Sneak Peeks by Louise Yeiser McAlpin

A Bit About a Cupboard

A new arrival to my home, this antique piece was provided by my interior designer before she moved on to other rooms in other houses that wanted to be touched by someone who understood the elements of color, scale, style, and artistic use of space.  Primitive and rough, it stands in a bedroom corner by the door that opens onto the deck, balanced evenly on two sturdy legs that look like they’ve been gnawed by teething puppies, its paint rubbed off lengthwise in a lazy, uneven strip near the latch, with a second color randomly peeking out from beneath the unpolished, mottled topcoat.  Its front is spattered with raw patches, and some of the wood running along its sides is splintered.  I have 2 rolls of cork shelf-liner waiting to be installed on its three shelves that currently hold Christmas presents for family members that are labeled and stored in plastic baggies, a dozen copies of the book that contains my first published short story, my CD player that I hardly ever use, and a tape recorder that makes audiocassettes of my writing that I give to my stepmother.  The workers, who moved it at least four times before it came to rest by the door, keep calling it "the blue cabinet", but to me its color is transparent.  When I look at it, I see worn.  I see old.  No-nonsense.  Useful.  I'd like to think we're alike, my cupboard and I―perfect examples of imperfect loveliness, that fit just right in our own peculiar corners.

Friday Listblogging for Grownups

I guess the theme for this week is growing up.  At least that’s what I saw when I reread my Week 181 list for my first rewrite.  I also saw that I didn't sound like my usual positive self.  I guess my sweet summer memories are crashing into some monumental losses sustained by people who are closest to me.  Loss of a once-trusted friend, loss of a son, loss of a parent, loss of body parts due to cancer.  If only I had a magic wand to make it all go away.  Someone recently told me that I was the magic wand. If so, then I think that as magic wands go, I suck.  Okay then.  Moving right along....

Requirements  ::  Must-Haves.

I always thought I must have happy endings.  I insisted that Someone was watching over and protecting me.  Then I grew up.  Today I work with neglected and abused children.  They are used to violence around them.  Some of them act out before anyone can intervene on their behalf, and are destined to decades in institutions and/or jails.  Why?  They were once innocents, just like I was when I was little.  Who is watching over them?  Sometimes things happen for no good reason.  And it really pisses me off.

Pizza  ::  Been there, done that.

And then my kids grew up too.  Today I’ve gone retro—peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Yummy.

Dating  ::  May I see you again?

Why would anyone say this if they didn’t mean it?  No, really.  I'm serious.  If a person doesn't want to see me again, why bother saying it?  What a waste of energy and air.  "Goodbye.  I enjoyed myself.  Take care," are all perfectly polite, acceptable ways of ending a coffee date with someone who isn't terribly appealing.  In the last 2 weeks, I’ve heard this little question from two different men.  Both made a big deal out of procuring my phone number.  But every time the phone rings, it's either my father, Ingeborg, or Annie, three people who really do want to see me again.  What's up with that?

Issue  ::  I don’t bother with issues.

I go for whole subscriptions.

Sharp  ::  Tangy.

I usually prefer sweet.  My favorite desserts are crème brulee, cherry pie, cherry cobbler, butterscotch sundaes, butter pecan ice cream, and chocolate chip cookies.  I wonder if a peanut butter and jelly sandwich could be considered a dessert.

Distinguish  ::  Distinguished.

Salt and pepper gray hair on men pops into my mind.  What a sharp look this is, one that captures my attention immediately.  I also find bald to be kind of sexy.  And I love the bad boy image of a guy with long hair, tied in a pony tail.  I met a middle-aged man recently who had exactly that.  The look was somehow incomplete without a motorcycle.

Remote  ::  Who gets to hold it?

They don’t call it a control for no good reason.

Felony ::  Crime.

I have never been arrested for a felony.  I’m still working on it.

Exercise  ::  'M I bad.

Since I hurt my back in June, I have been waiting for it to feel better, so I could start back to yoga.  Now, my inertia has taken on a life of its own.  I had the perfect opportunity Weds. evening to attend class.  Did I?  Alas, no.  Very suspicious.  But I’m on the case.

Choose  ::  You have the right to remain silent.

This random muttering must have been influenced by the word “felony” above.

That's all for now.  Ignore my mood and enjoy your last weekend in July!

From Louise

Late Louise's Friday List

Brought to you by the good folks at Unconscious Mutterings, here is week no. 180 (which is really late because everybody else is already on week no. 181).

Video :: penny arcade

When I was a little girl, my older sister and her several horses were on the horseshow circuit, much the same way that I, with my beautiful mastiff, was on the dogshow circuit a couple of years ago.  This meant that we kids were carted off on weekend jaunts in Ohio, Kentucky, and West Virginia that took us from fair to fair, in addition to posh horse club sites, to watch our sister survive round after round of 2-1/2 foot fences, and to discover the joys of 4H livestock, penny arcades, and carnival shows that were sometimes very upsetting.  I remember begging my mother to let me see the 10 inch woman.  The picture on the side of the truck showed a miniature beauty, dressed in a long, white vintage dress, wearing a tiny hat perched on a slender neck draped in ringlets, standing elegantly on a wooden chair.  I wanted to pay my quarter, go behind the curtain, and say "hello".  I was ill-prepared for the twisted figure, minus certain body parts, who stared sullenly at me from the stage high above my head.  I fled crying and spent the rest of the afternoon in the stalls with the grooms, begging to help brush the horses.  It was the first time I remember voicing my inward questions which follow me still, every time I am confronted with someone with whom fate has dealt harshly: Why did that happen to her?  Where are the people who can care for her?  Where are the people who love her?  Where is her family?  Why isn't someone looking after her?  As an alleged grown-up, these questions usually blossom into some action on my part, which is startlingtly inferior to the ability to wave a magic wand to make a person's heartache and suffering vanish completely into thin air.

Fantasy :: wishful thinking

I think the harshest non-wishful thinking that I grapple with as an adult is that people's stories do not always have happy endings, there is terrible suffering in the world, and things don't necessarily turn out okay, the way we like to tell one another that they do and will.  Life is not obligated to be kind to us.  Being kind is our responsibility.  Which is unfortunate because, being human, we screw everything up.

Homework :: tedious boredom

Of course, I am thinking of homework in College Algebra and How Science Works, not my writing assignments.

Crush :: Ben's face

Being from Pittsburgh, I am overly concerned about the status of Ben Roethlisberger's face after his motorcycle accident, and the impact that it will have on the Steelers next season.  I figure at best his game will be out of balance.

Late :: early

I go to bed late.  I get up early.  Consequently, I'm always tired.  Duh.

Husband :: tied down

I am completely shocked that I wrote this.  I would prefer to adopt Oscar Wilde's wisdom that says marriage is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.  Obviously I've got my life the way I want it, and, since I seem to be on a quest to think totally differently than I've ever thought before, I don't want a man walking into it and messing it up changing it around.  I guess that's good, but I'm not sure.

Soccer :: ball

Soccer fans were in total heaven a couple of weeks ago.

Wine :: Do they miss me?

Since I stopped drinking 6 years ago, I often drive by my friendly neighborhood Wine & Spirits state liquor store, wondering if the people who work there miss me.  I'm still amazed that Beringer and Fetzer didn't go belly up.

Before :: Ere

A standard crossword puzzle word.

Romantic ::

Given my response to husband above, I am not allowed to do this one.

Have a great Sunday.

From Louise

A Rare and Lovely Gem

This website is one of the best finds I've stumbled onto in quite awhile, so I simply had to share it:

http://dailypoetics.typepad.com/daily_poetics/.

Enjoy the beauty.

Diet Coke Dialog

There was no doubt that I was in trouble with my writing, so I did what I always do when things go wrong—I turned to my best friend for help.  “I’m in another block, Annie.  Ever since school let out, I don’t have anyone looking over my shoulder, critiquing my work, giving me deadlines, and challenging me.  At least, not creatively.  Anyway, it seems to me that my writing is shrinking itself right out of existence.  I’m so far away from par, I don’t even know where par is!” I paused and rested my forehead in my left palm, my fingers lightly scratching my scalp and messing up my hair.  I sat up suddenly.  “What does that tell you?”

Annie looked out toward the trees bordering my property.  I could hear the trickling of the brook behind the 8’ wooden fence whose bright, sunny tan was quickly weathering into a non-descript, mulchy gray.

“You’re a drama queen?” she asked.  I shot her a look.  “Okay, maybe you need structure?  Um… a good challenge?  Or an academic, creative environment in order to be inspired?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.  Yes to all the above,” I replied.  I followed her gaze.  The trees behind my fence marked the beginning of a green belt, and they always reminded me of my childhood home―which may be the best part of my living here.  “I guess that means I have to figure out a way to stay connected with writers and teachers, don’t you think?  I may be destined to go for a Master’s, once I’m done with my Bachelor’s.”

“Or else settle into a life of crappy writing,” Annie offered helpfully.

I laughed and turned to face her.  “Be serious, Annie, or I’ll have to throw something at you, and all I’ve got is a cold Diet Coke, which I can’t do without right now, since it’s like 300º in the shade, so don’t make me go there.”  I dangled the Diet Coke menacingly in the air.  The effect was negligible, so I put it down.

“Wouldn’t graduate school involve teaching?”  She took a sip from her can that was drenched in cold, curvy drizzles, and turned in her chair to look at me.

"Only if you need financial aid,” I said, adding, “I’ll pay.  I would rather die.”

“Isn’t your first Bachelor’s in Elementary Education?” she asked.  When I nodded, Annie giggled, shook her head, turned back towards the woods, and stretched her legs out beneath the café-style table I had pulled onto the concrete slab that served as my unscreened, screened-in porch.  Under the beginning of a deck overhead, we enjoyed a sliver of shade and just enough breeze to provide relief on this hot July day.

"Weasie, I think the fact that there are masons, electricians, carpenters, and people running jack hammers and electric saws all day on every spare inch of your property 6 days a week, 5 to 12 hours a day, may have a little something to do with it.  For Chrissakes, you can’t even find a space for sorting your things without the painters swarming in, causing you to gather up your stuff to move somewhere else in the house.”

I nodded.  “Ah, yes.  The workmen,” I thought.

“And then someone else comes into your new area, and does the same thing five minutes later.”

I nodded and sipped my Diet Coke, resisting the urge to rub its cold, wet aluminum curves along my cheeks.

“You’re a nomad in your own house.  I don’t see how you get anything done or get anything organized.  I don’t see how you can even think.  How could you possibly write?”

I knew Annie was right.  I thought of my fellow students and wondered where they had scattered for the summer.  “I miss my classmates; I miss my teachers,” I said.  “I miss the drive across Pittsburgh to campus, all the while plotting seques and last lines in my head.  I miss the mental stimulation, the challenge of a good, solid deadline.  ‘If it’s late, don’t bother handing it in,” Ms. Lee told us at the beginning of spring term.  I miss that in-your-face, do-or-die aspect of school.  God, I miss all of it.”

“See?”  Annie said.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I continued my train of thought.  “You know what, Annie?”

"What, Weas?”

The leaves were barely rustling in the branches, their backs a peek of lime amidst layered smudges of deeper hues.  I was watching an earthy version of nighttime starlight twinkling.  I was spellbound.  Annie waited for my reply.

“I think that this year I’m going to skip my late-summer blues.  I might even miss my pre-winter depression.”  I could feel Annie smiling, while she watched the same sparkle of light against dark.

“For the first time in my whole life. . .”  The world had slowed down and I hesitated to complete my thought.  I stared at the wind ripples fluttering an emerald glitter throughout the woods.

“For the first time, I am looking forward to the fall.”

News Brief

I won!  I won! 

Stay tuned for some more writing one of these ole days.

From Louise

An Experimental SlideShow

| View | Add Favorite

Who am I Today?

I am a laugher,

And a crier too, which I hate to admit.

I am a woman who doesn't like clear air turbulence,

And who falls asleep in waiting rooms and bathtubs.

I am a woman who likes to wear high, strappy heels and short skirts,

In spite of my age, flat feet, and less-than-perfect figure.

I am a woman who skips meals and avoids desserts,

And who likes to check to-do items off of long, detailed lists.

I am a woman who struggles with meanings.

And wants to know everything, even when it's none of my business.

I am a woman seeking balance, as I juggle life's humors and losses.

But do you know what pleases me the very most?

Even with all these quirks and fancies, preferences and dreams,

I am a woman on whom people depend.

It's 1 am. Do You Know Where Your Sense of Humor Is?

What does a woman do, when she has missed her Monday Write, and wishes she had something clever and witty to share, but she doesn’t, and it’s 1 am, she’s tired, but too stubborn to go to bed until she’s posted a blog entry?

Why, she shares a dumb joke, of course.

          ---o0o---

A certain middle-aged woman was feeling anxious and frightened when she visited her gynecologist to discuss a problem she had been having.  She was reluctant to describe her symptoms.

"Come now," coaxed the doctor.  "You've been seeing me for years.  There's nothing you can't tell me."

"This one's kind of strange," said the woman, fidgeting with her rings.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," the doctor replied gently.  He stood with his pen in one hand, and balanced her open file in the other.

"Well," said the woman.  "Yesterday I went to the bathroom in the morning, and I heard a plink-plink in the toilet.  When I looked down, the water was full of pennies."

"Hmmm.  I see," said the doctor, peering at her over his glasses, as he scribbled something on a form that was clipped to the inside of her file.

"That afternoon, I went again--this time, nickels in the bowl," she added.

"I see," the doctor muttered, as he continued to write.

"Last night," she went on, "there were dimes; and this morning, there were quarters!"

"I see," the doctor said, as he stopped writing, to set the pen and file down on table.  He waited to see if there was more.

"You've got to tell me what's wrong with me!" she implored.  "I'm scared out of my wits!” she cried, burying her face in her hands.

The gynecologist walked over to her, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  "There, there, it's nothing to be frightened about...."

"She looked up hopefully.  “Yes, doctor? Do you know what it is?"

"Of course, I do.  You're simply going through the change!"

          ---o0o---

TA DA!!!!!!! Bonne nuit!

Sunday's Friday

Brought to you by the good folks at Unconscious Mutterings, here is week no. 179.

Face it  ::  you suck!

Now why in the world would that be the first thing to pop into my head?  Nice, Louise.  Maybe it's because when my kids were in their early teens, they listened constantly to this weird, little Adam Sandler tape where some high school boys were tormenting a poor, well-meaning cheerleader trying her best to root for her school despite merciless heckling, the punch line of this particular story being, "We're sorry.  (long pause)  Just kidding―YOU SUCK!"  Ten years later, that line still pops into my head at the most inappropriate moments.  In Adam Sandler's nasty, little voice, of course.  However, up until now, I have managed to keep it to myself.  I tried to soften the sentiment expressed here by including a little peace-love-dove heart illustration with this blog entry, but I'm afraid that nothing can deaden the blow behind the ever-charming words, "You suck!"  Oh, well.  I tried.

Healthy  ::  tofu

When I lived in La Jolla CA in the early 80's, tofu was part of my regular diet.  My fave restaurant was The Good Earth on Girard Street, right above The Cove.  I ate there every other Friday after my children were whisked away by their  father for the weekend, and always ordered some tofu concoction or another.  I usually went with my friend, Allison.  Eventually, Allison started dating someone, so my routine changed to picking up Chinese take-out and a movie that I never watched, and going home to eat dinner in front of my TV, and to watch Dallas and Falcon Crest.  I can't remember for the life of me who shot J.R.

Cartoon  ::  Bugs

"Eh, what's up, doc?"  Or something along those lines. . . .

Device  ::  Contraption

Not to be confused with contraception, or conception, or contradiction, or contrary to popular opinion.

Raider  ::  Of the Lost Ark

Indy at his best.  A few years ago, I met Kelly McGinnis the actress, and all I could think was, "Oh, my God.  In Witness she actually got to kiss Harrison Ford!"  But then I remembered that in Top Gun she had to kiss Tom Cruise.  Ew.  Life is full of little trade-offs.

Closer  ::  Tyrannasaurus

Naturally.  Don't you remember the Jurassic Park Jeep speeding through the night, with an injured Jeff Goldblum sprawled out in the back, and the T-rex in hot pursuit, reflected in the side-mirror above the famous words?

Admission  ::  Guilt

Hmm.  I suppose a guilty admission would be called a confession, but what do I know?

Culture  ::  Yeast

I am sick of talking about my tendency toward systemic yeast overload, so if you really want to read about it, although I can't imagine why, please feel free to click here.

Stakes  ::  High

Anything with low stakes is probably lacking luster and challenge, so is not worth the time or effort. 

Heartbroken  ::  The good ole days

Who has time for that stuff anymore?  I've got things to do, places to see, people to meet, and I'm busy doing it.  I must admit, I never thought I'd see the day where I'd ever even consider putting romance on the backburner.  In the grand scheme of things, dating has become irrelevant to me.  How new and how very, very odd.  And empowering.

This must be July, a month of 31 independence days.

Living Free

“Write!” demanded my inner voice.  Today it was playing the role of tormentor.  “It’s 8:00 in the morning and the day’s half gone!”  I groaned and turned over in bed.  “Either get up and write, or get out to the beach and enjoy the day before it gets too hot!” it yelled, waving its arms and stomping its feet.

“Stop it,” I said, rubbing my eyes.  “I’ll never listen to you if you’re going to be so damned nasty.  And loud.”

“Well, I'm here whether you listen or not,” it said.

I groaned again and threw off the covers.

          ---o0o---

A half hour later, I was sitting slightly on the beach and slightly in the Gulf, with small waves teasing my toes and covering my calves, writing in my notebook, while a holiday fishing expedition was being carried on around me.  Two men practically stepped over me as their sea-minnows swam nearby on hooks at the ends of nylon lines.  Their children swished through the water further down the beach, toting nets and buckets.

“Good morning,” I said to the men.

“Good morning,” they said back.

“Well, exccuuuuse me for being in your way,” my tormentor scowled at their backs.  Then it turned on me.  “You are nothing but a people-pleaser, letting them step over you like that!  They could have hurt you!”

But I had turned my attention to other things, noticing movement bustling around me.  A bright blue motor boat whirred by, towing a child in an orange life-vest, slumped over a pair of kelly green skis that slapped through the boat’s wake.  A bald man and a woman in a yellow bathing cap swam and bobbed in the warm water on the other side of the rocks to my left.  They were talking so softly that I couldn't discern their words, with their faces close together, glancing up from time to time to gaze out into the distance.  Looking the other way, I saw that the fishermen were gone, having taken their buckets, nets, and children with them.

I guess I really did want to enjoy the Gulf after all.  I just wanted to do it by myself, alone with my writing and the local color happening around me, without interference from that wicked voice. 

May your Fourth be filled with personal victories!

From Louise

Coming and Going

What is dying?

A ship sails and I stand watching

till she fades on the horizon,

and someone at my side

says, “She is gone”.

Gone where?  Gone from my sight,

that is all; she is just as

large as when I saw her. . .

the diminished size and total

loss of sight is in me, not in her,

and just at the moment

when someone at my side

says “she is gone”, there are others

who are watching her coming,

and other voices take up the glad shout,

“there she comes!” . . . and that is dying.

by Bishop Charles Henry Brent