Penny's mind had indeed given up thinking about being trapped in a burning for the time being. The truth remained that there was a part of her that would have much preferred thinking about escaping an inferno than the task with which she was engaged.
She was a graphic designer, excuse me, an ex-graphic designer; not a people person. Getting emotional with a fellow from her sex was about as appealing as dealing with smoke and water damage. And the worse part was that it was her own stupidity that put her in this position. Why did her glibness always seem to get the best of her?
After brushing her hair and locating her car keys, she knew she would have to make a decision about Joan. Should she just go over there and manhandle the girl emotionally so it became Joan’s fault. No, that even seemed a little cruel for Penny. Perhaps she should just apologize plainly, and maybe even give Joan a dose of the truth. The two of them were just too young to give the marriage thing a proper go.
But there was her mother in her head, "Penny, don't you project yourself onto those young people. Leave them alone."
Perhaps stopping at the coffee shop on the corner and taking a couple of lattes over would be just the thing. No, Lattes would not work with a Vegan. And probably the idea of a glazed scone would be out as well since they probably contained eggs or milk or some such product that came out of an animal.
Flowers. She could take flowers. Joan liked flowers. She had spent the last several months outside the little house that she and Rog lived in, putting in various colored this and thats. Penny had no real notion of plants or flowers; they were just beautiful burst of color. She appreciated this side of Joan, and was a tab bit envious of the green thumb that the younger girl cultivated.
No, flowers were not a good idea. Joan would have her own and they would probably be prettier than any generic bouquet Penny would choose. Alcohol was out of the question because the girl was not even old enough to contemplate drinking Champagne at her own wedding. Sparkling grape juice for all. Penny made a mental note to take a flash of Jack with her on that fateful day.
Well, she though, I guess she just gets me and that will have to do.
By this time, she had left her apartment, locked the door, gingerly stepped into the elevator and breathed a relieved sigh that she would not have to talk to anyone on the ride door. Four floors could take a little while sometimes.
Once outside her apartment, she waved goodbye the guard, whom she was not sure she had ever seen before and walked two blocks to her car. She was a little sad to have to give up the parking place. If she had stayed in the spot, she should not have had to get up in the morning and move the vehicle like she would on the streets around the apartment.
But before she could get into her car, much less even get the correct key out to open the door, she felt the pressure of someone’s hand grasping around her arm.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Distraction
The urge to rush, going way over the suburban sprawl MPH was tempting to Rog. He hated being late, and this would be one more opportunity for his mother to nag him about getting cell phone. A cell phone only meant that he would be on more of a leash by the women in his life. Well, the only who be a problem would be Joan. She would probably call him ten times in ten minutes with cute catch phrases of "do you hear me now?" His mother would call to invite him to dinner or to see how he was doing, and that would be more than fine. Penny probably would not call him. She hated the micro-chipped little beasts.
Okay, so he was late. What would he say to his mother? Should he tell her he had started out on an errand to buy Joan an engagement ring, got depressed, and thought about drinking his sorrow away (With what? His fake id? Yeah, sure that would have worked.). then he could tell her how he had contemplated becoming a male escort. The topper would be the decision to join the military. What would he say about that? He almost suspected his mother would encourage the male escort idea as opposed to the military.
So engrossed in formulating a plan of dealing with this that he was barely paying any attention to the road. It had flown by, landscapes blurring unnoticed as the inner-auto-pilot took over. Like an automaton, he signaled the overly familiar turns, stopped at various intersections, and slowed down for the annoying school zones.
It happened suddenly like they, those ambiguous thems, say it happens. One moment the world is fine and your driving along your chosen road, and bam, something catches you off guard and you are thrown off course. This was assuming you were on course to begin with. One minute there was nothing but open highway; the next minute there was a blur, something dark and alien moved off the side of the road and into oncoming traffic. What the heck was that, he thought, as he most likely verbalized the moment with an "oh..." (You know the word). In the slowest blink of an eye, Rog hit his breaks and swerved into the next lane of traffic. This is when the tailspin begun and control was something no longer within his realm. He watched as the direction became a disorganized swirl. For an instant he tried to remember if there was any oncoming traffic, knowing within his heart, that there was. He braced himself for the impact.
Okay, so he was late. What would he say to his mother? Should he tell her he had started out on an errand to buy Joan an engagement ring, got depressed, and thought about drinking his sorrow away (With what? His fake id? Yeah, sure that would have worked.). then he could tell her how he had contemplated becoming a male escort. The topper would be the decision to join the military. What would he say about that? He almost suspected his mother would encourage the male escort idea as opposed to the military.
So engrossed in formulating a plan of dealing with this that he was barely paying any attention to the road. It had flown by, landscapes blurring unnoticed as the inner-auto-pilot took over. Like an automaton, he signaled the overly familiar turns, stopped at various intersections, and slowed down for the annoying school zones.
It happened suddenly like they, those ambiguous thems, say it happens. One moment the world is fine and your driving along your chosen road, and bam, something catches you off guard and you are thrown off course. This was assuming you were on course to begin with. One minute there was nothing but open highway; the next minute there was a blur, something dark and alien moved off the side of the road and into oncoming traffic. What the heck was that, he thought, as he most likely verbalized the moment with an "oh..." (You know the word). In the slowest blink of an eye, Rog hit his breaks and swerved into the next lane of traffic. This is when the tailspin begun and control was something no longer within his realm. He watched as the direction became a disorganized swirl. For an instant he tried to remember if there was any oncoming traffic, knowing within his heart, that there was. He braced himself for the impact.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Rog Gets an Idea
Wait, that is it, I could join the military, Rog thought to himself. That would be a respectable thing to do, even with the world and the way it was heading. His life was over anyway with the whole Joan thing, so why not take the real plunge, do something meaningful? If he died in some odd suicide bombing, other than his mother, who would really miss him? Joan would miss the idea of him, not the real Rog. He suspected if she knew the real Rog, she would not be too thrilled. He was a quiet person, who preferred books to just about anyone one. He loved culture and he hated living in suburbia. Metrosexual, now that was a word that fit like a glove, a kid-leather glove.
Yes, joining the military was a noble pursuit. How would he explain it to Joan? How about his mother? His mother would know that he had never really had an interest in such things, had never even played with those plastic-green toy soldiers. What could he possibly tell them that would not be infused with his cowardly manner? Penny would understand, heck, she would probably know exactly how to phrase this. But the other two, they were a problem.
His mother was liberal and against the government fiasco the boys in Washington called "war." Did they even call it war anymore? And Joan was turning into a New Age princess ever since she had started hanging out with that woman Rainey, who had convinced her that the joys of the flesh, both edible and carnal were wrong. Perhaps he would not have been envisioning a better life in the military if it were not for that small thing that was pretty large to a person who was barely legal,or just legal enough to join, yes, you got it, the military. Pretty soon, he would be able to blame the whole thing on Joan.
Well, it was her fault after all.
But no, no, it was he himself who was to blame. He had let his body get the better of him for just a brief moment and that was all it took. Sure he could be a heel and break up with her, but they had made a deal. And he was a man, or something like that, of his word.
But, if he were military, he could have some adventure, get out of suburbia, support them both, and best of all, eat a hamburger without a guilty conscience.
And then another part of him chimed in, forcing him to look at his watch. He was a bit late for meeting his mother for their mother-son Monday. Oh,shoot,he thought and went racing out of the library.
Well folks. You voted for it. No male escort life for Rog, you all choose military. Stayed tuned to see if Rog really does enlist.
Yes, joining the military was a noble pursuit. How would he explain it to Joan? How about his mother? His mother would know that he had never really had an interest in such things, had never even played with those plastic-green toy soldiers. What could he possibly tell them that would not be infused with his cowardly manner? Penny would understand, heck, she would probably know exactly how to phrase this. But the other two, they were a problem.
His mother was liberal and against the government fiasco the boys in Washington called "war." Did they even call it war anymore? And Joan was turning into a New Age princess ever since she had started hanging out with that woman Rainey, who had convinced her that the joys of the flesh, both edible and carnal were wrong. Perhaps he would not have been envisioning a better life in the military if it were not for that small thing that was pretty large to a person who was barely legal,or just legal enough to join, yes, you got it, the military. Pretty soon, he would be able to blame the whole thing on Joan.
Well, it was her fault after all.
But no, no, it was he himself who was to blame. He had let his body get the better of him for just a brief moment and that was all it took. Sure he could be a heel and break up with her, but they had made a deal. And he was a man, or something like that, of his word.
But, if he were military, he could have some adventure, get out of suburbia, support them both, and best of all, eat a hamburger without a guilty conscience.
And then another part of him chimed in, forcing him to look at his watch. He was a bit late for meeting his mother for their mother-son Monday. Oh,shoot,he thought and went racing out of the library.
Well folks. You voted for it. No male escort life for Rog, you all choose military. Stayed tuned to see if Rog really does enlist.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
To Date or Get Married
Where to even begin? How can someone really understand the nature of a company and if it meets one’s real demands. Does one trust the marketing? How does one know if a computer dating agency is the right one? It was almost as hard to pick a proper agency as it was finding a proper mate or even a decent, respectable date. And did anyone still want those types of men?
There was an interesting article on adfreak.com about a new service Best Buys was offering.
Ah, but there it was – Best Buys Comparison Reviews. They had reviewed a variety of competitors of different products like photographic printing services, Internet video rentals, and yes, even online dating. The reviews promised to “uncovers the ‘fine print’ that marketers don’t want consumers to know.” In this case, Best Buys had reviewed Match vs. eHarmony.
Fascinating. What an informative service. Both actually sounded pretty good and both offered free seven day trials. But here was the million dollar question – what sort of relationship did she have in mind? Match.com seemed more open to flirting and having fun (what kind of fun?). eHarmony seemed to be all about finding the romance of one’s life and settling down with a happily-ever-after-thank-you-very-much. Ninety weddings a day? One would have to wonder what sort of retention rate they had for such things?
But this was all good to know. It seemed like an important concept. One should know what one is looking for when sighing up for a dating service – a quickie or a marriage. Now this would take some serious thought and another glass of wine.
There was an interesting article on adfreak.com about a new service Best Buys was offering.
Ah, but there it was – Best Buys Comparison Reviews. They had reviewed a variety of competitors of different products like photographic printing services, Internet video rentals, and yes, even online dating. The reviews promised to “uncovers the ‘fine print’ that marketers don’t want consumers to know.” In this case, Best Buys had reviewed Match vs. eHarmony.
Fascinating. What an informative service. Both actually sounded pretty good and both offered free seven day trials. But here was the million dollar question – what sort of relationship did she have in mind? Match.com seemed more open to flirting and having fun (what kind of fun?). eHarmony seemed to be all about finding the romance of one’s life and settling down with a happily-ever-after-thank-you-very-much. Ninety weddings a day? One would have to wonder what sort of retention rate they had for such things?
But this was all good to know. It seemed like an important concept. One should know what one is looking for when sighing up for a dating service – a quickie or a marriage. Now this would take some serious thought and another glass of wine.
Madeline has Plans
Madeline knew better than to answer her phone and as it rang, she consciously put it down after checking the caller id. Penny. No, she was just going to let her daughter deal with this. A little responsibility would be good for Penny. Worse case scenario, Penny would barrage Joan with interrogation questions about Rog if Joan were not forthcoming with information as to Rog’s whereabouts. Best case scenario, Penny would put on the charm and win back Joan and thus find out the information in a much quicker fashion.
Not much to be done, thought Madeline who was making the effort not to panic over Rog.
It had grown too shadowy for her to continue her artistic efforts with her berries and teapot. No, now Madeline was inspired to take on another project.
Pouring herself a glass of wine, even though she knew it would make her face appear sunburned for the evening, she sat down at her computer. Its glowing presence made her feel as though she were not alone. It had a basic personality and certainly inspired her return. Perhaps Penny’s obsessive-compulsive ways were more like her own than she cared to admit.
The thought had been percolating in her mind for a few days now and what could it hurt? Her friend Rebecca had mentioned that her divorced daughter had found a successful relationship using a computer dating service. What would it hurt to look at a few options for Penny? Maybe having a new man in her life would give Penny something new to worry about other than her brother’s relationship?
Madeline typed “dating services” into Google and discovered there were hundreds. Where to even begin?
Not much to be done, thought Madeline who was making the effort not to panic over Rog.
It had grown too shadowy for her to continue her artistic efforts with her berries and teapot. No, now Madeline was inspired to take on another project.
Pouring herself a glass of wine, even though she knew it would make her face appear sunburned for the evening, she sat down at her computer. Its glowing presence made her feel as though she were not alone. It had a basic personality and certainly inspired her return. Perhaps Penny’s obsessive-compulsive ways were more like her own than she cared to admit.
The thought had been percolating in her mind for a few days now and what could it hurt? Her friend Rebecca had mentioned that her divorced daughter had found a successful relationship using a computer dating service. What would it hurt to look at a few options for Penny? Maybe having a new man in her life would give Penny something new to worry about other than her brother’s relationship?
Madeline typed “dating services” into Google and discovered there were hundreds. Where to even begin?
Monday, August 27, 2007
Madeline's Last Words
Madeline's phone rang again and without looking she clicked it on assuming it was one of her children, or children-to-be. And again she was rewarded for the intuitive assumption.
"These phones drive me crazy," said Penny's voice. Madeline had to agree with her, though she was fairly certain, as certain for someone who was not that savvy on technology but knew her way around the Internet, that Penny's phone was defective. She really should send it back to the manufacturer, though Penny insisted it was fine and everything was the cell phone companies’ fault.
"What am I a going to do about Joan," asked her daughter.
Madeline realized telling her it would blow over long before Penny forgot about it, would be pointless because her daughter would not hear those words. When her mind was wrapped around something, it held on like a powerful vacuum. Unlike Madeline's husband who at the slightest provocation would leap full force to take care of his little girl, upsetting her even more, Madeline knew to just let Penny get it out of her system.
But at this moment, Madeline had her own worries, "Penny, I don't mean to change the subject (though she did), but have you heard from your brother today?"
"Nope. Not even email. But, Mom should I call Joan back and try to apologize? I can't really explain because it would make it worse." Yes, there was that famous one-track mind.
Madeline stopped her before Penny could answer her own question, “No, I am sure she will be fine. Seriously, I have not heard from Rog and he spends every Monday over here. He has not called or answered my email today.” Maybe Penny could drive over to Rog and Joan’s, make amends with Joan or at least find out what had happened to Rog. She was sure there was a good explanation. She mentioned her idea to the phone and there was that pause. It was as if the phone was a mediator.
“Fine Mom, you want me to go over there and apologize to Joan to her face, and ask ‘oh, by the way, where is that pesky brother of mine?’ I am sure she will be thrilled to see me.” Madeline recognized the tone in Penny’s voice. It was both sarcastic and meant to bring about guilt for suggesting such a thing. But truly, there were greater things happening here, like her son’s disappearance.
With a mother’s grace, she said back to the phone, “That’s right, Penny. Yes, I do think it would be a good idea to get this bad blood out of the way, and it really is important. Your brother may be in trouble. And, once you have done that perhaps you will come over here and we’ll have dinner together?”
Before there could be any remonstration, she added, “See you soon, sweets.”
"These phones drive me crazy," said Penny's voice. Madeline had to agree with her, though she was fairly certain, as certain for someone who was not that savvy on technology but knew her way around the Internet, that Penny's phone was defective. She really should send it back to the manufacturer, though Penny insisted it was fine and everything was the cell phone companies’ fault.
"What am I a going to do about Joan," asked her daughter.
Madeline realized telling her it would blow over long before Penny forgot about it, would be pointless because her daughter would not hear those words. When her mind was wrapped around something, it held on like a powerful vacuum. Unlike Madeline's husband who at the slightest provocation would leap full force to take care of his little girl, upsetting her even more, Madeline knew to just let Penny get it out of her system.
But at this moment, Madeline had her own worries, "Penny, I don't mean to change the subject (though she did), but have you heard from your brother today?"
"Nope. Not even email. But, Mom should I call Joan back and try to apologize? I can't really explain because it would make it worse." Yes, there was that famous one-track mind.
Madeline stopped her before Penny could answer her own question, “No, I am sure she will be fine. Seriously, I have not heard from Rog and he spends every Monday over here. He has not called or answered my email today.” Maybe Penny could drive over to Rog and Joan’s, make amends with Joan or at least find out what had happened to Rog. She was sure there was a good explanation. She mentioned her idea to the phone and there was that pause. It was as if the phone was a mediator.
“Fine Mom, you want me to go over there and apologize to Joan to her face, and ask ‘oh, by the way, where is that pesky brother of mine?’ I am sure she will be thrilled to see me.” Madeline recognized the tone in Penny’s voice. It was both sarcastic and meant to bring about guilt for suggesting such a thing. But truly, there were greater things happening here, like her son’s disappearance.
With a mother’s grace, she said back to the phone, “That’s right, Penny. Yes, I do think it would be a good idea to get this bad blood out of the way, and it really is important. Your brother may be in trouble. And, once you have done that perhaps you will come over here and we’ll have dinner together?”
Before there could be any remonstration, she added, “See you soon, sweets.”
Madeline Makes a Phone Call
Madeline was surprised at the speed in which Penny answered the phone. She was well aware of her daughter's hatred for such devices, but there were just some things in life one had to deal with, like it or not. The telephone was one of those things and Madeline refused to feel guilty about forcing her daughter to do things she hated. Communication was important.
___________________________
Sent by Anon Rosso via the free Email Scheduler service.
Register now at http://www.emailschedule.com
"Hello," Penny answered in an almost sigh-sounding way.
"Penny, what's wrong?" Her mother asked, expecting a tirade of problems. She was only slightly disappointed.
"Apparently I said the wrong thing to Joan just now. Either the phone cut off or she hung up on me. I thought you were her calling back." Madeline smiled to herself. It would be like Joan to hang up and then call back seconds later in a quick guise of apology, but in reality was to continue the fight, or the fight Joan thought they were having.
Madeline sat down on the edge of the sofa chair, "Well, it would not be hard to offend Joan. Did you tell her she was pretty but she wanted to hear that she was gorgeous?" Yes, this had happened. Sigh.
"No Mom, I really did it this time. For once I think she may deserve her anger," Penny said in an unusually humble-voice. Penny might be an eighty-year-old grump in a young woman's body, but she was honest.
"She told me she was going crazy with all the wedding business, and I asked her if she and Rog had decided to not get married."
Madeline laughed, more out of nervousness of what the rest of the story might be, "You didn't?"
"I did, Mom. And that's not all." Madeline knew it, "I just went on talking, telling her how glad we were of this choice."
"Oh no. Oh, Penny, what possessed you to say such a thing?"
There was a pause, not the kind that upset Joan so much, but the kind that screamed of self-degradation, "I don't know. It just seems like Rog is so unhappy that I had hoped something good would happen in that relationship."
"Like him dumping her?"
"No, I just wish they would take more time and really know what they are getting into." And though Madeline tried to stop herself, she heard the words escaping the prison of her mind and flowing freely into the world of the hearing. Penny probably knew this speech by heart. It was the one about how Penny should not doom everyone else's marriage just because hers did not go as well as she would have liked. Penny was just processing everyone's information with her divorcee filter and that was not fair to everyone else.
Again the pause on the other line. Had Penny hung up?
"Penny, are you there?"
___________________________
Sent by Anon Rosso via the free Email Scheduler service.
Register now at http://www.emailschedule.com
Sunday, August 26, 2007
An Anti-environmental Rant
And that was it. There was no mention of Joan anywhere in the email, just Madeline's ever-present art ramblings. That was it, that was all Rog's mother ever thought about - Art, Art, Art. She was probably planning to give them a painting as a wedding gift, too. How conventional, Joan thought. Other newly weds would get down payments for a house and financially viable gifts from their parents. But no, not from Rog's mother.
Heck, her own parents probably would not provide a decent gift, either. They would think that paying for the wedding would be enough, provided they even did that. They were a bit fanatical when it came to their ideas about how things should be. Environmentalist to the core, their idea of a wedding present might be an ecco-friendly compost toliet.
The one care package she had received from them, before she had moved in with Rog, was a box of "green" toilet paper (what, they had stopped using leaves for this?), bland granola (ah memories of childhood), and a book on recycling opportunities. And even worse, Rog thought all this was just fine. He had insisted on using the toilet paper, replacing the soft name brand with the harsh and barely-sufficient that she had never used when alone. There was even mention of switching over to the more environmentally sound products. She had wanted to run screaming from the house, and only thoughts of their neighbor watching with slow interest stopped her. Was not giving up food products from any living creature enough?
If Madeline actually gave them a painting, she was sure this would be treasured by Rog. He liked his mother's painting and encouraged her to paint more. In fact Rog supported and believed in all the females in his life, even the mean-spirited Penny. Perhaps he should have been born to her parents, he seemed to be very non-materialistically minded. All he wanted to do was read, drink coffee, and "talk" about meaningful things. That meant things like feelings, opinions, and such.
But before her mind could continue its persnickety rant, her instant messenger pinged on.
"Joan - stop being negative. Zuleese says this is not good. Rainey."
Heck, her own parents probably would not provide a decent gift, either. They would think that paying for the wedding would be enough, provided they even did that. They were a bit fanatical when it came to their ideas about how things should be. Environmentalist to the core, their idea of a wedding present might be an ecco-friendly compost toliet.
The one care package she had received from them, before she had moved in with Rog, was a box of "green" toilet paper (what, they had stopped using leaves for this?), bland granola (ah memories of childhood), and a book on recycling opportunities. And even worse, Rog thought all this was just fine. He had insisted on using the toilet paper, replacing the soft name brand with the harsh and barely-sufficient that she had never used when alone. There was even mention of switching over to the more environmentally sound products. She had wanted to run screaming from the house, and only thoughts of their neighbor watching with slow interest stopped her. Was not giving up food products from any living creature enough?
If Madeline actually gave them a painting, she was sure this would be treasured by Rog. He liked his mother's painting and encouraged her to paint more. In fact Rog supported and believed in all the females in his life, even the mean-spirited Penny. Perhaps he should have been born to her parents, he seemed to be very non-materialistically minded. All he wanted to do was read, drink coffee, and "talk" about meaningful things. That meant things like feelings, opinions, and such.
But before her mind could continue its persnickety rant, her instant messenger pinged on.
"Joan - stop being negative. Zuleese says this is not good. Rainey."
Saturday, August 25, 2007
It's All About Roanoke
I found that gallery I always talk about, Studios on the Square, on-line at Merchant's Circle today. What memories it brought back. It's in Roanoke, Virginia in the downtown area. This gallery has a wonderful exhibition space and shows some pretty decent up-and-coming artists. That's where I bought that beautiful red, beaded necklace, the one I always wear to my own art openings when I wear the proverbial black dress. I bought it from a nice little girl whose dad had rented her individual space if she went through with his desires for her to attend Hollins University (though I guess it was still Hollins College in those days). Wonder what happened to her? Maybe she is still there.
Whenever I think about Studio's on the Square, I think about what is like to feel the excitement of finding a new venue and the potential of being an artist. You know, it is that feeling of competition (only slightly) and inspiration. Actually, come to think of it, it is my favorite business. It helps many artists make their way in the world because there is so much opportunity for artistic participation there.
Perhaps we should make a return visit? Have you ever been there?
My other two favorite businesses in Roanoke are also listed:
But I do digress a bit. I am thinking about listing my business with Merchant's Circle. It is a wonderful resource and directory. I can even do an on-line newsletter and the site will automatically send it to my client-base. As you would say - sweet. I can even create a network of artists by linking to them. I had never thought about doing this before, but on this directory you can offer coupons and deals for your business. It seems like a good idea. Everyone likes a deal.
The best part of this is that it is free to be listed there!
What are your thoughts on this?
Whenever I think about Studio's on the Square, I think about what is like to feel the excitement of finding a new venue and the potential of being an artist. You know, it is that feeling of competition (only slightly) and inspiration. Actually, come to think of it, it is my favorite business. It helps many artists make their way in the world because there is so much opportunity for artistic participation there.
Perhaps we should make a return visit? Have you ever been there?
My other two favorite businesses in Roanoke are also listed:
But I do digress a bit. I am thinking about listing my business with Merchant's Circle. It is a wonderful resource and directory. I can even do an on-line newsletter and the site will automatically send it to my client-base. As you would say - sweet. I can even create a network of artists by linking to them. I had never thought about doing this before, but on this directory you can offer coupons and deals for your business. It seems like a good idea. Everyone likes a deal.
The best part of this is that it is free to be listed there!
What are your thoughts on this?
Friday, August 24, 2007
Does email hold the truth?
When the pause became too much, Joan abruptly said in a halting voice, "Never mind, Penny, I gotta go. See ya." Then Joan pushed the disconnect button on the phone. She thought there was a chance maybe before she had hit the hang-up button that Penny had protested her closure. She hoped so. For a few moments, she actually pathetically sat in silence (ecept for the noise next door) and waited for Penny to call back.
It did not happen and slow tears rolled down Joan's face with abandon. Her nose was beginning to run and she could feel herself turning into a basket case.
As she reached for a tissue, she thought to herself, "That's okay, Joan. You don't need her."
The truth was, she felt like she did. She needed something, but perhaps it was not the self-absorbed-in-artist-sullenness of Rog's sister. Perhaps she should talk to Zuleese. Maybe the Universe would have a good answer to how to plan her wedding. It was an important day after all.
She decided to put herself back together and email Rainey for an appointment with the Ancient.
As she cliked open her email there was a message for Rog. It was his mother's daily missive. Normally Joan would not read Rog's email, but today she was not feelling so generous to the privacy Gods. Maybe Rog's family really did not like her. Maybe there would be a clue in the email. And anyway, Rog had always told Joan he had nothing to hide from her. She clicked on it and began to read.
"Dear Rog..."
It did not happen and slow tears rolled down Joan's face with abandon. Her nose was beginning to run and she could feel herself turning into a basket case.
As she reached for a tissue, she thought to herself, "That's okay, Joan. You don't need her."
The truth was, she felt like she did. She needed something, but perhaps it was not the self-absorbed-in-artist-sullenness of Rog's sister. Perhaps she should talk to Zuleese. Maybe the Universe would have a good answer to how to plan her wedding. It was an important day after all.
She decided to put herself back together and email Rainey for an appointment with the Ancient.
As she cliked open her email there was a message for Rog. It was his mother's daily missive. Normally Joan would not read Rog's email, but today she was not feelling so generous to the privacy Gods. Maybe Rog's family really did not like her. Maybe there would be a clue in the email. And anyway, Rog had always told Joan he had nothing to hide from her. She clicked on it and began to read.
"Dear Rog..."
Penny Nails It
"Penny, I am all freaked out about this wedding," Joan said into the phone.
There was a pause on the other end, so pregnant that Joan thought something was about to be birthed and was not sure she wanted any part of it.
The words that followed were like little poison arrows into her mind, "Ah, so you and Rog have decided to hold off or wait awhile on the whole wedding thing." Joan was stunned. The arrows hit their mark. Why would Penny think that she would call off the wedding?
Before she could reply, the now-very friendly voice on the other line was said more, "Oh, Joan, thank goodness you two have come to your senses. This whole wedding thing was just crazy."
And though Joan felt her heart sinking, tears beginning a threatening voyage down her cheeks, she tried to match the original pregnant pause, hoping it indicated to Penny an error of judgment in the conversation mode.
Nothing. No sound was coming from Penny's end now. Perhaps Joan had gotten her point across or perhaps the phone had just gone dead as cell phone inevitably do.
Taking a deep breath, "No, no. That's not it at all. The wedding is still on. Why would you think it wouldn't be? Has Rog said something? Penny, what has he told you?" Too late, the hysterics were full volume in her head.
Another well executed pregnant pause followed. "I see."
No apology. Nothing. Whenever Joan heard the phrase, "I see," she always thought of the play The Diary of Anne Frank. At one point Anne learns that she and the others will not be leaving the attic anytime soon and her response is "I see." Joan had played this role only two years ago at her high school and had never felt like she really understood that line. But now she did. Penny had nailed it.
There was a pause on the other end, so pregnant that Joan thought something was about to be birthed and was not sure she wanted any part of it.
The words that followed were like little poison arrows into her mind, "Ah, so you and Rog have decided to hold off or wait awhile on the whole wedding thing." Joan was stunned. The arrows hit their mark. Why would Penny think that she would call off the wedding?
Before she could reply, the now-very friendly voice on the other line was said more, "Oh, Joan, thank goodness you two have come to your senses. This whole wedding thing was just crazy."
And though Joan felt her heart sinking, tears beginning a threatening voyage down her cheeks, she tried to match the original pregnant pause, hoping it indicated to Penny an error of judgment in the conversation mode.
Nothing. No sound was coming from Penny's end now. Perhaps Joan had gotten her point across or perhaps the phone had just gone dead as cell phone inevitably do.
Taking a deep breath, "No, no. That's not it at all. The wedding is still on. Why would you think it wouldn't be? Has Rog said something? Penny, what has he told you?" Too late, the hysterics were full volume in her head.
Another well executed pregnant pause followed. "I see."
No apology. Nothing. Whenever Joan heard the phrase, "I see," she always thought of the play The Diary of Anne Frank. At one point Anne learns that she and the others will not be leaving the attic anytime soon and her response is "I see." Joan had played this role only two years ago at her high school and had never felt like she really understood that line. But now she did. Penny had nailed it.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Joan's Minor Sin
She could hear the desperation in her own voice and noticed how miffed Penny sounded, but Joan plodded along, collision course or not, she needed help. She needed resolution about the wedding and soon otherwise, she thought she might just loose her mind. Why, why, she might even just have to eat a piece of meat. She refused to think about it being animal flesh for just this moment. Instead, she thought of juicy, mouth-watering burgers and how long it had been since she actually had one. The memory flooded her taste buds and the salivation process began.
Then distaste settled in and she felt terribly guilty for even thinking about the notion. No, she had promised Zuleese that she would live a vegan life style. Oh, gosh, what if Zuleese found about her momentary lapse? Could she? No, of course not, not unless she was a mind reader, too, and that certainly was not out of the realm of possibilities. She was an Ancient after all and she did have the wisdom. If it was wrong to eat anything that had to do with living creatures, just thinking about it, desiring it, wanting it so bad that the mouth watered, that probably was a minor sin. There were no minor sins. Thinking was being and being was doing.
Perhaps she should call Rainey as opposed to Penny and maybe even admit to Rainey the whole burger lust incident. But Penny, despite her occasional crankiness was a lot less scary than Rainey and Rainey might never let her speak to Zuleese again. Joan liked Zuleese. She felt as if Zuleese were a grandmother she had never known. She was kind and wise, accepting and positive, holding out hope for humanity. She would be okay to talk to, though Joan feared this soul she revered might grow tired of the childish way Joan was insisting on handling the wedding.
And Joan needed a friend right now, someone with whom she could be girly, if not a tad materialistic-minded. Rainey was not exactly a friend; she was more of an advisor and the opposite of Zuleese. Rainey was human, Zuleese was not.
Then distaste settled in and she felt terribly guilty for even thinking about the notion. No, she had promised Zuleese that she would live a vegan life style. Oh, gosh, what if Zuleese found about her momentary lapse? Could she? No, of course not, not unless she was a mind reader, too, and that certainly was not out of the realm of possibilities. She was an Ancient after all and she did have the wisdom. If it was wrong to eat anything that had to do with living creatures, just thinking about it, desiring it, wanting it so bad that the mouth watered, that probably was a minor sin. There were no minor sins. Thinking was being and being was doing.
Perhaps she should call Rainey as opposed to Penny and maybe even admit to Rainey the whole burger lust incident. But Penny, despite her occasional crankiness was a lot less scary than Rainey and Rainey might never let her speak to Zuleese again. Joan liked Zuleese. She felt as if Zuleese were a grandmother she had never known. She was kind and wise, accepting and positive, holding out hope for humanity. She would be okay to talk to, though Joan feared this soul she revered might grow tired of the childish way Joan was insisting on handling the wedding.
And Joan needed a friend right now, someone with whom she could be girly, if not a tad materialistic-minded. Rainey was not exactly a friend; she was more of an advisor and the opposite of Zuleese. Rainey was human, Zuleese was not.
And the Trouble Begins
"Penneeeeeeey," wailed the tin-sounding voice on the side of the phone. It was both grating and hollow at the same time. What now, wondered Penny, hoping any semblance of patience would hold out at least for another moment or two. One might say that patience was not Penny's strength, but sometimes she did try.
"This wedding planning is soooo hard," moaned the phone. Penny remembered this well. Her own wedding had been a major production, but in a fun sort of way - well maybe in between the pre-wedding meltdowns. How many times had she walked into various florist shops only to turn, fleeing back to the car, where she sobbed uncontrollable for what seemed an eternity? What a strange thing. It was much like feeling completely empty and alone, but knowing this was probably the one time when she should truly be happy. Instead, she felt manipulated by the vultures of the wedding industry. Just add a few zeros to the end of the price if you were getting married. Gosh, she was having trouble breathing even thinking back on it.
Penny often wondered if there was not some psychological thing about society willing to pay exorbitant prices for a wedding in hopes that the more money flung at the event, it might have a direct correlation with the time spent in the marriage before divorce set in. Wow. When had she gotten so cynical?
And for a moment, an important moment, Penny felt extreme empathy for Joan having to go through this process. The girl was here all by herself after all. No friends or family around to help, just Madeline and her. How awful to go this road alone.
Her voice softened a bit, “Yes Joan?”
"This wedding planning is soooo hard," moaned the phone. Penny remembered this well. Her own wedding had been a major production, but in a fun sort of way - well maybe in between the pre-wedding meltdowns. How many times had she walked into various florist shops only to turn, fleeing back to the car, where she sobbed uncontrollable for what seemed an eternity? What a strange thing. It was much like feeling completely empty and alone, but knowing this was probably the one time when she should truly be happy. Instead, she felt manipulated by the vultures of the wedding industry. Just add a few zeros to the end of the price if you were getting married. Gosh, she was having trouble breathing even thinking back on it.
Penny often wondered if there was not some psychological thing about society willing to pay exorbitant prices for a wedding in hopes that the more money flung at the event, it might have a direct correlation with the time spent in the marriage before divorce set in. Wow. When had she gotten so cynical?
And for a moment, an important moment, Penny felt extreme empathy for Joan having to go through this process. The girl was here all by herself after all. No friends or family around to help, just Madeline and her. How awful to go this road alone.
Her voice softened a bit, “Yes Joan?”
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Thing About Graphic Design
But before she could look any farther into cosmopolitan bliss, her cell phone hummed away, moving across the desk in its vibrations. Picking it up hesitantly, never being a big fan of the phone in general, she was not surprised to see it was Joan. She was probably wanting to make yet another change to her wedding program. What a pain. They, who ever they may be, were right. It really does not pay to help friends and family out by offering them one's free design services. These inevitably turned out bad. Heck, half the time, doing the drivel that clients wanted was bad, too. But that did pay, so it was not as bad. It was the lack of vision on their part that got to her. Just once, she would love to do something brilliant that would stand out, be a hallmark, and heck, win an Addy. That was the sad thing about art school. They gave you wonderful projects to work on like creating posters for the local opera company and hip environmental companies. These projects rarely seemed to come to light in post-college days, probably because all the college kids were doing the fun stuff for free. Penny had had enough, though. Bad marriage. Bad career, both had been monstrously disappointing. But, maybe that would change with this new start. All her talents would be useful in creating the new person she was about to become, provided she could let go of these silly fears like fire.
Flipping open the phone, she dismissed the pleasant hellos and opted for: “What, Joan?”
Flipping open the phone, she dismissed the pleasant hellos and opted for: “What, Joan?”
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Her Fab Life
Her Fab life. Yes, anyone can have a fab life, Penny thought, even she. Here was a new web community for the movers and shakers, the up and coming, even the I-have-arrived female. And what a relief, it was all about urban culture, not soccer games, and how to raise your children just a bit better. No, this site had the newest fashions, restaurants, hot spots, shops, and spas that a young urbanite could frequent. These were the places that would be destined to become trendy, but she could be part of the trend setting. Spas, now that would be nice. A decent massage and pedicure might make the difference of the day being another day in the many or a brilliant day. She could reviews to help her find a spa with a cool restaurant nearby and then head out to some wonderfully cultural event afterwards. And this would help her avoid the all name, no substance places out there. And she could do it by herself, after all that what the successful in happiness women did. They just went out and did, waiting for no invitations to do so. Yes, she could be this type of person and now she had the web site to help guide her. Perhaps she would gain a network of friends. Perhaps she would become the expert on the nouveau of the town, contributing her own reviews and ideas.
Ha! HerFabLife.com was also into equality or fairness. There was even a menu option for this hip guy of a fab girl (clearing her throat, woman) to enjoy, just making a truly fabulous couple. Nice, thought Penny. Perhaps if she met a guy like those on "Hot Guy of the Week," she too could be part of a fabulous couple, or not. Maybe she would soon love the idea of freedom.
Ha! HerFabLife.com was also into equality or fairness. There was even a menu option for this hip guy of a fab girl (clearing her throat, woman) to enjoy, just making a truly fabulous couple. Nice, thought Penny. Perhaps if she met a guy like those on "Hot Guy of the Week," she too could be part of a fabulous couple, or not. Maybe she would soon love the idea of freedom.
Penny Gets a Message
When Penny looked out the peephole, her eyes only saw air and hallway. Yet, the buzzing sound was still very prevalent in her reality. Opening the door, she expected to find a mysterious package left by some sinister villain. Perhaps it would be the beginning of a long tiresome adventure or perhaps it was a ticking bomb.
But to a faint feeling of disappointment, there was no bomb, no package, nothing, but the noise of that soul-grating sound. Closing the door, she decided that the noise could not be ignored, which was her preferred method of handling annoyances..
Focusing on the sound, she tried to follow it, moving through the tiny room in silent concentration. And then she found it. The noise seemed to be coming from her laptop. Hitting one of the keys to awaken the sleepy but noisy computer, stopping its hypnotic lure of abstract colors, an instant message popped up.
Squinting at the screen, she looked curiously at this form of communication. Someone, some guy, wanted to know if she wanted to chat. Looking carefully at the settings, she realized she had left her “in” status on from the morning’s client chat. Someone had seen it “on” and decided to connect. How annoying. What sort of person would keep hitting the buzzer to catcher her attention? Apparent John2775 would.
“Hi. Wanna chat,” the message read. No, thought Penny, who abruptly changed her status to “busy” and began instead to check her email.
There was her mother’s daily missive. One might think that they lived far away, but really these emails had more to do with her mother’s discovery of the joy of computers. And being a loyal daughter, Penny always read these, often following the links her mother thought she might enjoy. Before the discovery of the computer, her mother would send press clippings. Penny preferred the email links, and diligently followed this one.
But to a faint feeling of disappointment, there was no bomb, no package, nothing, but the noise of that soul-grating sound. Closing the door, she decided that the noise could not be ignored, which was her preferred method of handling annoyances..
Focusing on the sound, she tried to follow it, moving through the tiny room in silent concentration. And then she found it. The noise seemed to be coming from her laptop. Hitting one of the keys to awaken the sleepy but noisy computer, stopping its hypnotic lure of abstract colors, an instant message popped up.
Squinting at the screen, she looked curiously at this form of communication. Someone, some guy, wanted to know if she wanted to chat. Looking carefully at the settings, she realized she had left her “in” status on from the morning’s client chat. Someone had seen it “on” and decided to connect. How annoying. What sort of person would keep hitting the buzzer to catcher her attention? Apparent John2775 would.
“Hi. Wanna chat,” the message read. No, thought Penny, who abruptly changed her status to “busy” and began instead to check her email.
There was her mother’s daily missive. One might think that they lived far away, but really these emails had more to do with her mother’s discovery of the joy of computers. And being a loyal daughter, Penny always read these, often following the links her mother thought she might enjoy. Before the discovery of the computer, her mother would send press clippings. Penny preferred the email links, and diligently followed this one.
*** That Buzzing Sound
What was that insipid noise? It was not the phone, fax or doorbell. Wait - was it the doorbell? Maybe she had a doorbell and just did not notice it? Yes, it sounded just like someone thoughtlessly (or if thoughtful, very obnoxiously) placing one’s finger on a buzzer and pressing down on it in long bouts.
How strange that Penny had not thought she had a doorbell, but then again no one had really visited her except for Rog, who had his own key (safety reasons and all).
Hesitantly, she went to the door. It was only a few paces. It really did not sound like the noise was from that direction, but she was not one with a sense of great hearing distinction.
A thousand thoughts ran through her mind before she actually looked out the peephole. She began to wonder who even had her address. Maybe it was her mother really surprising her. Maybe it was her birthday. Had she forgotten her own birthday? No, she was fairly sure it had just been a month or two ago, remembering the feel of the artificial smile of graciousness she had worn through out the dinner party her mother had given her. It would have been better if they had just bought her a really good bottle of zinfandel and let her be alone, but alas, meaning well, they insisted she be social. And her mother had taken pains to make her favorite meal, fillet of beef with a blue cheese topping. It probably had a wonderful French sounding name but, she could not think of it.
How strange that Penny had not thought she had a doorbell, but then again no one had really visited her except for Rog, who had his own key (safety reasons and all).
Hesitantly, she went to the door. It was only a few paces. It really did not sound like the noise was from that direction, but she was not one with a sense of great hearing distinction.
A thousand thoughts ran through her mind before she actually looked out the peephole. She began to wonder who even had her address. Maybe it was her mother really surprising her. Maybe it was her birthday. Had she forgotten her own birthday? No, she was fairly sure it had just been a month or two ago, remembering the feel of the artificial smile of graciousness she had worn through out the dinner party her mother had given her. It would have been better if they had just bought her a really good bottle of zinfandel and let her be alone, but alas, meaning well, they insisted she be social. And her mother had taken pains to make her favorite meal, fillet of beef with a blue cheese topping. It probably had a wonderful French sounding name but, she could not think of it.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Rog Has Second Thoughts
It was perfect. Almost. As he scrolled through the forum, it occurred to him that he was in a public place. And what on earth? The site was not blocked? How strange to be seeing this at a library. Luckily no one was paying attention to his browsing. God forbid that one of his mother's friends might see this. How surprised she would be to hear that her perfect son was looking at porn on the Internet. But it was not really porn, he justified, just the means to profit from keeping people company. No harm in that. Just the same, he wrote down the URL and tucked it into his wallet, quickly switched to his Gmail account.
His mind swam with potential scenarios as he scrolled through spam, his mother's daily email, and the various people he really had no desire to talk with anymore.
He found himself to be extremely conflicted about the idea of becoming an escort. It was not the sort of thing one could tell people, was it? What would one say when one asked in the beginning intonation of acquaintancehood to "What do you do?"
"Why, I am a male escort. And you?" And that was really sad. Why should someone be ashamed of how they make money?
Wait.
Would he feel ashamed, after all he was pretty sure an escort had to work hard to be good in the profession? No, he would not feel ashamed, but those not so opened minded in his life might. Having a husband who is a escort probably would not thrill Joan. But still...
Think, he told himself. Think. What else could an eighteen year-old, just out of school do to bring in a good salary. Lots of things, he was sure, most of which he was not so inclined to do. Hard labor seemed awfully back breaking. The problem was, he was the type of person who had grown up assuming college was in his future. He had thought about majoring in English, becoming an English teacher and writing poetry on the side. But that dream was pretty much gone when he slept with Joan.
If only he could join the military...
His mind swam with potential scenarios as he scrolled through spam, his mother's daily email, and the various people he really had no desire to talk with anymore.
He found himself to be extremely conflicted about the idea of becoming an escort. It was not the sort of thing one could tell people, was it? What would one say when one asked in the beginning intonation of acquaintancehood to "What do you do?"
"Why, I am a male escort. And you?" And that was really sad. Why should someone be ashamed of how they make money?
Wait.
Would he feel ashamed, after all he was pretty sure an escort had to work hard to be good in the profession? No, he would not feel ashamed, but those not so opened minded in his life might. Having a husband who is a escort probably would not thrill Joan. But still...
Think, he told himself. Think. What else could an eighteen year-old, just out of school do to bring in a good salary. Lots of things, he was sure, most of which he was not so inclined to do. Hard labor seemed awfully back breaking. The problem was, he was the type of person who had grown up assuming college was in his future. He had thought about majoring in English, becoming an English teacher and writing poetry on the side. But that dream was pretty much gone when he slept with Joan.
If only he could join the military...
To Be a Professional Escort
There it was before him, lit up on the computer screen, left by the user who had just been there. He could be a professional escort. The site was Escort Forum and it seemed to have all sorts of information on the escort business from legalities, reviews, industry news (INDUSTRY NEWS!) - everything someone would need to get into the business. It looked like the kind of forum where current professionals could meet and, shall we say, get more comfortable. He could met others in the profession, and it had a wide area of cities it covered, even near home. Perfect!
He continued looking at the site and discovered the creator's blog, Confessions of a Sexy Professional Escort. Amazing. How down to earth, he thought. I could do this. I could be an escort.
At the very least, the forum mentioned escort hobbyiest. Perhaps this would be a lucrative and enjoyable hobby?
He continued looking at the site and discovered the creator's blog, Confessions of a Sexy Professional Escort. Amazing. How down to earth, he thought. I could do this. I could be an escort.
At the very least, the forum mentioned escort hobbyiest. Perhaps this would be a lucrative and enjoyable hobby?
Where is Rog?
Rog sat, head in hands, feeling like the world was pounding on his head. If he let it in, it would wreck havoc upon his already frayed nerves. Just how long could a person remain down to earth when pulled in a million directions.
What had he been thinking when he asked Joan to marry him? The sarcastic inner voice had an answer, but it was not one Rog cared to hear. If he were inclined to listen, it would have said that he had not been thinking. His hormones had initiated the whole scheme without consulting his better judgement. Being a characteristically nice guy, or so he liked to believe, he had asked Joan to marry him in order to satisfy the hunger that had consumed him after she tortured him teasingly for two hours. No, she would not have sex with anyone unless she was married to that person or at least engaged. And that was that, there on his shag carpeted floor, body throbbing, he had asked her to marry him.
But what girl in her right mind would accept such a proposal. He had not really expected her to take it seriously, even when she had said yes immediately. He figured it would all be forgotten when the hunger was satisfied. That was where he was wrong.
Now she had the idea of diamond. So, he had spent the morning at the mall, looking at engagement rings, personally hating each one he saw. The hatred grew more intense from shop to shop as jewelers made him feel small for not wanting to spend more on this important ring. God, who had ever come up with engagement rings should be shot, he thought. Pave, princess cut, solitaire, it did not matter. They were all so expensive, especially when one had just graduated from high school and was working part-time at a coffee shop.
One jeweler had sneered at the paltry $200 he had been willing to spend.
"Perhaps you might want to consider a CZ stone in a silver setting." At that very moment he was really glad Joan was not here picking out her own ring. She would just die over a comment like that and then he would have maxed out his credit card on something way too expensive.
What was he going to do? How could he support two of them, when he could not even buy a decent ring?
He thought about going to one of the chain restaurants and drinking his sorrow away. That is what they do in all the movies. But he was not "they." He was him and he needed to do something fast.
So, logic prevailed and he headed for the library where he could while away his time on the Internet. Maybe something would come to him.
What had he been thinking when he asked Joan to marry him? The sarcastic inner voice had an answer, but it was not one Rog cared to hear. If he were inclined to listen, it would have said that he had not been thinking. His hormones had initiated the whole scheme without consulting his better judgement. Being a characteristically nice guy, or so he liked to believe, he had asked Joan to marry him in order to satisfy the hunger that had consumed him after she tortured him teasingly for two hours. No, she would not have sex with anyone unless she was married to that person or at least engaged. And that was that, there on his shag carpeted floor, body throbbing, he had asked her to marry him.
But what girl in her right mind would accept such a proposal. He had not really expected her to take it seriously, even when she had said yes immediately. He figured it would all be forgotten when the hunger was satisfied. That was where he was wrong.
Now she had the idea of diamond. So, he had spent the morning at the mall, looking at engagement rings, personally hating each one he saw. The hatred grew more intense from shop to shop as jewelers made him feel small for not wanting to spend more on this important ring. God, who had ever come up with engagement rings should be shot, he thought. Pave, princess cut, solitaire, it did not matter. They were all so expensive, especially when one had just graduated from high school and was working part-time at a coffee shop.
One jeweler had sneered at the paltry $200 he had been willing to spend.
"Perhaps you might want to consider a CZ stone in a silver setting." At that very moment he was really glad Joan was not here picking out her own ring. She would just die over a comment like that and then he would have maxed out his credit card on something way too expensive.
What was he going to do? How could he support two of them, when he could not even buy a decent ring?
He thought about going to one of the chain restaurants and drinking his sorrow away. That is what they do in all the movies. But he was not "they." He was him and he needed to do something fast.
So, logic prevailed and he headed for the library where he could while away his time on the Internet. Maybe something would come to him.
***Introducing Another Important Character
Madeline sat, gazing contentedly at the still-life she had just composed. Maybe still-life was not quite the right word. Maybe composing afternoon tea delights would be more apt. There was something splendid about the squat, rather modern teapot that dominated the raspberries. The cornflower blue of the pot contrasted nicely against their happy reddish color. Hmm, she wondered. Could she really bear to do a quick rendering of this delicious scene without robbing it of one raspberry? Perhaps, just one would not affect too much. There now, not even noticeable, and the sweetness of the berry, eclipsing a tad bit of bitter darkness, pleased her palette far more than a sketch would. Maybe the composition could afford the loss of another sweet element? Yes, yes, it could. Perhaps, even a third? No, no, no, no, No.
Stop it, she told herself. Indulgence can be pleasurable within measure. Out of measure it was down right gluttonous. Anyway, it would not be long before her composition would be dismantled, trespassed upon by unsuspecting fingers reaching for a berry or a cup of tea.
Brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, still black when others her age had long been grey, she began the sketch. The hair fit nicely behind her ear and even stayed…for five seconds. Penny had advised using gel to help it stay back behind her ears, but frankly all Madeline could think of was a greaser type she had known in her youth. Most definitely no gel for her.
She allowed her mind to clear completely and form, line, shape, and texture began to inhabit the whole of her being. She supposed this was a bit like meditating, perhaps even channeling. So focused was she on the textural difference between fruit and porcelain that she did not even realize she was on autopilot, hand moving, eyes gazing, but something else seemed to control the movements of her hand. There was no thought of Rog, not even a sigh in reference to Joan, just pencil upon canvas - scratch, scratch, scratching out what would later in the evening become a vibrant painting.
It was well that she worked diligently, for the natural sunlight on the porch was slowly shifting, changing the shadows. But that was no problem. They were there, captured in the moment on a two-dimensional surface. Madeline was suddenly back from the reverie of aesthetics, and had become aware that a fair amount of time had gone by since she had begun. Feeling the teapot, she was a little surprised to find it now with just a hint of warmth. The sun was dropping indeed.
Where on earth was Rog? He came over every Monday at this time to catch up, do some handy work and enjoy the various treats his mother prepared. Today it was raspberry tarts. Joan would almost approve, accept for the eggs involved. She smiled at this. Perhaps she should call Joan and see what was detaining Rog, but that might seem intrusive to her soon-to-be daughter in law. She also had a feeling Joan did not approve of Rog spending so much time with her, though Rog assured her that was not the case. Since when did a young man in the world of today not have a cell phone? Surely that mentality was reserved for her generation. Until this moment, she had applauded him on his stance against the technological tide that had flooded the world. Now she was just a bit, just a very little bit, irritated.
Perhaps she would call Penny instead. Penny might know to find Rog. So Madeline picked up her cell phone and dialed.
Stop it, she told herself. Indulgence can be pleasurable within measure. Out of measure it was down right gluttonous. Anyway, it would not be long before her composition would be dismantled, trespassed upon by unsuspecting fingers reaching for a berry or a cup of tea.
Brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, still black when others her age had long been grey, she began the sketch. The hair fit nicely behind her ear and even stayed…for five seconds. Penny had advised using gel to help it stay back behind her ears, but frankly all Madeline could think of was a greaser type she had known in her youth. Most definitely no gel for her.
She allowed her mind to clear completely and form, line, shape, and texture began to inhabit the whole of her being. She supposed this was a bit like meditating, perhaps even channeling. So focused was she on the textural difference between fruit and porcelain that she did not even realize she was on autopilot, hand moving, eyes gazing, but something else seemed to control the movements of her hand. There was no thought of Rog, not even a sigh in reference to Joan, just pencil upon canvas - scratch, scratch, scratching out what would later in the evening become a vibrant painting.
It was well that she worked diligently, for the natural sunlight on the porch was slowly shifting, changing the shadows. But that was no problem. They were there, captured in the moment on a two-dimensional surface. Madeline was suddenly back from the reverie of aesthetics, and had become aware that a fair amount of time had gone by since she had begun. Feeling the teapot, she was a little surprised to find it now with just a hint of warmth. The sun was dropping indeed.
Where on earth was Rog? He came over every Monday at this time to catch up, do some handy work and enjoy the various treats his mother prepared. Today it was raspberry tarts. Joan would almost approve, accept for the eggs involved. She smiled at this. Perhaps she should call Joan and see what was detaining Rog, but that might seem intrusive to her soon-to-be daughter in law. She also had a feeling Joan did not approve of Rog spending so much time with her, though Rog assured her that was not the case. Since when did a young man in the world of today not have a cell phone? Surely that mentality was reserved for her generation. Until this moment, she had applauded him on his stance against the technological tide that had flooded the world. Now she was just a bit, just a very little bit, irritated.
Perhaps she would call Penny instead. Penny might know to find Rog. So Madeline picked up her cell phone and dialed.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Penny Potboiler Disclosure Policy
This policy is valid from 21 August 2007
This blog is a personal blog written and edited by me. For questions about this blog, please contact anon.rosso@gmail.com.
This blog accepts forms of cash advertising, sponsorship, paid insertions or other forms of compensation.
The compensation received may influence the advertising content, topics or posts made in this blog. That content, advertising space or post may not always be identified as paid or sponsored content.
The owner(s) of this blog is compensated to provide opinion on products, services, websites and various other topics. Even though the owner(s) of this blog receives compensation for our posts or advertisements, we always give our honest opinions, findings, beliefs, or experiences on those topics or products. The views and opinions expressed on this blog are purely the bloggers' own. Any product claim, statistic, quote or other representation about a product or service should be verified with the manufacturer, provider or party in question.
This blog does not contain any content which might present a conflict of interest.
To get your own policy, go to http://www.disclosurepolicy.org.
This blog is a personal blog written and edited by me. For questions about this blog, please contact anon.rosso@gmail.com.
This blog accepts forms of cash advertising, sponsorship, paid insertions or other forms of compensation.
The compensation received may influence the advertising content, topics or posts made in this blog. That content, advertising space or post may not always be identified as paid or sponsored content.
The owner(s) of this blog is compensated to provide opinion on products, services, websites and various other topics. Even though the owner(s) of this blog receives compensation for our posts or advertisements, we always give our honest opinions, findings, beliefs, or experiences on those topics or products. The views and opinions expressed on this blog are purely the bloggers' own. Any product claim, statistic, quote or other representation about a product or service should be verified with the manufacturer, provider or party in question.
This blog does not contain any content which might present a conflict of interest.
To get your own policy, go to http://www.disclosurepolicy.org.
Back to Our Story
But Joan knew Penny would tell her to stop being so narcissistic, that there were bigger fish to catch. Frying would be out of the question. Joan was a Vegan, which of course only brought more problems to the proverbial wedding table. Would the menu be totally Vegan, her chance once and for all to force her taste upon unsuspecting loved ones. If they could only try it, she thought. How surprised her mother would be when she told her that there would be no prime rib, eloquent quail, or even a perfect meringue on what? What did meringue go on anyway other than on lemon pie and lemon pie would not with her strawberry wedding cake?
Oh, what is the point, her mind asked? Not longer able to sit, she had begun pacing the carpeted floor. Her sock-covered feet almost blended into the shaggy carpet.
Maybe she should call Penny. Penny would come up with a creative solution. Heck, maybe, if she played her cards right, Penny would even coordinate the whole wedding. Then again, she was not much of a card player, preferring the challenge of a solitary crossword puzzle. Penny had know Rog longer, being that she was his older sister. If Joan put the whole thing in Penny's lap ,at least she, Joan, little miss-interrupt-everyone's-life, would not be responsible for the outcome. She could blame it all on her future sister-in-law. Heck, Penny might be thrilled to have more in her life then the current quest to find herself - yet again. Was every thirty-something female so introspective?
Penny had already agreed to design the programs, the place cards, and anything else that required pretty words in type. It only made sense to allow her to have complete artistic control. Was not that what Penny always complained about? Not having complete creative freedom to show her brilliance, that was if there was anything brilliant to graphic design. For all Joan knew, one could get the same results on her mother's old word processor. That had three type faces, fonts Penny would correct her, in which to choose.
Yes, that was it, she would call Penny and give her the honor of coordinating her dream wedding. Penny would be thrilled! Now, where was that cellphone? It had to be somewhere under all the bride magazines and catalogs.
Oh, what is the point, her mind asked? Not longer able to sit, she had begun pacing the carpeted floor. Her sock-covered feet almost blended into the shaggy carpet.
Maybe she should call Penny. Penny would come up with a creative solution. Heck, maybe, if she played her cards right, Penny would even coordinate the whole wedding. Then again, she was not much of a card player, preferring the challenge of a solitary crossword puzzle. Penny had know Rog longer, being that she was his older sister. If Joan put the whole thing in Penny's lap ,at least she, Joan, little miss-interrupt-everyone's-life, would not be responsible for the outcome. She could blame it all on her future sister-in-law. Heck, Penny might be thrilled to have more in her life then the current quest to find herself - yet again. Was every thirty-something female so introspective?
Penny had already agreed to design the programs, the place cards, and anything else that required pretty words in type. It only made sense to allow her to have complete artistic control. Was not that what Penny always complained about? Not having complete creative freedom to show her brilliance, that was if there was anything brilliant to graphic design. For all Joan knew, one could get the same results on her mother's old word processor. That had three type faces, fonts Penny would correct her, in which to choose.
Yes, that was it, she would call Penny and give her the honor of coordinating her dream wedding. Penny would be thrilled! Now, where was that cellphone? It had to be somewhere under all the bride magazines and catalogs.
We Now Intrupt This Story...
....to beg you to vote for Penny on Blogroll.net. We need your help to keep our protagonist going. She is a bit neurotic and looks for approval anywhere she can get it. Show her the love. Just click the logo below and vote for her. You will have our most humble appreciation...until we need something else.
Wedding Favors
But there were some things Joan liked about the wedding process, even if she would not mention it to others. For instance she like the little details such as what she would give her guests as wedding favors. That is why she chose to get these from Little Things Wedding Favors. They seemed to understand the modern bride and offered unique options. If her father decided to be stubborn and not pay for the 200 silver bells with the little heart charm that dangled delicately down, a reminder to all that true love is real, then she herself could afford several other options. Perhaps the crystal roses by Kate Austin? They offered a wide variety of wedding favors of which to choose, taking a huge burden away from Joan. Anyway her father would probably come around when he realized the silver bells also doubled as place setting holders. Pretty and functional. You could not beat that.
And thank goodness it could all be arranged online. No need to be cheerful, just down to business and straight forward. Plus, if one were to over $50 or more on the site and enter "grandopening" into the coupon code area, one could get 10% off the order. Sweet.
Even sweeter was the fact that in the 48 states of the Union, they offered free shipping. The also shipped to Canada, a good thing because there was the possibility of having the wedding in her hometown of Brampton, Ontario.
As Joan stopped chewing on her lip,she began to visualize her place settings. Elegant. Simple. Very white. Perhaps the crystal roses would be a nice element rather than the bells? She wondered what Penny would think about all this.
And thank goodness it could all be arranged online. No need to be cheerful, just down to business and straight forward. Plus, if one were to over $50 or more on the site and enter "grandopening" into the coupon code area, one could get 10% off the order. Sweet.
Even sweeter was the fact that in the 48 states of the Union, they offered free shipping. The also shipped to Canada, a good thing because there was the possibility of having the wedding in her hometown of Brampton, Ontario.
As Joan stopped chewing on her lip,she began to visualize her place settings. Elegant. Simple. Very white. Perhaps the crystal roses would be a nice element rather than the bells? She wondered what Penny would think about all this.
*** The Introduction of a Supporting Character
Joan sat on the edge of her chair, trying to be still, and yet not completely able to achieve even the slightest variation on the theme of tranquility. Her foot tapped out a rhythm to the faint music coming from her neighbor's car stereo. How nice of them to share, she though in sarcastic commentary. Every day at this time it was the same thing, a ritual of suburban destruction. Her neighbor would lumber into the yard next door, beer swilling (and not even good beer for that matter), open the hood of some yet to be distinguished hunk of metal. Rog said it was a collector car, but all Joan could see was junk on blocks that only heighten the sense that her land values were slinking slowly downward. Even her border flowers could not spruce up this monstrosity.
Absently, she chewed on her lip, a small nervous habit she had developed recently and of which she was totally unaware. Every morning she awoke, wondering why her lips looked mangled and the imprint of her teeth showed through any semblance of lipstick she wore. This would never do for a bride to be. Eventually Rog would notice and probably find those lips that he had once loved to caress with his own, hideous and grotesque. Maybe he would call off the engagement.
Oddly panic did not come with this thought. It would almost be a relief to not have to worry about the various contrivances of the wedding process. No more decisions, no more worry if her parents would approve of this color or if Rog's parents would mind sitting there. No more having to be creative in who she would invite and who she would not.
Absently, she chewed on her lip, a small nervous habit she had developed recently and of which she was totally unaware. Every morning she awoke, wondering why her lips looked mangled and the imprint of her teeth showed through any semblance of lipstick she wore. This would never do for a bride to be. Eventually Rog would notice and probably find those lips that he had once loved to caress with his own, hideous and grotesque. Maybe he would call off the engagement.
Oddly panic did not come with this thought. It would almost be a relief to not have to worry about the various contrivances of the wedding process. No more decisions, no more worry if her parents would approve of this color or if Rog's parents would mind sitting there. No more having to be creative in who she would invite and who she would not.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Chapter One
Sitting in her dingy apartment, four stories up, one window out, and one doorway to the hall, Penny sat stoically wondering what she would do if there was ever a fire in the building. She was stoic because for one, her building was not burning down (or not that she knew) and two, because this was something she always thought about when nothing more played itself out in her mind.
The hallway might be a way out, she thought, depending on where the fire originated, assuming one could get to the stairwell on the opposite side of the building. The elevator would probably not be a wise option. The window had promise provided that a fire department was parked outside on the sidewalk with one of those rickety ladder trucks handy. Best not think about that, though. And what if the truck went to the other side of the building? That would leave trying to climb out the window and hoping for the best. It was a straight shot down, with little hope of ledges to hang on to, as the facade of the building was perfectly smooth, if bricks could be called smooth. No balconies, clever architecture to grasp, no fire escape. Say, whatever happened to fire escapes? Surely, they were a good idea? Perhaps they had gone out of vogue as crime rates rose? Perhaps they were just relegated to the backs of buildings now?
What on earth was she doing in such an uninteresting, possibly unsafe place? How had this happened? Again, best not to think of that now. That would lead to invariable depression and nobody likes a sad girl. That is what her mother had always said, especially during the turbulent, dark years of teenage-hood. But, she was not a teenager anymore. Did that mean she could be a sad woman? Did people like a sad women. Probably not, she thought, edging out what was being to feel like the beginning of a pity party.
Fire. That was the subject. What was she going to do if this place ever caught on fire? Could she tie a decent enough knot in her bed sheets, of which she only had what was on her bed currently. At least it was something. Perhaps tomorrow she should look into finding one of those personal safety escape ladders? They would at least get her low enough so that she could survive a jump or a fall to the cold city pavement below.
Now she could hear the voice of her ex-husband, always invading her mind these days.
“Don’t you worry your pretty blond head over that,” the voice said.
“Shut up,” she replied. It was true. That is what he always said, though it never did much good. These were honest worries. One should always have a plan of escape, especially from fire, which had been her long-term phobia. It was an old friend, more familiar than even this apartment. Even the comfort of a roaring fire blazing in a stone fireplace on a snowy evening was not so comforting to Penny. Rather she worried about sparks flying, and really, how secure was that fire screen? Could not a small spark escape setting the place on fire?
She knew her ex never thought about these types of factors, let alone fire. But it could happen; in fact it seemed to happen a lot. The newspaper was always mentioning this family or that, put out by the ravenous of the inferno beast. And if he did not think about this as a potential personal outcome, she would. And she would have a plan.
Their house, the one she left behind in the suburbs, was perfect for exiting in times of emergency. When they decided to by a house, she had insisted on living in a house that had but one floor. It also had a lot of windows, which added another fear, but one that she could live with provided every window had a motion sensor and alarm installed. Sadly, when the husband went away, so did the house and alarm system. Penny was never sure which she missed more - the husband or the electronic security. Now she also missed living close to the earth where she could get out without worrying about breaking any random bone, inflicting a ton of pain. Penny hated pain.
And what was this thing about pain? Where had that come from? She had never been in a fire, nor had she ever seen a fire in full action. But the idea terrified her. This was the monster in her closet. When others were afraid of the dark, she was afraid of the light, the blazing red of destruction. When others knew there was a monster waiting to get them, lurking in the shadows of last year’s clothes and smelly sneakers, Penny’s monster licked out into the darkness with a sizzling tongue.
In her pity party reverie, there was a sound. It was a subtle sound that interrupted all thoughts of fire, monsters, pain, husbands. It was the type of sound that could elicit its own brand of fear. A singular noise that turned repetitive. On and on it went like a silent alarm of doom, setting Penny on edge, even more so.
The sound vibrated to the very roots of her teeth, causing her hands to shake, not quite like full-blown Parkinson’s, but pretty close. The sound continued on and on and…
Will the ringing stop? Is it the fire alarm? The telephone? The alarm clock? Or is it all in her paranoid head? Come back later to find out…
What this blog is about
Well, the rent does need to be paid. So, here we go. I am going to fulfill my dream of writing a novel and being paid for it at the same time. There is a plot, a protagonist (a beautiful blond graphic designer), a dashing love interest (but wait, I get a head of myself, that happens a bit later), a tad bit of mystery (where in the world has Mother gone), and I suppose, an antagonist (more on that later as well). However, the chapters are open at this point and will be directed by certain criteria. What is this criteria you ask? Money. Yep, no bones about it, like the hack writers we all love, it is all about blatant capitalism and advertising. But I do promise to weave it in honestly (I refuse to endorse any product that I do not like or does not like me) and hopefully in the seamless way movies of this generation weave such money-makers into their final products. Also, there is no working title at this point either. All good things come with a bit of patience.
In honor to this genre, I dedicate my main character to the Penny Dreadfuls. We begin with a not so young woman sitting alone in her dingy apartment. Penny is her name…
©Anon Rosso 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
