to her life weighed heavily with him and with Charlotte. Putting a smile on his face, he motioned with his hand, “So? Do I get some of this food?”

    Soon he was at the table with his own plate. A plate filled with much smaller portions. Each man was given seconds. With the edge off the hunger they started talking about their night.

    “Meg slept?” Michael wanted to know.

    “Yeah. They kicked me out once or twice to check her wounds. I don't think she moved around much.”

    “Morphine." Matthew reminded them again.

    “She’s steady.” DJ offered. He’d watched her chest rise and fall as he’d listened to the steady beeping of her heart monitor.

    Matthew grinned at Michael, “She’s going to have more scars than you.”

    With a lift of his eyebrow, Michael acknowledged it, “A price I’m willing to pay to have her brag about it.”

    Paul appreciated his wife’s cooking, even before the sun was risen in the sky, “The news report of the shooting made it to the national news. Brandon Carroll did several interviews with the network.”

    DJ straightened and looked from brother to brother, “Did you know he had a thing for Meg?”

    Both sets of eyes stared at him. The amusement was evident even before they laughed. Both leaned back in their seats, enjoying the moment. Matthew laughed again before telling DJ, “Meg gave him an A for effort, and that’s all she gave him.”

    “He’s a good guy.” Michael grinned and reached for more coffee, “He’s working on the tape for the breaking news that he wants to play in the morning. It’s nice having a reporter on our side instead of against us.”

    “We were on our best behavior.” Matthew grinned, “We didn’t want anything that looked like police battery on video.”

    “Did you find them?”

    Both brothers nodded but it was Michael who started, “Oh, yeah. It didn’t take long, all things considered. We broke into three squads to move into neighborhoods where this group might have been hanging.”

    “My group found them." Matthew grinned, “They’d taken over an old tannery in no-man's land.”

    “A section over between Fairman and Pine,” Michael explained to DJ’s frown and unvoiced question. “It’s mostly filled with broken down buildings. You know the kind. Old warehouses and industrial buildings. Some store fronts with the apartments on the upper floor. Most people don’t go down there if they don’t have to. There's always talk of revitalization. So far no one wants to risk the loss that they’d incur.”

    DJ glanced from face to face as the brothers bounced information back and forth.

    “Michael’s group found someone on their sweep that knew what went down and confirmed everything. He’s willing to talk under the agreement that he gets immunity from whatever the DA can find on him.”

    “Lenny said he owed it to Meg. I don’t know how she affords him, though. He’s one expensive informant.” Michael groused into his coffee. “He might have agreed to talk to the DA but he cost me fifty bucks.”

    “Chump change. And you were the chump." Matthew grinned before pressing forward over his brother’s murmured reply. “Anyway. When we got to the tannery there were a few shots fired. The shooter was on the roof.”

    “Where I’d be,” DJ agreed. “On another building.”

    Matthew narrowed his eyes, “Luckily, these guys are stupid. Once we dealt with the shooter and got into the building it was entirely too easy. Apparently, we have the brains of the operation down town, in the hospital or dead. Captain Zuck and Neil Spiro were in charge of the interviews when we left.”

    “We were glad to leave.” Michael grinned.

    “Like I said, it was too easy for all the pain they caused. We only had to shoot two of them before the rest practically threw their guns at us.”

    DJ grinned slightly.

    Michael grunted, “They had quite a collection of stolen electronics upstairs and an chop shop downstairs. Some of the vehicles were in pieces and parts.”

    “It’ll probably clear up a bunch of robbery cases. The paper work on the merchandise alone is going to take time.”

    “When we left the scene they were hauling the stuff away in a moving van.” Michael turned his coffee cup between his fingers, “I’ll be curious to hear how they kept their activities a secret. If they used threats to enforce neighborhood silence. If they did, then we’ll probably get more people coming forward to talk about them.”

    Matthew leaned back, “Still. We’re looking at a lot of paper work. Neil Spiro has taken over the shooting case until Mulholland returns. The way it looks, the good captain is going to be on medical leave for a couple of months.”

    “Detective Spiro has already made it clear that any one who took part has a report to file.” Michael grinned, “I got lucky not to have to do any of the interviews.”

    Matthew slid a key toward DJ, “Because we’re going to be neck deep in paper work, you get to feed Meg’s cat.”

    With a grin that matched his brother’s, Michael offered, “You might as well get to know each other.”

    Staring at the key, DJ wanted to know, “She has a cat?”

    “Cat’s name is Cinnamon and we’re not exactly sure who owns who.”

    “Watch your back, too.” Matthew grinned, “Cinnamon has a temper.”

    “Gee, thanks.” DJ took the key and slid it into his pocket, “Is there a time limit here?”

    “Nope.” Getting to his feet, Michael grinned, “none at all.”

    “You can take all the time you want.” Matthew agreed. “The cat won’t go anywhere. Eat some more. Sleep off the jet lag. Definitely take a shower.”

    DJ made a suggestion of his own and laughter followed the Addisons outside.

    Paul studied his son. When the laughter stopped ringing through the room he offered, “You could use a shave, too. You look pretty scary.”

    Lifting an eyebrow at his father, DJ finally grinned, “It’s good to be home.”

Continue Reading

© 2011 Amelia Antwiler/ComfyDenim

Teasing Dogs ...

2011-05-19T18:22:00.000-05:00

First off -- I never thought I'd have to say, "Don't put your foot in the popcorn."

But I did. Mini-E was proud of the fact that she could bend her knee just so. Luckily, we were not eating out of the same bowl. I don't know where that foot's been. (Yes I do. It's been outside.)

There's something else I never thought I'd have to say.

"Don't tease my dog."

Our east side neighbors have grandchildren that are either living with them now or visiting constantly. The eldest is about 5 or 6. The younger girl is about 3 or 4. They have a dog over there that's just had puppies.

It bothered me that the little girls were just carrying the puppies around with no care or concern. Freaking the puppies out -- and bothering the mama dog. I could suck that up. Not my puppies. Not my concern. Right??

Then today the eldest girl was kicking our chain link fence. Needless to say it made our Gizmo frantic. She then ran up and down the fence line. I made my way outside as quickly as I could to explain and to calm Gizmo down.

"Don't tease my dog. I don't want him to bite you. I don't mind you running with him because he likes to run. Don't tease him."

There's another problem here. These girls are rarely supervised. RARELY. It bothers me. BUT The problem is -- their gate handle locks into spaces at my chain link fence. RIGHT where Gizmo can bite and lunge at the fence.

Right after explaining to the girl about not teasing my dog, G-man and Mini-E bounced a ball back and forth over the fence. The dog was fine.

Then Gizmo started the "I'm angry" barking again. G-man was outside but I know that the dog has no fear of the children. I am the alpha female in this house. I hold the squirt bottle.

I go out to see.

ANOTHER neighbor girl is sitting on her bike, in our side yard, with her tire right next to our fence. "Guys!! Don't tease my dog! He might bite you and you'll bleed and that's not good."

My son actually laughed.

I coulda smacked him.

He's been safe, for the most part, from dog trauma. I'd like to keep it that way.
I'd like to keep the neighbor kids safe, too.

They just don't seem to get it.
Why aren't the parents teaching them things like -- NOT to go into people's yards without permission? But more importantly - how to handle a dog.

If Gizmo got out, I'd like to believe that he'd hurt you out of excitement.
But I just can't be sure.
I wish they'd get it.

I wish the parents did doggie safety training but they apparently don't.
It makes me sad to think that I'll be saying "Don't tease my dog" again.
I just hope I don't have to say, "told you so."

Oh - don't get me started on the meanie head girl across the street who hit my cat with a stick.

Journey - Hospital pt 2.

2011-05-19T00:12:00.002-05:00

Prologue

Hospital Part 1

    DJ watched as a form of controlled chaos broke out and orders were given. Both of Meg’s brother’s were in the midst of it. He couldn’t blame them. If the roles were reversed, he’d be in the mix. There would be no stopping him. Instead, he swallowed the jealousy that he had to stay out of the fight.

    “For the record? I really don’t want to like you.”

    Looking down, DJ met the dark brown eyes of Brandon Carroll. Almond shaped and nearly the same color, Brandon stood a good six feet tall. DJ still seemed to tower over him.

    “I'm sure there’s something about me you could not like. My ex-wife could give you a list.”

    Brandon chuckled, “In the small world of life, I’ve actually met your ex-wife. Being on her bad side only raises you up in my estimation. Like I said, I don’t want to like you.”

    Narrowing his eyes, DJ considered the reporter, “Navy man?”

    The smile flashed quickly across his face and was gone, “Civilian all the way. I don’t want to like you because you’ve got something I want. You’ve got Meg.”

    Lifting an eyebrow, DJ wanted to know, “And you’re telling me this because?”

    “I thought you’d like to know. I know she’s in trouble and if she doesn’t make it then ... Well. I tried to convince her over the past few years. She refused time and again.”

    “This is as difficult for you as it is for ..." he nearly said, ‘us’ and chose, instead: “everyone else.”

    “To say the least.” Brandon combed his fingers through his hair, “It nearly killed me to have stand on the sidewalk and give my report, knowing they were doing what they could to revive her on the way to the hospital.”

    “It nearly killed me watching the report.”

    Taking a shaky breath, Brandon turned slightly, “What I really want to do is resent you for making her wait all this time but I can’t. At least not today. If she dies, though, you’re straight to the top of my hated list.”

    “I’ll write my name on the list personally.”

    “No! Stop being so affable. I don’t want to like you!”

    “You’d rather I knock you around for chasing after my girl?”

    “It would make for good copy.” Brandon seemed to consider before finally giving his head a shake in the negative. “No, never mind. I like having my own teeth. You know, I tried to find something bad about you. I honest to God tried. Meg never said a bad thing about you. I don’t know what was worse, her defending you or not defending you. She walked away from me more often than not. I thought she was delusional. I mean, look at me! I was available and interested and you -- weren’t.”

     With a huff, he continued, “One night I made the mistake of pushing too hard and she threatened me with a bat. It was a matter of self-preservation but I finally got the message. She was off-limits. Thought you’d want to know that she stuck by you.” He paused, eyes scanning the room and gauging the emotions, “I’ve worked this city’s crime beat for more years than I should probably admit. I’ve talked to and dealt with a bunch of people in the police department. Some of them, I half expect to be part of an FBI investigation one day. Then there are the ones that I want on my side in a fight. Meg Addison is a solid cop and a great person. I admire both of those parts of her. I think, on some level, I resent you. To my way of thinking you didn’t appreciate either facet of her. I rather hoped you’d be some panty-waist with brass on your shoulders and not the soldier she claimed you were. I hate being wrong.”

    DJ’s lips quirked but he swallowed the grin. He liked the reporter. “Tell you what, how about I hold off pounding you into the street until you report on what goes down tonight. I’d hate for you to bleed on camera.”

    “That’s neighborly of you.” Brandon held out his hand and looked DJ in the eye, “One day, I’ll be happy that I was wrong. Maybe you could name your first child after me?”

    “No.”

    “Didn’t think so.”



    Slowly, the lecture hall cleared out. DJ felt the excitement in the air. It was a familiar feeling. A dozen or so officers and family members continued to move around the room. Needing to walk off the sudden feeling of inactivity and restlessness, DJ went in search of a vending machine or maybe the caffeteria where he could buy a soda. Food, he considered, was optinal. He hadn’t made it very far before he heard his name and was almost instantly wrapped in his mother’s hug.

    Kissing the top of her head and holding her close, DJ raised an eyebrow at his father.

    “We didn’t know about the lecture hall. We went up to the ICU. Which was probably good. Charlotte needed someone to talk to.”

    “Charlotte took me back to see Meg. It just makes me cry.” Charlotte looked up into her son’s face, “Then I get selfish and sort of glad that I never had to fly overseas to sit by your bedside. I'm not sure I could have handled it.”

    And that, DJ thought, was why you never heard the worst of it. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he asked, “Any word on Meg?”

    “She’s stabilizing but it’s still too early. Oh!” Charlotte patted him on the chest, “She’s breathing on her own. I might not know much of what she’s battling but I know that is a good sign.”

    “That is a good sign.” DJ hugged her shoulders, “Listen, I'm not sure what to do with myself but I don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stick around just because of me.”

    “I would do whatever I pleased, Darcy James." Charlotte exchanged looks with her husband, “I’m giving you my cell phone, though, just in case. Norma asked me to check on her girls as she calls them, because Matthew and Michael going out on assignment. I can’t do much but maybe I could cook.”

    Kissing her on the forehead, Darcy released her to embrace his father for just a moment and then they were gone. He found the cafeteria and returned with a soda in a foam cup. Since there wasn’t much to do, he rested his forehead in his hands and dozed.

    Uncle Mark only had to tap him on the shoulder to have DJ straighten to complete alertness. The older man offered a grin, "That is a unique talent, son.”

    “Saved my life more than once. Meg?”

    “Still shaky. Why don’t you come up with me? I need to get Norma out of here at least for a little while.”

    “I’ll stay. I want to stay.” He hadn’t been asleep for longer than twenty minutes but it had helped take the edge off.

    Nodding, Uncle Mark motioned with his hand. When they were in the elevator, the rode up alone and in silence. Mark ventured his question, “Meg didn’t know you were coming home, did she?”

    “No.” DJ didn’t take his eyes off the lights over the door as they flickered the floor number.

    When the doors opened, Mark led the way from the elevator to the double doors leading into the ICU. He pushed a button on the wall and explained, “After 9 PM these lock and you have to use the phone there to get permission from the nurse’s station.”

    The nurse’s station was actually two semi curved counters. The sections were halved down the middle, creating an island among the windows and doors of the observation rooms. All the electrical came down through the wall and up through the floor. Eyes glanced up, took notice of who was came in and then turned back their work.

    Meg was being kept in the middle. DJ mentally prepared to see her as he had when he’d gone to visit combat buddies. The moment he stepped through the door, he knew there was a difference. He hadn’t loved his friends as he loved Meg. It stunned him. All the way down to his toes, it stunned him to see her in the hospital bed hooked up to IV drips, a heart monitor. He knew what each one was but after a sweep with his eyes, he focused on Meg’s face. Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached DJ moved to the bed side.

    The oxygen tubes blowing air into Meg’s nose didn’t detract from her face, she was still beautiful to him. DJ wasn’t so blind to see that she was ghastly pale. Her shoulders were bare above the blanket that had been tucked under her arms. The shoulder dressing was clearly visible and served as a remind of the other things the blanket kept hidden.

    He didn’t look away when Norma wrapped her arm around his waist. She fit in his arm exactly as his mother did, with her head in the crook of his shoulder.

    “She’s going to make it through this,” Norma murmured. “I refuse to think otherwise.”

    DJ kissed the top of her head, “Your son was right. You’re going to ‘out strong’ us all.”

    “I’ve had a lot of practice. The nurse moved out of the room just a few minutes ago. You’ll have time while Mark makes me pretend to eat, tell her you’re here.”

    Norma hugged him tightly and quickly before leaving with her husband. With his back to the window, DJ blocked off the other world and stood over the bed. The head was raised just enough to make Meg comfortable but not enough to hurt her stomach. Carefully, DJ slid his fingers under hers and ran his thumb over her knuckles. So limp.

    With a gentle finger, he brushed a hair from the corner of her eye, “I remember being drugged up and people talking to me. I swear I was listening to them in color and not words. It wasn’t until my buddies reminded me of what they said that I understood. So I don’t know how much of what I'm saying to you is sinking in but I gotta ask that you don’t go too far away, okay? I don't know what I’ll do if you decide it’s time to give up. So maybe if you got angry at me? Mad that it’s taken me forever to get to this place. A place where, right now, it feels like my life hangs in the balance as much as yours does. I’ll even take a few hits with a bat if that’ll help ... three might be my limit.” Stooping down, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “Don’t leave me, Meg. You’re the only person in the world who doesn’t make my name sound like an insult. I should have known right from the start that you were mine. I guess you were right, you got the brains. I’ll even let you rub it in ... some more.” Mindful of the oxygen tubing taped to her cheek, DJ kissed her skin. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispered in Meg's ear, “I love you.”

Continue Reading

© 2011 Amelia Antwiler/ComfyDenim

Journey - Hospital pt 1.

2011-05-18T00:15:00.003-05:00

Because I love you...and I, myself, hate too many cliff hangers in one day....here's another story post just for you. Ending this story is taking more time than I thought - I want it to be perfect. If I run out of pre-schedules, you all may have to wait for Meg to recover with the rest of them. Just sayin'.

Prologue can still be found here.

Continued from the previous post

    With Captain Mulholland and Meg Addison both in one hospital there were more police officers milling around the waiting areas of the ICU than could be contained. In an effort to free up space and clear the corridors, the hospital’s administration opened up one of the lecture halls for them to use. The cafeteria sent up urns of coffee in electric warmers. Two desk phones were plugged into the unused jacks in the wall.

    When DJ walked in to the makeshift waiting room, he expected the curious glances he received. Voices talking in low volume and the smell of coffee greeted him. He wasn’t the tallest man in the room, thought at first glance, with the stadium seating in the lecture hall it was difficult to tell. DJ was, however, the only one in a desert patterned combat uniform.

    Michael broke away from the cluster of officers he’d been talking with. He was sporting a dozen stitches on his upper arm. The bullet had gone clean through the muscle. His arm was still numb from where they’d anesthetized his skin to put in the stitches. In his back pocket he had a prescription for pain killers that he wouldn’t take. He grinned slightly, letting DJ know that it was good to see him but that his thoughts were elsewhere.

    “You,” Michael began, “were the last person I expected to see walk through that door.”

    DJ scanned the room filled with police officers and a few of their family members. Here was another sort of Army. There wasn’t anything he could do to help, so DJ didn’t bother with the platitudes. “Meg?”

    MIchael winced but kept his gaze and his voice level, “They lost her en-route but got her heart started again. A bunch of guys have given blood. They won't let me because of my injury.”

    “I can’t, either.” DJ scanned the room, “Not for a year after being home. Has there been any new word?”

    “No,” Michael scrubbed his hand over his face, “our parents are up in the surgical waiting room. We get word now and again. We just got word just a bit ago that Mulholland pulled through his surgery and they’ve finally got him in an observation room. He’s missing a kidney now and will have to have more surgery on his shoulder. Three wounds and a shattered scapula. There’s not really been a definite word on Meg. I have to assume that the doctors are concerned to put a name to anything.” Restlessly, he massaged the back of his neck, “Now I know what everyone else was going through when I was in the hospital. When it’s you, the drugs keep you oblivious. On this side of the injury? There’s only the fact that you’ve got to be strong for those around you that keeps you from falling apart. Or that could just be me. Mom’s trying to be the strongest. So we’re all trying to ‘out strong’ her.”

    “Some thing will break,” DJ murmured.

    “Exactly.” Michael looked around the room, “There’s a smaller group at Merril’s and we’ve been talking by phone. The coroner is here, too. He took a bullet to the hip. Then there’s the contingent at City Hall waiting for the press conference. So we’ve been keeping the phones busy. When did you get in?”

    “I got to mom’s and in time to see the news.” DJ considered the time, “I guess this all went down around noon?”

    “Yeah. It’s not been the best of days.” Michael lifted his chin at the older man who approached. “Meg’s partner, Neil Spiro. This is DJ Rediker.”

    Neil nodded his head and considered DJ from heavy eyes and the arm in the sling, “So you’re Meg’s soldier.”

    “I guess.”

    “No guessing, Sergeant. You either are or you aren’t. She thinks you are.” He held out his hand uninjured hand, “Sorry to finally be meeting you under these circumstances.”

    “Same goes.” DJ took the offered hand, “She writes at least one quote from you in every letter. I think she’s making a book.”

    Spiro grunted but amusement glinted in his eyes even for a moment, “Wisdom should be shared.”

    Knowing it was safest not to argue, DJ accepted Neil’s wisdom and kept quiet. He was accepted into the room, into those standing watch, as part of Meg’s life. He heard it more than once, as introduction were made, he was Meg’s soldier. There was no other explanation needed for his presence. Those closest to her in her work seemed to know who he was without asking. DJ wondered about it but never pressed for more information. Nor did they push at him. He was Meg’s soldier and her friends on the force were willing to leave it at that.

    Keeping himself out of the way, DJ sat where he could watch the room but not be in the way of those that seemed to move with focus. Matthew came in, fatigue lining his face. He poured himself some coffee and scooped up cold pizza before taking a seat next to DJ.

    “Would say welcome home," Matthew began, “but that seems kind of lame. Still mean it. It’s good to see you. Wish it were yesterday.”

    DJ stretched his legs out in front of him, “Do I ask if there’s any news?”

    “I stopped in up there but Uncle Mark said he was coming down. He claims he’s been too cooped up and needs to move around.” Mark bit into his pizza, “So I guess we’ll find out together.”

    “How’d the press conference go?”

    “You heard about that, didja? I watched it on the television.” Matthew shrugged carelessly, “It was politics. ‘This won’t stand against the formidable passion stirred up in our police force.’ And that was a direct quote.”

    Matt’s tone of voice expressed exactly what he didn’t say. It seemed neither one of them appreciated posturing, political or otherwise. Matt focused on his eating and DJ continued to watch the room. Mark Addison came into he room and looked every bit his 55 years. Even though Michael, Matthew and Meg all celebrated Father’s day with him, DJ knew him only as Uncle Mark. He never required his step-children to call him dad. They honored him as such, just as he continued to honor their biological father and his brother by being content with being ‘Uncle Mark’.

    He moved across the room, acknowledging greetings but never stopping until he could shake DJ’s hand. “Glad you're here, son. Very glad.” He looked down at Matthew, “Captain Zuck is on his way over. You’ll stick around?”

    A grunt served as Matthew’s response to the question, “Meg?”

    Mark pulled a chair closer so the were in a cluster when Michael joined them, “It’s not good. They lost her once in the ambulance and once more on the table. Because of that they’re just not going to say what’s going to happen when she wakes up. They just tell us that the next twenty-four hours are critical. They’ve had to remove pieces. Her stomach is just a bit smaller now. She doesn’t have a spleen any more. The bullet that hit her right side went straight through, back to front, and nicked an intestine on its way. They had to reinflate her left lung. They think the bullet that got her thigh was actually a through and through from del Carro who was behind her. There were other things that I'm sure I heard but I think my brain went numb. All I could think of while he was talking was that by all rights, our girl should be dead.”

    Matthew swore under his breath and pushed to his feet, using the action of discarding the paper plate and refilling his coffee to settle his nerves. Michael didn’t take his eyes off the floor.

    “The doctor,” Mark began when Matthew returned, “was blunt when he told me that she’s got a long way to go. They’ve got a nurse in the room with her. I left your mother there.” Sighing heavily, Mark continued wistfully, “A cop can go years and even retire without a single gun shot wound. It’s been known to happen. Hell, I retired with only two hits, both to my leg. One hit for each leg. Wish it had happened to Meg.”

    “From what I saw on the television, it was a neatly arranged ambush.”

    Lifting an eye-brow, Mark studied DJ, noting the shadows of stubble on his jaw and the dark lines under the sharp eyes, “Yes, son, it was. When was the last time you slept?”

    “Yesterday.”

    “Michael and Matthew are going to need to leave. Will you stay? You’re as much a member of the family as the rest of us. I'm going to need to get Norma away from here, even for a little bit. You can sleep in the chair in Meg’s room.”

    “I’m staying.” They wouldn’t have been able to drag him away. He might sleep and he might not.

    Mark nodded, “The doctor’s told us that she could very well be out for several days. They’re wanting to wait on her body to settle down before they do anything else.They're worried about brain damage. I know that a fever right now would not be a good thing.”

    “No, I suspect not.” DJ had spent enough time in medical wards to know the routine.

    “No matter what, she’s not going home anytime soon. Someone's going to have to feed her big damn cat.” Matthew pointed toward the door, “Meg’s captain.”

    It only took one look to see that Captain Zuck worked to keep his physical shape in excellent condition. It was a vanity. He had given up on the notion that his hair needed to be black when the white hair outnumbered the dark. His white hair was kept cut short and his gray eyes shimmered under dark lashes. He swept the room with a glance and was immediately in authority. Behind him came Brandon Carroll, immediately recognized from the television. Murmurs rose up as others recognized his personality.

    “Well, now.” Uncle Mark stood to his feet as Joel Zuck crossed the room. His work uniform of business casual dress did not make the man any less imposing. Recognizing that the man wore the rank, not the other way around, DJ felt his spine instinctively stiffen as he rose to his feet.

    Captain Zuck and Uncle Mark exchanged hand shakes and Zuck wanted to know about Meg, “The short list.”

    “Twenty-four hours will be telling.”

    The gray eyes focused on DJ, measuring. “Sergeant, welcome back. When we get through this nightmare, the drinks are on me.”

    “I appreciate it.” Zuck’s handshake was strong.

    “In about five minutes, we’re going to have an impromptu briefing.” Zuck explained to Uncle Mark.

    “Want me to step outside?” DJ wanted to know.

    “Not necessary, son.” Uncle Mark looked toward the others in the room, “We’ll just tell you later, anyway. I need to get some of the wives out of here though.”

    DJ stood against the wall and watched the ebb and flow change the dynamics of the room. Mr. Carroll eyed him over his cup of coffee before refilling it and leaning against the table.

    Once the room was settled, Captain Zuck took charge of the room, “Okay. Listen up. Many of you know Brandon Carroll personally. Hell, most of you probably gave him information for one of his news stories. I'm going to let him talk and then I'm going to tell you what you’re going to do.”

    Brandon didn’t move from his spot on the desk, he barely looked up, “This afternoon, just before the shooting started, I was given an envelope. I didn’t open it right away." He grinned into his coffee but when he looked up his face was humorless, “People think that by watching a personality on the Television they think they know you. It’s not the first time I've been given things. Complaints, love letters, birthday cards, coupons, advice, hair dye, you name it, I’ve gotten it. It wasn’t until after ... Everything finally calmed down that I remembered the envelope and I opened it.”

    He pressed his fingers to his eyes and the bridge of his nose, “The envelope contained a letter from a group calling themselves T99. In the short letter, this group declared the Police Department to be their enemy and today they declared war. I suppose it’s textbook anarchy but that’s what they claimed. The letter went on to say that today’s demonstration was merely the beginning. The war would continue on until there was an obvious winner. They claim it will be them.”

    Zuck moved, pulling the attention back to himself. Brandon moved away with a grateful slump of his shoulders.

    “After talking to investigative officers on the scene before the attack on our friends, it’s been decided that the Kings were stopped from continuing their drive-by. Pedestrians were hiding and drivers were too busy panicking to realize there was another set of guns on the street. Stopping the van in the middle of the intersection, made barricading the intersection important for us to do our jobs. Now we know why. It is what it is. I'm not going to stand here and look back. We had no clue. Even if Brandon had given Mulholland the letter, we probably would have ignored it. Pranks and threats come at us every day. We can’t deal with each one. What we can do is face this threat and do it now. We can show our city that we stand by our own.

    “Brandon is sitting on this story for the time being. We are not giving T99 air time. We have someone running through the video shot today and isolating the shooters that were caught on film. There has been some luck with the members of T99 that were arrested and we have enough information to do a sweep. T99 wanted a war and we’re going to give them one. SWAT has informed me they are ready." He pointed to Matthew, “Addison, you’re to report to your group as soon as we’re done here. Your commander has already informed me that, short of arresting you, I won’t be able to keep you away, so I'm not going to bother. Gang task force has provided manpower and maps. We're not hitting small houses. We’re looking for the guys in charge. GTF thinks they know who, they just don’t know where. We look tonight. We find them and we end this thing.”

Hospital Part 2

© 2011, Amelia Antwiler/Comfy Denim

Journey - Home

2011-05-18T00:12:00.003-05:00

Continued from a previous post

Beginning can be found here.

    Charlotte Rediker hummed along with music from her CD player. She had no reason to bake cookies, except that she wanted to. She had a batch cooling on the rack and another in the oven. To compensate for the cookies, she prepared a salad for dinner. Of course, what sort of compensation would it be with the added cheese and ham. Half of the cookies would have to be shipped to DJ and maybe she could talk Meg into coming over for coffee and a swing on the porch. She would, too, Charlotte knew. Meg would come even if it was just for a few minutes.

    “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

    Her heart dropped into her stomach at the interruption to her thoughts. With a yelp, Charlotte spun around, putting her back to the work island. Her son grinned at her from where he leaned on the door frame between the living room and kitchen. For a very long moment, she stared at him, mouth open in surprise. Slowly, DJ crossed the room and pressed his face to her neck and wrapped his arms around her back.

    Laughing through the tears, Charlotte kissed his cheek and pushed on his shoulders. She knew that if he didn't want to move no amount of shoving was going to accomplish the task but she wanted to see him. When he released her, Charlotte searched his face. He had a stubble darkening his cheeks that told of the length of his trip. Long gone was the baby boy. Even the young man who’d been home far too long ago was gone.

    “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home, Darcy?”

    “I didn’t want to jinx it.” DJ kissed her forehead. “I’m exhausted but couldn’t wait to get home to see you.”

    “How long will you be staying?”

    “Depends.” DJ reached around her and grabbed a cookie. “There are some things I want to do and that will help me decide how long.”

    She watched her mountain of a son pour milk into a glass and settle onto a barstool. His accounts were doing well, so it wasn’t money. Jessica had long moved on, so it wasn’t old business. “What sort of things, Darcy?”

    “I want to ask Meg to marry me.”

    There was no hiding the gasp of surprise but she waited a moment before speaking, “Well. I guess that would be a deciding factor on the rest of your life.”

    “That’s not quite the reaction I expected from you.”

    “No, I imagine it’s not.” Charlotte tended to her oven and pulled the last batch of cookies from the oven.

    “Is there something I should know?”

    “I’m very glad to see you, Darcy. I think the absolute world of Meg. I do hope that things work out between you both, I really do.”

    “But?” he pressed.

    “If I were to guess, I’d have to say that Meg has accepted that she’ll always be your girl and never anything more. I think you married the Army.”

    DJ shoved the last bite of cookie in his mouth and then snagged another one, “Do you think she’ll tell me no?”

    “I have no doubts that she’ll say yes. She’s been waiting for you for years. The more important question, Darcy, is what are you going to do about it when she does?”

    “Retire.”

    He said it so simply that Charlotte looked up sharply. DJ grinned around the mouthful of cookie and sent his mom a wink. “Look, I may have been stupid about this all these years but I'm not going to marry her and leave things exactly as they are. Do me a favor? Call her mom and ask where Meg is hanging and whether or not she’s working.”

    “Are you certain you don’t want to wait until you rest up?”

    “I don’t want to wait.”

    The ringing of the phone stopped her retort. It would have been obvious anyway. She’d have explained that he HAD been waiting. Instead, she picked up the receiver with a narrow-eyed gaze at her son and answered, “Hello?”

    “Turn on your television,” her husband told her quietly.

    “Ooookay. Why?”

    “I’m on my way home.” Was his only explanation before he disconnected.

    Quickly, Charlotte moved to the living room with a sinking feeling in her heart. Dropping the phone receiver on the table and taking up the remote control, she turned on the television. The last time Paul had called her in such a cryptic, quiet way, she’d tuned in just in time to witness the second plane crash into the second Twin Tower. Defensively, she crossed her arms across her chest and watched as the screen flickered into focus.

    The commentator, a slender-faced brunette, was talking, “ ..where an apparent shoot out between rival gang members caused noon traffic to come to a complete standstill. Our own Brandon Carroll was on the scene soon after the police cordoned off the entire square block around the intersection.”

    Coming to stand behind her, DJ squeezed his mother’s shoulders as a still picture of Brandon Carroll came on the screen next to the news anchor’s head. She continued talking, “A crowd had gathered in the streets, watching as the police worked the scene. This is unedited video was shot by our cameraman Freddie Lauder.”

    The camera lens panned over the officers in the intersection and Meg was visible at the van, her jacket was pushed up to her elbows and her gloved hands held the box she’d pulled from the van, the only vehicle in the intersection.

    “Michael was there.” Charlotte mentioned. They watched the on-screen image of Meg follow the shot as the camera panned to the right. The scene was busy with people and suddenly it cut back to the news desk.

    “What happened next was a horrific tragedy and I will tell you that these next scenes are graphic and disturbing. If you have young children in the room, please consider turning them away.” She looked away from the camera and then nodded to her viewers, “Again this video is unedited.”

    The video came up with Meg to the left of the camera. The man in the center of the shot was commanding the scene. They heard Brandon’s voice as he talked to the camera man, “That’s Captain Mulholland. How many departments do you see, Freddie? There’s Gang and Robbery. Whatever happened here wasn’t just a gang shooting.”

    The first scream came from the left of the camera and Brandon swore, “There’s a gun in the crowd. Keep rolling film, Freddie.”

    Freddie shifted just enough and the first shot was loud but quickly drowned by others. Officers at the barricade went down and Meg’s white shirt was quickly red before she fell to the street.

    “Oh my sweet God.” The camera jumped and the images blurred as he tried to find the shooters in his lens. Three and other muzzle flashes on the other side of the intersection. Meg was caught in the cross fire.

    Brandon and another man wrestled the shooter to the ground but the crowd had thinned or dropped to the ground. The police responded.

    There was a brief fade to black and when the camera came back in focus, Brandon Carroll was framed in the scene. He had the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and an obviously split lip. The sun light was different and just so there was no misunderstanding, the word ‘live’ was in the upper corner.

    “There’s nothing that can take away the horror of what happened," he began slowly, his emotions obviously held with a slender thread, “I’m going without a script here. I haven’t had time or thought to work out what I should say to make this prettier than it is. Nothing can make this better. I have to tell you that the quick actions of the police department saved lives. People have asked me why they didn’t shoot back quicker. I'm here to tell you, as a person standing in the crowd, if the police on the scene had returned fire immediately, innocent bystanders would have been wounded and shot . It was because the police held their fire until they were certain of their shots that only those with guns were wounded. I have worked the crime beat for ten years and I have never seen the likes of this before. I’ve had coffee with many of these guys and they pushed past pain and shock to deal with fallen comrades.”

    Brandon consulted his notebook, “Injuries run the gamut from flesh wounds to the more critical. Listed among the dead is Grant Black from the coroner’s office and Officer Trey del Carro. More names may follow as families are informed. Captain Mulholland and Detective Margaret Addison are listed in seriously critical condition. Both of their injuries are life-threatening. Both were rushed to St. Andrew’s hospital. Officers Andrew Sams and Quincy Morris are listed in guarded condition at Merril’s Hospital. There are two more whose names and locations remain undisclosed pending notification. They were all caught in a crossfire from shooters who stood on all four sides of the barricade and shot into intersection.”

    “Brandon,” the woman at the anchor desk interrupted, “you jumped in to to the fight. Were you not worried for your safety?”

    With a shake of his head, Brandon tucked his notebook away, “The shooters were intent on the members of the city’s police department. What happened near us happened on all sides of the barricades. Citizens took a stand. They took a stand against the atrocity that was happening next to them. It is quite a jolt out of complacency when people are gunned down right in front of you. My thoughts, and my prayers, are with everyone one involved here. The Mayor and the police commissioner are holding a press conference within the hour on the steps of city hall. Hopefully, we will have more answers to the question of who was responsible for the attack on the Police Department.”

    "Brandon, people are wondering how so many could injured. How did the guns get so close?”

    His tone of voice told DJ that Brandon Carroll thought his co-worker was an idiot. DJ was inclined to agree with him. “The officers are to keep order, not search everyone who comes out to gawk. The uniformed officers were there to maintain a perimeter and keep the crime scene clear to be worked. As part of their uniforms, they wear body armor under their uniforms. That still does not protect an officer’s arms, legs, neck or head from a bullet. The detectives on the scene were doing their jobs and essentially they were shot in their work place. I’ve got some follow-ups to do from this location, so I'm going to sign out.” He didn’t wait but angrily motioned to his camera man to turn off the camera.

    When the screen went blank DJ kissed his mother on the top of the head, “I’ll take the bike and meet you there.”

    He was through the door before she could reply.

© 2011, Amelia Antwiler/Comfy Denim

ooops...

2011-05-17T23:11:00.000-05:00

Operator error (me) accidentally posted a story segment that wasn't supposed to get posted. It was supposed to print tomorrow. SORRY.

Wait for the other post to... um.... post. if you've got something like Google Reader.

I'll be more careful in the future.

In retrospect....

2011-05-17T22:49:00.001-05:00

When making a decision for curriculum -- one must NOT read other parent's negative reviews AFTER purchasing.

The professor was kind. He said, 'You were having problems before so we'll give this a try. If by the middle of the school year, it's not working, we'll switch."

This from the man who was offering to teach math.
I should have let him - except that I know that it's not always easy for him to do that...travel, late nights, etc.

Tuesday was not the best of days PERIOD. So reading bad reviews on my chosen math book was just icing on the cake.

I can not get G-man to focus. It took five hours for one page of math. But he giggled. He rolled on the floor. He .... you get the point.

Then the wireless router quit being wireless. It's essential to our entertainment hub!!! Our e-book readers, our game platforms, AND my lap top (that I'm using now) are all dependent on our wireless router.

It's life. To me, life like this is boring.
At the same time, it's nice for ME to know that not everyone out there has perfect households.

So - in retrospect ... don't read negative reviews of the product you've just purchased. Give it a try. Maybe the parent who wrote the review was having a bad day that day.

^_^

Journey - Set up

2011-05-17T00:16:00.002-05:00

I apologize for the cliff-hanger. I'm trying to keep the posts readable and it's not always easy to decide where to break the chapter.

VERY beginning just in case you need it...

Previous story post ....

And now back to our programming...

    When angry Italian words filled the air, Meg knew her brother was on the scene before she saw him. Michael had decided a very long time ago that it was easier to swear in another language. Fewer people would know what he was saying. His favorite had been Italian. His ploy had worked for some months until their mother figured out what he was saying. He'd had to paint the garage. For Michael, it had been well worth the pain.

    He murmured behind her and peered over her shoulder

    Rummaging through the van of the attacking gang, Meg looked up and lifted her chin in greeting. "Even I know what 'stupid' sounds like in Italian. What was the other word?"

    "Gawkers, essentially. It's a freakin' Thursday! Don't they have work?"

    Amused but not going to show it for the many cell phone cameras on the perimeter of the crime scene, "Who needs a pay check when there are dead people on the street? I wondered if Mulholland was going to call the Gang Task Force in on this."

    “Yeah, at least two of us. I got here first." He eyed her while she rummaged around the passenger seat, "What are you doing? You here for Narc or Robbery?"

    "I guess it depends on what I find." Meg pulled the metal lock box out from under the passenger seat, "Near as I can make out, those guys coming out of the convenience store are the Yellow Dead. This van, stolen by the way, was driven by a group called the Brazilian Kings. The coroner just pulled the driver out of the van a few minutes ago."

    "You've done your homework." Michael grinned down at her and propping his hands over his chest.

    "Not really, considering how much you know. I've run in to some members of both gangs in other cases." She turned the lock box over in her hand before opening it. Packets of white powder gleamed in the sun. "Well. Looks like the Kings were making deliveries."

    "The Dead don't deal in drugs, which you probably DO know. They buy, certainly, but as far as we can tell, they don't do the selling."

    Meg narrowed her eyes at him, seeing herself in his sunglasses. Hers were sitting on the coffee table in her apartment. "Third party involvement. Who would want to take out both groups?"

    "Several territory disputes." Michael hedged and Meg knew it.

    "Well, then I guess that's what you'll bring to Mulholland's task force. I need to log this." Michael clapped her on the shoulder and Meg carried the lock box over to the officer in charge of evidence. She recorded it in the log, took another picture of it and secured it in the trunk of the squad car they were using as an impromptu evidence locker.

    "What do you know?"

    Without looking up from her notes, Meg responded to her partner's question, "There was a third party involved. Their shots disabled the van and the van's driver." She tapped her finger against the side of her head, "Bullet to the side of the head pretty much stops any one. Having the van stalled out in the middle of the intersection made it easier for the guys on the sidewalk to get their shots off. It looks like a nice, normal argument between gangs until you find the bullet holes on the other side of the van. So the question is, why? Did we have vigilante justice? Or is there a third gang on-site helping to clear out the competition?"

    "I agree with you. Does your brother have any idea 'bout who?"

    "Territory is territory. If that's the case, then," Meg continued thinking out loud, "Whoever was behind this essentially just managed a buy-one-get-one free. The Yellow Dead are small. The Kings are fractured."

    Pleased with his former trainee now partner, Neil grinned slightly, "You make me look good, you know that?" Ignoring the subtle gesture that expressed what she thought about that, his eyes roved over the crowd that watched from the four sides of the barricade, "This is what a goldfish feels like."

    "Without all the tapping on the tank." Meg pulled her cell phone from her pocket, "I'm calling to have the van towed to the garage for a search."

    "See if they can retrieve any shells from the van and confirm trajectory."

    "I know how to do my job, Spiro. Quit nagging me and make sure forensics checks bullet types between guns. It wouldn't surprise me if some of the Yellow Dead were killed by guns not held by Kings. I'll know more after the van is swept for prints but there are only two shooters in the van. No way two can kill all six of the guys on the sidewalk. Especially shooting from a moving van."

    Neil grunted, "Now who's nagging? I know how to do my job, too. I knew how to do my job first. Brat kids these days."

    Listening to him grumble as he moved to the sidewalk, Meg swallowed her grin. She'd gotten used to his gruff pretenses. Mostly, he was a teddy bear and they both knew it. Looking around the intersection, she knew things weren't as it seemed at first glance. They both agreed on that, as well. Hopefully, the debriefing meeting would have food of some sort. She was hungry.

    Meg placed the call for the tow truck on her cell phone, moving out of the way of the coroner whose team was moving another body. Idly her eyes scanned the crowd as she listened to the towing service the city used. When she was convinced someone was on the way to get the van, Meg disconnected and called the forensic team lead to give him advance notice on the van and the required dismantling.

    A scream ripped from the crowd and Meg turned to look. It wouldn't be unexpected for a pick-pocket or purse-snatcher to take the opportunity to make some quick money. Still talking to the forensic lead, Meg didn't see the gun until the officer manning the barricade went down. As shots seemed rose around her, Meg had only a split second for the realization to cross her mind that she was standing exactly in the middle when the first bullet struck.

    The intersection rang with shots fired and for a moment the police were helpless. They could not return fire for fear of hitting an innocent bystander. The crowd, quick to realize they were in trouble did what they knew to do. Some immediately dropped to the ground in an effort to make smaller targets. Even more turned and ran, seeking shelter elsewhere.

    Six officers were on the ground and just as many were wounded before the first responding shots could be fired. Whatever T99 hoped to gain was far from their minds the moment the officers returned fire.



    Dizzy, Meg's vision filled with the blue of the sky. She should feel pain, Meg thought. She knew from past experience that it hurt to get shot. Her ears rang with the sound from shots fired while she'd fallen. For a long moment, she heard nothing but the muffled sound of shouts. Urgency could be heard, even if the words couldn't be discerned. The moment was over and the world around her was screaming. Voices called for ambulances. Shouts were tossed back and forth as those who could tended those who couldn't.

    With the awareness of the rest of the world, came the pain. It was so very difficult to breath. The more the pain grew, the more difficult it became to breathe. She didn't know her fingers tried to find something to hold on to. A hand slid into hers and held on. Flesh-to-flesh contact eased the unidentified fear.

    Neil Spiro's face filled her vision, "Help is on the way, Meg. Stay with me."

    There was a moment of screaming. No. Sirens, Meg realized. Her partner's face loomed over her and she blinked at him. She couldn't breathe deep enough. This must be what a goldfish felt like outside of the bowl. Wanting to tell Neil, she opened her mouth but couldn't find the air to talk.

    Another voice filled her ears but she couldn't understand him, just that Neil snapped at him. The corner market was raided for anything that could be used to stave off bleeding. Neil caught a bundle and pressed it against Meg's side. Another pair of hands covered an upper body wound, applying determined pressure.

    Over her body, Neil met her brother's eyes. It wasn't good and both of them knew it. Meg tried to focus on Neil Spiro's face. Her partner lifted a bushy eyebrow and swore at her. "You die on me, kid, I'm gonna be pissed."

    His face turned gray in her vision and the clouds turned to shadows. Neil swore and snapped at the man who was trying to bandage Michael's arm, "Begin mouth to mouth, Sullivan. She's stopped breathing."

    "I've got to ... you're both hurt.."

    "Breathe for her!" Neil barked.

    Sullivan bent to the task and Neil glanced around, never letting up the pressure. "Mulholland went down, too." Seniority took charge and he motioned with his chin at a uniform, "I want a status on the dead and wounded. Especially Mulholland."

    Taking a quick study of the chaos around him, Neil was able to see the good in people. Even for just a moment. Citizens were helping tend wounded cops. Mulholland was moving his arms, that was a good thing. The blood on his shirt was not. He had no idea how many of the shooters had been taken down and how many had gone away.

    The sirens heralded the coming of help. Neil kept his hands and pressure on the wounds and prayed they wouldn't be too late. Sullivan checked her pulse and started chest compressions. Neil saw the boots and the black cargo pants and knew his partner's other brother was on the scene. SWAT moved quickly. Silently moving through those fallen and those among T99 that had been taken down by angry citizens.

    Matthew stood sentry over his sister. The rest of his team stood watch over the scene while uniforms worked to re-secure the barricade and move the wounded. Michael glanced up when Sullivan swore and fitted his hands between theirs to begin chest compressions. Matthew inhaled deeply and met his brother’s gaze. One of them was going to have to call home.

End of the year assessments...

2011-05-16T22:54:00.000-05:00

Am I the only home school mom who analyzes the school year? I suspect I'm not. My year-end assessments are not always useful though. Sometimes they just bring about a sense of frustration and, often, regret.

We didn't play enough games.
...go enough places.
...J-man's still having problems with his 'r' sounds.
...G-man has problems focusing..
...Mini-Me has an attitude problem ...
...I gave up too much ground.
...I didn't do this -- or that --

I could compile a list until I just want to cry. On bad days, I do compile the lists and I do cry. Today though? I'll refrain. You're welcome.

Just a for instance, I've threatened over this last school year that I'd just send the kids to public school. At least then, I'd have someone to blame for the problems.
You know, someone other than ME.

Even in the midst of the challenges, someone comes along and whispers to me that, really you did okay. I did okay.

The kids are still breathing.
Mini-Me's problems are age-related, not mom related.
G-man's focus issues are ... gender related.
The r's? That just requires him to think about what he's saying.

I enjoy realizations such as that. Along with the fact that I did more than I didn't. If that made sense to you. Yay you! All in all - I think we've moved forward this year. Sure there were LOTS of emotions at work. And not every day was good - okay -- many days were NOT good.

Still... we survived.

All other things (like going places, doing thins) will come into place as the kids mature.

One thing that WILL change this next school year -- we'll be switching math programs. We're currently use Abeka and it's worked for us (with much tweaking) --- until now.

Now that Mini-Me is in the end of the 6th grade, I'm faced with the stark realization that I can not teach 6th grade math. I mean, I understand it...but to EXPLAIN it to my ANALYTICAL daughter who keeps asking me... BUT WHY??

I need more than what ABeka is giving me to teach with. They really do gear most of their curriculum for a school setting. Franky, it's annoying. I see no reason to subject her to one of their optional teaching DVD's. Because frankly? Doing EVERYTHING from the ABeka math book would be BOOOOORING. And since she's already convinced that Math is boring, I'm not risking it.

So I'm going to put her in Saxon. We both need the different explanations available.

My next challenge is getting G-man to focus. Anything... ANY... thing is a distraction for him. Distracting him and turning and thirty-minute project into a 2 hour project. I've nearly decided that I need to sit exactly beside him and WATCH him until he finishes. Sort of have a private school just for him.

There are tears more often than not.
But - -there are the fun moments.
Reading about Queen Elizabeth I, G-man found someone he could rather admire. "Mom, she wasn't wanted. She was an outcast but she was Great."

I love moments like that.
I've nearly decided that he may actually be my unschooler.

I know we'll have summer school because J-man and Mini-E are not where I want them to be, or where they deserve but I'm actually looking forward to the task.

Now, here's hoping that I don't distract myself.

Oh, yeah.
I can't deny it.
G-man comes by it naturally.

Journey - On the scene ...

2011-05-16T00:12:00.002-05:00

Prologue

Last post

Entire Series so far

I think I'd like to add at "tab" at the top of my blog just to have the story all in one place... even if it's in backward order... Just in case I decide to blog a story again.

On the Scene:

    T99 was the name they chose to make themselves stand out. Rumor had it that they wanted to be known and feared. Not just by other gang members. They wanted the fear and respect of the city. The gang task force unit watched from the time T99 started letting their presence be known.

    Narcotics agents worked to gather information. Even the FBI wanted to understand the new threat. The city’s gang unit arrested T99 soldier and started working compiling lists of names and known associates. They began mapping out known and suspected hangouts and houses.

    There were plans in the works to infiltrate the gang. Undercover agents worked to get in to the gang. The plans came too late. It was not enough to get territory from lesser rival gang members. They weren’t getting the notoriety they wanted.

    Confident they could dominate other gangs for territory, T99 decided to go after their true enemy. In a move that was certain to gain them the notoriety they wanted, T99 declared war on the police department.

    The convenience store at the intersection of Lockport and Hunt opened out onto the corner. It was a perfect location to pull in the foot traffic that flowed by on the sidewalk. Employees from nearby businesses were the main customer base for Cosmo’s. Cosmo knew things were not good when the six men filled his store with their banter. He knew they were gang members and didn’t care which gang claimed them. They wore matching hats and no one, outside of a baseball team, wore matching hats. They didn’t cause trouble for Cosmo and he was grateful. It was difficult to do business with your hand hovering over the panic button.

    The feeling that he’d just survived a threat, faded just moments after the six stepped outside his door. Shots fired into his store and into the men. Slamming his hand onto the panic button, Cosmo ducked under his counter. Glass fell around him and Cosmo prayed.

    The intersection in a gridlock, angry drivers and frenetic pedestrians greeted the first two squad cars to respond to the call of shots fired. They called for immediate back up and ambulances upon arriving on the scene. There simply was no way for two uniforms to take care of everything. Especially with bodies lining the sidewalk and laying on the street.

    They worked at securing the crime scene. Once more uniforms arrived, it was easier and more quickly done. It didn’t take long to get an entire block barricaded around the intersection to keep cars back. Another barricade kept the pedestrians back. Captain Mulholland of the 22nd Uniform division was on the scene directing his officers. Standing in the middle of the intersection, he commanded a regiment that included officers, detectives and emergency medical teams.

    Drivers were questioned for to get their statements, if they had no valuable information they were asked to pull their cars back and leave the scene. Many were grateful to do exactly that. Others argued that they needed insurance information to get their cars repaired. Long-suffering only lasted for so long before tension cracked even the most stalwart of officers. “Look, buddy, the person responsible for the accident bled out on the pavement. I don’t think he’s going to be paying for anything. You understand?”

    “Did he have insurance? You could check to see.”

    Meg shook her head as she walked along the sidewalk. Her partner, Neil Spiro, was nothing if not succinct when he declared, “Damn.”

    Meg had traded her leather jacket for a windbreaker emblazoned with POLICE on the back, just in case the badge hanging around her neck wasn’t enough to get through the barricade. “News crew is already on the scene.”

    “Saw that.” Neil groused, “They always make it worse.”

    Meg inhaled on a sniff and nodded her head, eyes sweeping the scene, “Not like they could draw more of a crowd.”

    Spiro simply grunted. Mulholland glared at them as they approached him. He approved that they’d already gloved up their hands, ready to work. Meg carried a camera case and an evidence collection kit. Neil, supportive of equal rights, let her.

    Seniority spoke first and Neil greeted Mulholland, “Captain.”

    “You two just became part of the task force to clear this mess up and get it off my street.”

    “We’re not homicide.”

    “You both know how to work a crime scene. You’ll work it and I want to know why they attacked each other in the middle of the day. As of right now, I’m in charge of the investigation. All reports go through my desk. Start with the van.”

    “Yes, sir.” They agreed together.

    Standing in the middle of the intersection, Meg considered the destruction. Not only was there debris from colliding cars, but there were personal effects littering the sidewalk and street. War zone. The only bright spot of the entire situation was the fact that the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Rain would have created an even bigger mess and darkness would have made collecting evidence even more difficult than it already was. The street was littered with evidence markers. Photographs were being taken and a crowd continued to form. Pushing it all from their minds, Meg and Neil joined the just-created task force.

    They approached the van, the side door open a body lay in the door. If it weren’t for the blood on the front of his shirt, he would have appeared to be resting against the back of the passenger seat. Meg started taking pictures.

    “I'm going to the sidewalk. I want to see what it looks like from over there.”

    With only a nod to acknowledge that she’d heard him, Meg looked at the gun on the street. He’d dropped it on the street. The van door had been pulled open to allow the shooter ease of motion. Those from the sidewalk had gotten off enough shots to break the glass on the door and the glass of the window on the other side. Carefully, Meg looked in the van. The back seats had been taken out leaving only one seat behind the driver.

    The passenger was missing half of his face and Meg tilted her head to consider the driver. They were leaning toward each other. Pictures recorded her observations and she went around the front of the van. Holes in the hood and front grill. The driver side tire and, Meg discovered, the back tire as well, were blown. The driver had a neat hole in his head.

    Touching a gloved hand to the metal door frame, Meg frowned and turned to look at the sidewalk. Cell phone cameras were aimed at her but she ignored them as she scanned the crowd. If anything was to have been found there, it was disturbed. Turning back to the van, she lifted her camera to her face and took pictures.

    When the medical examiner’s team asked if they could remove the bodies, she gave permission and asked that they pull the passenger from the front, first. She watched while they did. Blood spatter on his clothes confirmed that the driver had been shot from the other side. His gun had fallen into his lap. Meg recorded both weapons for evidence and tagged them for ballistics testing. Someone was going to be on overtime before this investigation was done.

Continued

Journey - passage of time cont'd

2011-05-15T00:12:00.004-05:00

I'm addicted to commas. Can you tell??

Continued from Here.

Early 2004 - When some people might be thinking toward Valentine’s day, Meg just wanted to sleep. Whoever it was that glamorized stakeouts on television should be forced to live one out. A week’s worth of watching and waiting and time spent talking to neighbors and friends to build a case was worth it in the end.

    Just not today.

    After just a few hours of sleep, Meg answered her phone when it jangled, ready to commit murder. It would be justifiable homicide at 2 AM in the morning. “Addison.”

    “It’s DJ. Are you awake?”

    “No,” she lied. Her had adrenaline spiked at the sound of his voice, waking her instantly, “One of us is dreaming. It must be you.”

    “Fairly sure that I’m awake. The sun’s up.”

    “The sun’s always up where you are. I saw it on TV, so it must be true.” Meg rolled from her bed and curled her legs under her. Leaning back against the bed, she rubbed a hand over her eyes, “How’s your leg?”

    “Holding steady. How’s your shoulder.” It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. Her shoulder was fine. The hip injury still gave her fits. Knife to flesh equals a skin failure.

    “I'm able to play ball." She hugged a pillow to her stomach, “Not that I'm disappointed to hear your voice, Darcy, but you didn’t call just to talk about the weather. Is something wrong?”

    “No. I just wanted to hear your voice.” Meg hugged the pillow tighter but DJ continued: “I got the box you sent. Your letter was a little different than the last ones.”

    “Sorry about that. I was coming off needing to give testimony in court. Not to mention a long, hard investigation. New family members and baby showers. I knew I should have waited but I had the box all ready to mail.”

    “I liked it, my buddies appreciated that you sent extra.”

    “Well, I figured an entire squad of apes would need the energy. And sunscreen.”

    DJ’s laugh over the phone brought a smile to Meg’s face. “But Meg? About that letter. Really, is something wrong?”

    Surprised that he’d even notice, Meg took too long to answer so DJ pressed.

    “I’m on a short window, Slugger. Are you alright?”

    “I'm good. I really am, Darcy. Are you still in Iraq or did they move you again?”

    “Can’t tell you.” DJ frowned. There was more but she wasn’t telling. “I wish I could just because it was such a valiant effort on your part at changing the subject.”

    “You did wake me up.” Meg offered, stifling a yawn. Adrenaline spikes were only good if you could maintain them. “Your mom showed me the last video conference you guys had together. You look good. Leaner.”

    “Next time I call home, do you think you could be there so I can see you?”

    “I can try. I can’t promise. I can say that I’d really like to be there.”

    “Listen, Meg. I gotta wrap this up but I gotta know something and you really need you to be honest.”

    “As long as you don’t ask for my bra size, I’ll do my best.”

    “Why haven’t ...there must have been ...” DJ muttered and swore softly, “In all these years, was there ever any guy who grabbed your heart?”

    “Yeah.” Meg answered slowly, “There was this one guy...He’s in the Army now. He doesn’t know. It would be embarrassing if he found out I never got over him.”

    “Maybe he feels the same.”

    “He might not.” Meg was pleased her voice remained level, “He’s a bit slow in the head. All brawn - not much brain.”

    “I realize we’re both adults and this is probably a grade school question - but if I asked you to be my girl ...”

    “I’d say yes.” Meg interrupted with a grin in her voice.

    “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get my head on straight. I’ll make it up to you - all the time we lost. I lost.”

    “That’s not necessary. We’ll start here.”

    “Listen, Meg, time’s up but I just gotta know - What is your bra size?”

    He heard her laugh before his call was cut off. DJ exited the communications tent happier than he had been when he entered.




    Time worked for Meg and DJ just as much as it worked against them. Their letters were sweeter and DJ made certain to call again. It took another year before his video calls could be timed right for Meg to be present. DJ had the painful pleasure of seeing his girl for the first time in - a lifetime. He noticed the features of her face and realized that with the exception of laugh lines around her eyes, she looked exactly as he remembered her. “God, Meg. You’re beautiful.”

    “I’d take that as a compliment if you weren’t surrounded by camels and apes all the time. You’re just starved for attention.”

    Both families had welcomed the news of their relationship with a sense of ‘finally’. For her 30th birthday, DJ mailed her a ring from Turkey. “Thought it should be more official.”

    When he came home on leave, time worked against them both times. The first, Meg was working on a protection detail and couldn’t get away. The second time, Meg was deep undercover and even her brothers couldn’t tell him where. She emerged just in time to meet him on the drive way in front of his parents' house as he was heading for the airport to make the journey back to his unit. The kiss was powerful, bruising and hungry. Meg was certain she had his fingerprints on her rib bones and an impression of the car door handle on her back side. Still, it was a memory she cherished.

    While DJ’s original unit was in the States for down time, his Special Ops unit was based in Germany. His down time was parced out in chunks making treks home more difficult.

    Meg faithfully sent her boxes and letters as often as she could. Sometimes they came a mere weeks apart, other times, months. No matter where he was in the shadows of the world, DJ relished them. She never complained about life apart from him. It just was what it was. She’d tell a story of a case that would make him laugh. His mother might send him a newspaper clipping and DJ would see the darker side.

    He couldn’t get very angry that Meg had skimmed over the truth, DJ realized. He was doing the same thing. It was a matter of necessity for both of them. They were fighting wars on different fronts. DJ couldn’t think of Meg any differently. The Army admonished the returning men not to talk in too great a detail of all they had seen - civilians just wouldn’t understand. DJ had every confidence that he didn't have to worry about it with Meg. She'd already promised time to compare scars. There were more injuries and more victories. More letters and more boxes. There were times when DJ couldn’t remember where he was until the action started.

    DJ could never say what it was that made him wait as long as he did. His friends had asked. His mother had hinted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he told himself that what he had with Meg wasn’t real. Knowing that he’d been burned, considerably so, by his ex-wife, Meg never pushed. Never once did she ask him to come home. Never once did she tell him that waiting was bothering her.

    In Early 2011, DJ couldn’t put his finger on what caused it. DJ found himself working around a recurring thought. When he finally took time to focus on it, all he could think of was marrying Meg. His father had invested his money so there was a nest egg waiting for him when he got home.

    He could retire from the Army and probably never have to work again. His long term plans would have to wait until he could get his short term plans settled with Meg. He planned to ask her to marry him before she turned thirty-four in the summer.

    “So let me get this straight,” his buddy began slowly, watching DJ pack, “you’ve made this girl wait essentially a lifetime?”

   “Give or take a few months.”

    “And you expect her to say ‘yes’?”

    “Yeah, I was. Why wouldn't she?”

    “Just pointing out the obvious, man. After all this time, she might tell you ‘no’.”

    With a sigh, DJ nodded. He was well aware of the possibility, “It would be nothing less than I deserved I guess.”

    There wasn’t much else to do but to take the plunge. He boarded the plane and made his way home.

Continued into the future

Journey - passage of time...

2011-05-14T10:05:00.003-05:00

Mother Mayhem asked, with a grin, if I was sure this could still be considered a short story.

I have to admit - that it probably can not. I intended for it to be three parts...

and while it's still in three parts-- they're just really long. Breaking it up into easily edible blog postings probably makes it seem really longer than it is.

According to an article at Novel-Writing-Help.com

A novel is anything over 50,000 words
A novella is between 20,000 and 50,000 words
A short story has a word count of under 20,000 words

I'm probably pushing close to 20,00. I haven't done the math, yet, because I'm writing it in chapters. I have to admit, I didn't expect this story to keep going. ^_^ But I'm glad it did. I've enjoyed the heck out of it.

On to the story continued from here and started all the way back here... Hope you like it. Verbal montages are not as easy to write as I thought they'd be.

****

    DJ found a brown paper sack on the front porch of the house the next morning. Inside he found several paper backs, gum, M&M’s and a bottle of soda. One bottle. During his seemingly endless flight, DJ found two phone cards inside the paperbacks and a hastily written note on the inside cover of one of the books.

    “Ok - so I took the bottle of soda. You’d have had two but it was a really long stake out. We bagged the bad guys though. So I guess it was worth the price of admission. They were selling stolen computers. So I guess the world is safer now. At least from buying stolen computers. That would have been interesting. The budget conscious house wife buying the computer for her family. The family gathers around. They turn it on to discover it came pre-loaded with porn. Wonder how customer service would have handled that one. ~ Meg. PS - I did have to file the paper work. Knew I would. Be Safe.”

    Once he rejoined his company on the sand in Iraq, DJ didn’t have time to analyze anything that had happened in the states. All things considered, it was probably a good thing that he couldn’t dwell on plans that had suddenly gone askew. He focused on the job at hand and the weeks passed quickly.

    His first box from his mother included a news clipping with Meg in the background of the picture. His mother had circled her face, just in case DJ might have missed it. The officers in the picture were unnamed as evidence was placed inside a van. Apparently, the stolen computers Meg had alluded to in her note were part of a bigger identity theft operation. Thousands of dollars and reams of personal information had been stolen from businesses and homes over the city. Eating a cookie his mother had made and mailed, DJ studied the picture. Meg was standing behind her partner, a man who appeared to be pushing forty. He looked much like Meg’s brothers and he wondered if Meg had partnered up with another relative. As far as he could recall, her entire family was made up of police officers. She looked good and he could appreciate the smirk on her face. A job well done was worth smirking about.

    The box from Meg came a week and a half later. Her box was more fun and filled to the brim with books, gum and candy. And sidewalk chalk. DJ got a laugh out of that. He’d put it to use or give it to the first group of kids he came across. Tucked in the corner were small things like fingernail clippers and a tube of sunscreen for his lips. Her letter told him of that both her her brother’s wives were expecting babies now. Since they were due within days of each other, it was a race to the finish. But what did everyone expect? Meg put to him. Michael and Matthew had been racing since they could both walk?

    If DJ could have put a pin in a time line, he would have made certain that exact moment in time was noted above all. Something changed in his thoughts. Just a small shift in perception. Jessica’s letters had never made him laugh and his letters to Meg, even though she always sent long newsy letters, had been short. This time, when he wrote back, DJ told Meg of the long waits and the bursts of action. Both could be intense. DJ talked of the moodiness of the weather. He wrote with absolute certainty that there would be dust storms in hell. He didn’t know how exactly that would happen, just that it would. Maybe tiny particulates of damnation and brimstone flying around? DJ told her the thing he craved most was an American Hamburger with pickles. Sitting in the shade of a make-shift canopy, DJ found words flowing until it was time to finish the mission. He closed, telling her that he enjoyed her letter, as always. Then he did something he’d never done before. He asked for a picture.

    It took a month and a week to arrive but Meg’s next box didn’t include just one picture. It included an entire book’s worth of pictures. She’d taken pictures of her car in the sun and in the rain. “See how the rain looks like sapphires?” There was a picture of new boots, the price tag still attached the the laces.

    She sent a picture of her gun showed all the pieces apart for cleaning. On the back she’d written, “Should there be an extra piece left over?” There was a picture of her toes, the nails glinting pink and a toe ring circled the second toe of her right foot. DJ was intrigued. There was a picture of water flowing from a faucet. “Indoor plumbing is a modern convenience that is not overrated.”

    There was a picture of his parents, her niece. Her apartment door. A box of crayons and then a picture of a doodle where Meg had drawn a happy face and the word, “Hey.” Laughing, DJ looked at each picture in turn. He saw the park from their neighborhood. The swing. A rose. A cloud. A bumblebee and then a fly swatter. The combination made him laugh.

    Through her pictures, he saw his front porch swing and two bottles of soda. Then the rain pouring over the eaves of his front porch. All combined to make DJ remember homesickness. There was a picture of the clock on her dashboard. DJ could only assume that she’d taken the picture while she was working. There was another picture of a crime scene, taken at a distance. The officers stood in a huddle, arms pointing in one direction. He could not make out faces but could tell from their poses that they were in serious discussion. The strobe of the lights on the emergency vehicles was captured in another picture.

    A crack in the sidewalk. DJ stared at the picture for a long moment, looking for a hidden meaning. He found none. So either it was hidden really well or there simply wasn't one. He had to admit, there weren't that many cracks in the sidewalk where he was walking lately.

    A quarter, heads up, lay next to a small, blue flower. Meg had written, “Finders Keepers” on the back of that picture. Then there was a picture of her and her brothers. All three of them in plain t-shirts. Black, White and Green. Each with their badges on chains around their necks. Meg stood tucked in the middle because of her shorter height.

    Finally, the very last picture was a picture of Meg.

    It was from her birthday, the cake was lit with two candles on one side and five on the other. Twenty-five. In the picture she was laughing at something that had been said to her. It was a perfect picture. Her hair fell down around her shoulders, the gold strands catching the candle light. The beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes and the green danced in the picture. This was the friend he remembered.

    He had been, DJ realized, so incredibly wrong. It had only taken months to realize it. He still remembered those things he’d said the night he’d been drunk. He couldn’t ignore the blind eye he had turned toward Jessica’s manipulations. She truly had robbed him of his friend. A lifetime might not make up for the errors.

    As time passed and letters were exchanged, slowly their words changed. DJ found he could talk to Meg about life as he knew and not have to sugar coat anything. His mother continued to send news clippings if there were any to be clipped. They were few and far between and not all of them contained pictures. DJ didn’t mind. It was a glimpse into the world that he didn’t always have access to see from his location. Wounds were discussed with humor easily found in letters as Meg and DJ both received them in the line of duty.

    Bullets were bullets, Meg wrote, whether they were in the guns of insurgents or gang members. She’d written about the scare when her brother, Michael, had been critically wounded by a drug addict jonesing for his next fix.

    DJ was in a hospital bed with a concussion and a leg wound that had required twenty-seven stitches when Meg made the rank of Detective.

    When he was released to active duty, DJ walked from the hospital right into a transfer to a new outfit. A special ops unit that could make use of his particular set of sharpshooting skills. While he trained with his new unit, Meg went undercover. The only news he received from home for many months was from his mother. Letters he sent home seemed boring. The only thing DJ could truly, freely talk about was the weather. There were only so many ways to say ‘hot’ and ‘dry’. Even though it was definitely not boring, it was particularly dry year for DJ. He went too many months without hearing from home and he had nothing to encourage them with.

    When his team took a working vacation to Germany, DJ took a moment to shop, sending a necklace to Meg.

    Still months passed without hearing from Meg. His mother didn’t send any new clippings of Meg, there was nothing to send, she told him. “Norma tells me she is doing well.”

    When a Christmas box finally arrived on New Year’s eve from Meg, DJ was hesitant to open it. His fear, and that’s what it was even if he denied it, was that he’d open the box to find that she’d married someone else. Someone like Dale Winkler.

    The box contained books, sunscreen, drink mixes and candy. A small wrapped box, strapped with green and red ribbon was opened to reveal a carrying case holding several game chips for his hand held game unit and four new-to-video DVD's. “Something to fight the boredom. Merry Christmas.” The letter was shorter than normal. She had a new niece and a nephew. They were born on the very same day. A hectic day for the Addison family and the labor/delivery floor in the hospital. “It’s a toss-up about who won the race. Matthew’s son, forever called “The Nephew”, was a few days early. Michael is claiming a cheat and that his daughter, Niece #2 is the rightful winner. Both wives already have plans to travel somewhere that’s -away- without husbands or babies - so actually, I’m guessing they’re the true winners.”

    Reading the letter twice, DJ decided something was wrong. It was time to call. Past time but hopefully not too late.

Continued here

Blogger...

2011-05-13T13:30:00.002-05:00

It was an interesting thing to have Blogger tell me that my blog was 'read only'. At least for a little while.

According to Blogger Buzz and the Blogger Status feed, the situation was created by an update problem. I've had that happen on my own computer -- but I was a little worried.

I lost two, possibly three, blog posts. And I'd been doing so good on reading posts from my blogger friends. LOL (It's all about me, don'tcha know.)

When the Blogger techs restored their systems back to the 11th, essentially pre-dating the problem, two of my posts were put back in "schedule" mode.

I lost comments. That is really just so you know that I didn't delete any comments. They've gone missing.

I posted the scheduled blogs again- and they've written that blogger will repost the comments.

I'm curious to see if I end up with Double postings because of this. I tend to jump the gun on things...so I'm waiting to post the next story segment until I see what happens to my blog.

On the silver lining part of the cloud - I'm getting ahead again. I kind of got stuck (see: fixated) on this one section. I deleted part of it twice.

Still, what a funny thing to have happen on Friday 13th. It is, she said randomly, one of my favorite days. Always has been.

Because of the malfunction, I've been thinking of random internet things....and trying to avoid reading this new book I got. If I start reading it - I'll never finish my story. Well - I will but it would take longer.

So in honor of the Blogger malfunction and my psuedo-facebook addiction:

I don't have twitter - but I have facebook and blogger. ^_^ Somethings we just gotta share. Like knowing the answers to the question of "Why, Blogger? Why?"

An update on the list...

2011-05-13T12:11:00.000-05:00

WAAAAAAAaaaaaay back in January ...

Can you BELIEVE it's the middle of May??? *Gasp*

*panic surge*

What was I saying?

Oh, yeah, WAAAAaaaaaay back in January I talked about turning 40. It's still some time away - but my goodness, it's already in the middle of May!!!

In that post, I mentioned My List.

I thought I'd update you.

The wait was long and often tiring - but The Professor got his notice at the beginning of March (I'm way behind in my blogging) that he successfully passed his California Structures certification test.

One of the common responses we received after this news came to us was: "Are you moving to California?"

No.

At least, not that we know of.

The other response was: "What exactly does that mean?"

It means the Professor will be recognized as a Structural Engineer in his field. At least by some. There are some dunder heads out there that don't get it. For California it means he can design buildings like Hospitals and schools.

An engineer The Professor knows told him, "The California SE is like getting the brass ring."

The Professor got it. In one try.

The said it couldn't be done.

We rejoiced. We still rejoice.

Journey - Leaving

2011-05-13T12:10:00.002-05:00

*Editing comes later*

Prologue

Middle

Continued from the last post:

    Just as his father had pointed out, DJ took time to notice the things in the neighborhood that remained the same. Sunday dinner at the Addison house was one of them. He pulled his motorcycle to the curb, it was exempt from the sale of belongings because it had been his since high school. DJ had also put his foot down. Jessica could keep her purses, he was keeping his bike. He babied it along but the excellent condition was maintained because he was gone more often than not.

    The cars in front of the Addison house told DJ that the family was gathered. He spied Meg’s blue car and took a deep breath. He hadn’t talked to her in a week. It wasn’t avoidance - not exactly. Instead of seeking her out, DJ had focused his attention on selling the house and creating new accounts with his mother as his proxy.

    “Man up,” DJ muttered to himself, “she doesn’t bite.” He raised his hand to knock on the door, “She just swings a bat.”

    Uncle Mark answered the door. Running his tongue over his teeth, Mark swept his eyes over DJ’s broad form, “You thinking the uniform will make her go easy on you, son?”

    “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get, sir.”

    Mark chuckled, “Come on in. You’re welcome to the table, just like always.”

    “Thank you.” DJ pulled his beret from his head and stepped into the house. The noise of voices filled the air and Mark led the way.

    “Look who I found.”

    The dinning room fell silent when DJ followed Mark through the door. The table that seated twelve had long ago seemed too big but was now nearly too small. Meg’s brothers had added wives to the family. And a child, it seemed. Big chocolate eyes stared up at him.

    “You’ve not met the new additions, have you?” Mark motioned to the table, “I know you remember Michael and Matthew. This is Michael’s wife, Sara and their daughter, Megan. This is Matthew’s bride, Trish. You boys remember DJ, I’m sure. Norma already set a plate for you, son.” DJ saw the place setting at the end of the table.

    “Thank you.” Across from his place was another empty place setting. Set and, he assumed, waiting for Meg.

    As DJ took his seat, Michael grinned across the table from him, “Next time you want to go out on a bender, soldier-boy, you need to call us.”

    Sara lifted an eyebrow and gifted her husband with a supreme gaze, “Really now?”

    “Sure.” Matthew offered next to DJ, “We at least know the good places to go.”

    The wives exchanged eye-rolls and the slightest of grins. They knew their husbands would talk big and still come home.

    Norma carried the roast from the swinging doors and smiled brightly at DJ, “Oh, I was hoping you would come.” After setting the platter down in front of Mark, she hurried around the table to hug him. “Don’t get up. I just want to hug your neck. If you stand up, I couldn’t reach from way down here.”

    Before she broke away, Norma patted his cheek, “So handsome you are.”

    Her eyes scanned the table, making that last check, “Meg’s bringing the carrots.”

    “We can start without her.” Matthew offered, not particularly fond of carrots.

    “No you can’t.” Meg carried the bowl in from the kitchen, “I had a phone call. Sorry.”

    As she sat the dish on the table, her badge winked at DJ from it’s perch on the waist band of her jeans.

    Meg dropped into the seat across from DJ and lifted an eyebrow. Mark blessed the food while they considered the other. When ‘Amens’ floated reverently above the table, Meg smirked, “I didn’t think it was possible but you look even bigger in your uniform.”

    Meg’s response to his presence lessened the stress DJ had felt around his lungs, “That works in my favor.”

    “Probably,” Meg said slowly, “most people tend to avoid big apes.”

    DJ’s smile was brilliant. His friend was back and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

    Sunday dinner went pretty much as he remembered. There was laughter and teasing. Stories were tossed out, corrected by all parties and then rehashed. DJ was included, as he always was and often found himself needing to defend himself. It was once again, at least for a day, his second home.

    With the brother’s having wives, they separated to go their own way soon after they ran out of conversation and jokes. Meg and DJ sat on the stoop and looked out over the park. Only the merry-go-round was the same since that very first journey through the park. The playground equipment and swings had been updated. It was brightly colored and currently covered with children.

    “You still play ball?” DJ asked watching a son pitch to his dad.

    “Sometimes. There’s a co-ed team in the department. We really only play if there’s a charity need. We played once to bring in some new K-9 units. I played first base.”

    “Listen, Meg, I only remember part of what I said the other day.” DJ scrubbed his hands over his head, “It was enough to know that I should be really sorry about what I don’t remember.”

    “It’s all under the bridge. This wasn't exactly the homecoming you were hoping for.”

    “No, can’t say that it was. I walked into an ambush. Didn’t see it coming.”

    Meg grinned, “That’s what made it an ambush. Sheesh. Didn’t they teach you anything in the Army?”

    DJ watched her eyes laugh through his narrowed lids, “You’ve always been a wise-ass.”

    “Yes.”

    “Look, Meg, I’m sorry. I'm sorry that I didn’t listen to you all those years ago. I'm sorry that I took it out on you last week. I'm really sorry I missed out ... I missed out on a lot of things.”

    “Aw, don’t be sorry for that. You needed to put your marriage first.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder, “You can be sorry for being an idiot though.”

    “Then I'm sorry I was an idiot.” DJ grinned and held out his hand, “Let me see the badge.”

    She placed the badge and clip in his hand and watched him run the pad of his thumb over the texture of the raised design.

    “Mom sent me newspaper clippings of your graduation and a picture of you in your uniform.”

    “It made me look square.”

    “Yes, it did.” DJ grinned down at her, “And short.”

    “What can we do?" Meg laughed, "I got all the brains, you got all the brawn.”

    Unoffended, DJ held the badge between his fingers and watched Meg reclaim it. Her small hand barely covered the shield. “It would look funny if it were reversed.”

    “I’d be on magazine covers instead of undercover.”

    “I'm going to cut my leave short.”

    “I thought you might.” Meg ran her thumb over her top lip, “I know you were thinking of mustering out.”

    “Did I tell you that?”

    “It was a passing comment in a letter.”

    DJ stared off toward the park without really seeing it, “Will you still write to me?”

    “Sure.” Meg sniffed, “If you think you can find someone to read it to you.”

    His retort was cut off Meg’s by loud laugh and her cell phone. She muffled her laughter and considered her display before putting the phone to her ear, “Addison.”

    She listened and agreed, “On the way.”

    Standing to her feet, Meg hopped up to the door and stuck her head in the door, “Mom, I got a call. I’ve got to run. I’ll be careful. Love you.”

    When she turned around her heart shot straight to her throat. DJ stood and considered her. They were eye to eye. Meg tucked her phone back into her pocket, “I’ve got to go in. My partner is moving on something that apparently can’t wait. He probably just needs the paper work done.”

    “You gotta do your job.” He tapped his beret against his hand, “Listen, Meg, I’m leaving in the morning.”

    “That is fast.” Meg frowned, putting a crease in her forehead. “I have a phone card for you but it’s at my apartment. I’ll mail it.”

    “That’d be good.” DJ sighed heavily before asking, “We’re good?”

    “Oh, yeah,” Meg grinned. “I’m still your second biggest fan. Your mother will always be number one.”

    “True.” Motioning over his shoulder, DJ started making motions to leave.

    Meg put her hand on his shoulder, “Look, Sarge. I know this wasn’t exactly the homecoming you were hoping for but I can at least send you off the right way.”

    DJ was surprised when her arms closed around his neck and her mouth melded with his. Then he stopped thinking and pulled her close, taking the kiss deeper. Meg was, for just a moment, exactly where she wanted to be - a desire she’d harbored since she was sixteen and she realized her gangly friend was just a bit more than a friend.

    The kiss was a perfect blend of lips, teeth and just the softest brush of tongues tasting and testing. Since it was perfect, she wanted to leave it that way. Meg broke away with a quick kiss on DJ’s bottom lip and a caress of fingers on his neck.

    “Take care of my friend while you’re gone.”

    DJ could do nothing but stare at her back as she walked down the sidewalk and then to her car.

    “What just happened?” DJ asked the air.

    He received no answer and he desperately wanted one.

Journey - lectures are to be avoided

2011-05-11T11:11:00.006-05:00

Prologue

2002 pt 1

2002 pt. 2 (which precedes the following:)

2002 Pt. 3:

    DJ was, as Meg hoped, perfectly miserable when he woke up the next morning and he stayed miserable for days. He remembered some of what he said with perfect lucidity and the rest was merely jumbles of emotion and colors.

    His mother had no pity on him. She was especially brutal the first day of his misery. The radio came on first thing in the morning. Charlotte clattered dishes when she cooked lunch. The final straw came when Charlotte ran the vacuum. When DJ started to feel green, his father had a small measure of pity and offered him a beer on the front porch.

    When faced with the bright afternoon, DJ had to fight the groan. Instead he pulled his sunglasses over his eyes and lowered himself into the wicker chair, letting his father have the swing. They sat in silence until half of their drinks were gone.

    When Paul Rediker took a deep, cleansing breath, DJ knew that a lecture was coming. If there was one thing Paul hated to give, it was a lecture. He always ascribed to the theory that a swat on the butt was easier to handle than a lecture.

    “There are some things that need to be said often. Over and over again. No matter how big, or how old people get.” Paul grinned slightly, “I’m proud of you.”

    DJ stared at him.

    “Yes. Even after last night. Who could have blamed you for wanting to blow off steam? I'm fairly certain Meg won’t hold it against you unless you pretend it never happened.” Paul watched his son’s face, “I never liked Jessica. She has never been very nice to your mother. Or to Meg.”

    Closing his eyes, DJ growled, “You, too? Was my marriage under so much scrutiny then? Did you all sit around and discuss it when I was deployed?”

    “I’ve always been a bit surprised it’s not obvious to you, to honest, what sort of person you did marry. She must have had some redeeming feature that she didn’t show the rest of us. Jessica did everything she could to get between you and the friend you’d had since you were twelve.”

    “And friend’s change as time goes. Not everyone is meant to stay friends forever.”

    “That’s true. In some cases it’s imperative that friends change. Especially when they hold you back.” Paul swung back and forth, “Essentially, though, it’s a mutual moving away. Meg still values your friendship. So if the friendship is over, it’s your choice to end it.”

    DJ hid behind his sunglasses and swallowed the beer.

    Very aware of his son’s attitude and avoidance tactics, Paul changed topics, “Living in this house has given your mother and I lots of opportunities to watch you grow. The neighborhood has had little change over the years and that’s been good. When we couldn't have more children, we focused all our attention on you. It’s a wonder you’re not spoiled rotten and surfing the beaches somewhere. Looking at you now, I’d have to say that you’d have made a really big beach bum.”

    With a grunt, DJ chuckled.

    “There’s been the occasional work that’s been done to the house. Your mother enjoys the new appliances.”

    Not sure where this was going, DJ waited.

    Paul chuckled with conspiracy, “My net worth is over five million dollars.”

    Gawking at his father, DJ nearly dropped his beer.

    “Didn’t know I had it in me, did you? Computer analyst and programmer.” Paul laughed, "There was no reason to spend extravagantly. You had what you wanted and needed. Your mother had what she wanted and needed. I had my job and a car. So I started investing and made some wise moves.”

    “Why are you telling me this?”

    “Because I’ll give you the money to clear out the debt Jessica left behind.”

    “I can’t let you do that.”

    “Well, actually you can.” Paul told him bluntly. “You’re going to need to change some of your banking and accounts. You’ll need someone stateside to take care of it for you. The logical choice is for your mother to take over your accounts. When you go back, with a finalized divorce, the bill will simply be dealt with and no one will have to know. I wouldn’t even tell you but I didn't want you to redeploy thinking that was hanging over your head.”

    Rubbing his hand over his face, DJ swore under his breath, “It would be easier, I guess knowing. I guess I can't say no.” He peered at his father, “She wasn't nice to mom?”

    And there, Paul thought, was the decision and the acceptance - of many things. “No. Your mom tried to keep company and make friends with your wife. Especially when you spent those few months in that German hospital with the mystery injuries. Jessica didn't seem too bothered by it all and didn’t want your mother around. There were other times when she was publicly rude. I guess your mother didn’t fit the ideal Jessica wanted to portray.”

    “I’m sorry.” His head pounded again, “I was clueless.”

    “No reason to stay that way.” Paul watched his son’s profile. The boy that had been all elbows and knees was muscle and brawn. “And the only reason you were clueless was because you didn’t want to see.”

    There was no reason to deny or accept that claim until he knew if it were true or not. Paul left him on the porch to decide.

Mathematical Doodling -- in theory ...

2011-05-11T09:32:00.001-05:00

So..

We are, by far, no where NEAR this level of mathematics.... but it's definitely fun to watch - and especially fun to listen to.

Enjoy.

Decluttering ...

2011-05-10T18:51:00.000-05:00

I really am quite organized. You might not be able to tell it from pictures I post - or if you walked through the house, for that matter.

But really, I'm quite organized.

The problem with my house is that I have more stuff than space. So I make due with what I've got.

Then there are the times that I organize where things go and then leave it. Drawers, for example. I'm great about deciding what goes in a drawer. And then leaving it.

As if, somehow, it will stay neat.
Or maybe take care of itself while I'm ignoring it.
Yeah, that would be good.

Even though we have more stuff than we have space, we still manage to collect things. Books, toys...just stuff. So recently I decluttered.

It was just time.

I tackled some long ignored drawers.

bandaids and rubber bands, toothpaste and flossers.
then there's the jewelry and junk drawer I created in my bedroom.
I tackled my make-up and personal drawer in my bathroom. It was nice to know that I still had clippies and pony-tail holders. Everything was such a jumble.

Of course, decluttering can lead to discoveries. Good and bad. It was good that I found all the pony-tail holder -- but I discovered something else.

Those times I headed out to the store with the intention of finding something different were a complete fail.

At least, I'm consistent

It reminded me of something else .... Remember those shoes I talked about?

Apparently, those time I wanted something new in a shoe ... I was consistent there, too.

The one on the far right is not the most comfortable but looks good with skirts.

Turning the shoes - they are still the same, left to right.

The one in the middle is the most comfy - but the heel squeaks.

I wish I were as consistent in ALL areas of my life as I am in buying make-up and black medium-heeled shoes. (We don't need to talk about the denim. That's a given.)

Journey - Choices made

2011-05-10T12:11:00.018-05:00

Continued from here.

Prologue can be found: here

    Sitting in a conference room, listening to Jessica complain about life as she knew it, DJ couldn’t see a reason to contest the divorce. He hadn't realized how spoiled she was. Nor had he realized how much debt she’d incurred over their short marriage.

    The sale of joint possessions would go to paying off the fifteen thousand dollars. DJ was angry at the waste but saw no reason to argue. He would end up back on a base and have no need for a house. Or lawn furniture.

    “We don’t even have a patio.” DJ looked from the list to his soon-to-be ex-wife.

    Jessica rolled her eyes, “How would you know? You were never home.”

    “You knew what was going to happen when you agreed to marry me.”

    “I just thought you’d get it out of your system and go back to college.” Jessica crossed her perfectly toned and tanned arms over her chest, “This is why I want a divorce. You can go play soldier and I can get on with my life.”

    “Fine. But I'm not paying for all these damn purses.”

    “I needed them to help me cope.”

    Stunned, DJ stared at her. Slowly, he wanted to know, “Purses help you cope?”

    Jessica narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t say anything.

    “At $500 dollars a pop, Jess, you could have had actual therapy. Or collagen injections.”

    Her manicured fingers flew up to her lips with a gasp, “You’re impossible.”

    “No. I was stupid.” He looked at his attorney, “I’ll sign the papers but I want in the house before anything is sold so that I can get my things.”

    There wasn’t much that he wanted out of the house. Just his personal belongings.

    The surprise of his high school years was the friendship of former enemies. Travis and Dale Winkler grew to be solid citizens, despite a very shaky start in life. They helped move DJ’s weights and a few boxes from the attic that hadn’t even been unboxed.

    Walking through the house, Travis frowned, “Dude. There’s not one thing in this house that reminds me of you. How many times did you come home?”

    DJ looked up from scouring the photo albums, “I came home every chance I got.”

    Dale shook his head, “Doesn’t look like it.”

    Travis heaved a sigh, “So where do you want us to take this stuff?”

    “I guess I’ll dump it at my parent’s house.”

    Still fixated on the lack of DJ’s presence in the house, Dale crossed his arms, “It’s just not right. I mean, you went off to war! Meg Addison has more pictures of you than your ex-wife.”

    DJ shrugged and frowned, “Wait. You've been in Meg's apartment?"

   Both brothers shrugged, "Basketball playoffs. There were six of us."

    DJ accepted the information with a broad gesture of his hands, "The photo album I want isn’t here.”

    They found it in another box in the attic. In the first one they opened in their hunt, DJ found his letters and gifts he’d mailed to Jessica from overseas. He left those for the attic. At what point, did she stop loving him? Had she ever?

    Fairly certain he would never get an answer, DJ stopped asking the question.

    His mother was pleased to see the boxes, full of memories, but she scowled at the weight bench. When he saw his life spread out on Charlotte's kitchen table, it was a difficult blow and everything seemed to crash around him. When the Winkler brothers offered to take him drinking, he didn’t say no.

    Meg answered her phone without glancing at the display, “This had better be important.”

    “I got a drunk soldier on my hands.”

    Pressing her fingers against her eyes, Meg glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Three hours down time. “Blake?”

    “Got it in one. Listen, I need to close up. I got Dale and Travis sent home but this dude’s just too big and in a piss-poor mood. Think you can handle him?”

    Staring at him twenty minutes later, Meg wasn’t sure. She could call her brothers but when he found out, would DJ resent it? He was head down on the table, his arms dangling down toward the floor.

    Meg felt for his pulse just to be certain and then slapped him on the shoulder. His entire body jerked and his eyes opened.

    “Hey.” Meg offered.

    “Go to hell,” DJ groused.

    “Not on my list of things to do, actually.” She tugged on his sleeve, “Com'on, Darcy, Blake wants to close up his bar.”

    Slowly and with several drunken oaths, he managed to get to his feet and Meg slid herself under his arm, steadying him. “One foot at a time.”

    Blake helped her get him to her car where he sort of fell in.

    “How are you going to get him out?” Blake wanted to know. Tilting his head, he considered the angle of DJ’s neck between the two front seats.

    “Maybe he’ll roll out?” Meg tilted her head, mimicking Blake's pose. “Or maybe I’ll just leave him in there for the night and sleep at my parent’s house.”

    “Good luck.”

    Meg was going to take all the luck she could get.

    When she pulled into the drive, the Rediker house was dark except for the single porch light that shined. Meg heaved a sigh and angled her self to get a look at DJ’s face. With his head back, his mouth opened naturally and he snored. Loudly.

    “Good lord. You’re going to make this difficult aren’t you?” None too gently she patted his face until he snorted himself awake and blinked at her with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. “I brought you home, Darcy. Can you get out of the car on your own?”

    He swore at her and fumbled for the door handle.

    Meg shook her head when he fell onto the grass. “Big apes should not be allowed to drink.” She slammed her car door and rounded the front to put herself on the grass in his line of sight.

    When he managed to lumber to his feet, DJ glared down at her, “Don’t stand there all high and mighty. You were right about Jessica. You might as well go ahead and say it.”

    “I was right about a good many things, Darcy.” Meg put her hands on her hips. “Can you make it up to bed?”

    Glaring at the house and then at Meg, DJ gave her a shove, “I don’t need your help.”

    “I can tell.” Meg jogged up the stairs and unlocked the front door with DJ’s key. “You’re handling everything just fine.”

    Lurching into his house, DJ mumbled something unflattering and Meg rolled her eyes at his back, “If you weren’t drunk, Darcy, I’d put you on your back.”

    “You could dry....” DJ whirled on her, “ You’d tail.”

    Without grinning at his word blunder and undaunted, Meg moved toward the stairs, “Find your bed, soldier, before you fall on your face.”

    When he staggered on the bottom step, Meg put herself under him and helped him get up the stairs.

    DJ swore at her, “You have no clue what it’s like, do you?”

    “About what?”

    “Any of it.” He released the stair well and gestured grandly, nearly sending both of them toppling backward.

    “You’re too drunk to be specific. Keep moving, we’re almost to the top.” Meg grit her teeth against the strain in her legs and back.

    “You stay all nice and comfortable at home.”

    Meg thought of the last time someone had tried to resist arrest. Or the time she’d been shot. She had a scar in her hip where a bullet grazed her. She kept her thoughts to herself.

    “No one’s tried to shoot at you. So you can sit at home and be judge over all that goes on.”

    Meg’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t have to respond. There was no way she could explain what she’d seen in her considerably short years as a police officer. And it wasn’t like he was going to remember.

    They crashed into the door of DJ’s room. Meg’s head clanged against the frame. Their legs meshed together and they tumbled onto the bed. Muttering and huffing, Meg pulled herself out from under him, her wrist ached where it had twisted under his mass.

    Rolling onto his back, DJ scowled at her, “And you’ve never loved someone who didn’t love you back. So you just go on back to your happy world and I’ll go back to being a soldier to keep you safe.”

    “Oh, for the love of God!” Meg stood over him and shouted, “If it weren’t for the fact that you won’t remember a damn bit of this, I’d kick your idiot teeth down your throat! I hope you have one hell of a hangover in the morning!” She kicked the leg that angled down to the floor, “I thought people got smarter as they got older but whatever the Army’s feeding you to make you so big has apparently made you stupid, you big ape!”

    “Don’t you start on me again...”

    “Again? Again?!” Meg shoved his face, pushing his head back down onto the pillow, “I haven’t even started.”

    “Some friend you are.”

    Meg tossed her hands in the air, “You know what, you jerk? I’m a great friend! I’ve put up with your Barbie infatuation for all these years! Go ahead, just try to blame it on me. You’re the idiot ape that married the wrong girl!”

    “Go to hell!” DJ yelled at her back.

    “Not today!” Meg slammed his door and stomped down the stairs. At the bottom she yelped with surprise. Her hand placed over her heart, she stared at DJ’s parents. They stood like shadows in the front room.

    Charlotte took a step forward, “Meg, honey...”

    Overcoming her surprise, Meg started for the door, “Your son is drunk and I hope he’s perfectly miserable in the morning.”

Shoes....

2011-05-09T22:01:00.001-05:00

Growing up, I had a border-line shoe fetish. I say border-line because I would buy cute shoes and then realize I really had no place to wear them and not buy more shoes for ... months. I'm still that way. I have a pair of flip-flops, a pair of tennis shoes (essentially, they're sneakers - because I *don't* play tennis) -- and those are the shoes I wear. And I only wear flip-flops because I can slip them on my feet and run into the library without the librarian snarl at me for being barefoot.

Small town America. Gotta love it.

I was cleaning out my closet and discovered that I apparently have simple taste in shoes. I found three pairs of black shoes. All with the same heel height. They're a different, um, ~~body type~~ design but I laughed when I saw it.

I apparently have classic taste when it comes to shoes.

Part of the problem, though, and I say this in my own defense is that I've got flat feet and rolling ankles. So I can't wear things that are really flat or I'll be icing a body part at the end of the day. I used to!!! Not anymore.

With my simple taste (I just need something to go with jeans!) and complex needs (support my ankles, please), Imagine me taking my daughter shoe shopping.

Mini-Me HATES to shop. If there are too many choices and nothing is especially cute - or particularly pink - she really can't pick.

Tennis shoes. She wants CUTE. She wants PINK. Those are not always available in a women's shoe. Other than say, Converse.

So what's a mom to do??

I try to explain to her that really the tennis shoes she wears on a constant, daily basis should be expected to be dinged up and beat up. They don't necessarily have to be CUTE.

Her: *frown* *sagging shoulders*

What's a mom to do??

Compromise.

Yes, I have small hands. Shush.

You go for the bling. Shiny sparkles = CUTE shoes = Happy daughter.

The bonus came on the way home -- She talked to me...even telling me, "So it's your turn to start the conversation."

Oh, and??

Her feet are bigger than mine.