2015 April A to Z Blogging Challenge

The 2015 April A to Z Blogging Challenge has been both inspiration and tyranny. And I’m going to miss it.

Writing every day, except Sundays, has been interfering with my progress on Dead and Gone, the second novel in my Sci-Fi/Murder Mystery series. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed the daily distraction.

Using the alphabet as a prompt has been really useful. Last year I had more trouble thinking of topics that fit the daily letter. Maybe I tried too hard. This year has been no trouble at all.

Also, this year I was willing to use quotes from Murder on Ceres for three of the days – R, S, and T. Last year I felt each day should be something completely original. Not a reprise of something I wrote before.

And the best difference was that I didn’t end up in the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, like last year. Emergency appendectomy? What other kind of appendectomy am I likely to have? And once having had it, it’s unlikely I’d have another.

Clear thinking equals clear writing, right? Right.

The best part of the blogging challenge is reading other people’s blog posts. The organizers suggested we read at least five other blogs each day, starting with those right around us on the sign-up list.

It took me a few days to find my friend and fellow William Bernhardt writing student Sabrina Fish. But find her I did, and glad to see her at that.

I feel like I’ve found a new friend in the Retired Librarian from Scotland. Her daily list of valuable things about a library reminded me of the Edmond Public Library in Edmond, Oklahoma, my own favorite library. And her quotes from people whose names started with the letter of the day sent me back to some writers I’ve long loved, but hadn’t read in a while – Archibald MacLeish, Lemony Snicket, and more. Oh yes, and Carl Sagan whom I keep close in my thoughts and on my bedside table.

There was the blogger who is a Rockies Fan so I know he either is now or sometime in the past has been a neighbor of mine. And the young woman in India who so beautifully describes places I had not known I would like to see. And the Daily Ghost Post from Storytelling Matters.

And. And. And so many more!

So, 2015 A to Z Blogging Challenge – how was it for me? Good! Very Good! How was it for you?

Z is for Zed -- Nonfiction

I love English. It just satisfies my soul. American English, Australian English, British English. English from around the world.

British English comes in handy. I can use the vulgarisms and not feel the least inclination to blush. Nor will anyone around me take me to task for unacceptable language.

British television is such a gold mine of language. Not Downton Abbey. So far their only exclamation has been “Crikey” and that only twice. Plus it’s not really an expletive – I don’t think. I could Google it and the other words to find out how they translate into American English, but then I’d know what they mean and I might be constrained against using them freely.

Doc Martin is a better source. The Portwenn folk call him all kinds of things. And I understand why. He doesn’t have the best bedside manner. He seems usually to take it in stride, though. No doubt he’s used to it.

A couple of weeks ago one young patient, a lad of maybe nine or ten, went off on Doctor Martin Ellingham.

“You’re the W word,” he shouted adding “and the T word and the Zed word.”

Doc Martin stopped in his tracks and asked the young man “What’s the Zed word?”

My husband translated, “wanker and tosser.” He knows his Britishisms better than I, but he didn’t know what the Zed word was either.

Today is the last day of the 2015 A to Z Blogging Challenge and I hope it is the last one of its kind for me. It has been difficult.

My uncle told my father that the Veteran’s Administration will provide him with dentures at no cost to him. And being a naturally thrifty man, he wanted to get new dentures through them. Daddy was in the Navy in World War II, so it seemed possible.

He has some cognition problems and doesn’t walk long distances well so I took on the task of trying to enroll him for VA benefits. There’s an office not far from out home, so I gathered his Discharge papers, my Durable Power of Attorney papers, his 2014 Income Tax information and went to that office.

Today wasn’t a particularly busy day for them so my wait was about forty-five minutes. I had John Lescroart’s Hunt Club with me – on my e-reader which fits nicely in my purse. Then the customer service guy very kindly told me they don’t do that or medical care eligibility there and that I would need to go to the VA Medical Center in downtown Denver.

So I did.

Denver is not the biggest town I’ve ever driven in. Dallas and Houston are bigger. Los Angeles is bigger still. But I was younger then and very nearly invincible.

There are one-way streets, so you don’t want to make a wrong turn or you may not find your way back to the street you’re looking for. And traffic is high volume made up of drivers who know where they want to go and are not patient with the likes of me. But I got there.

And parking in Downtown Denver is difficult to find. I was pleased to find that the VA has a multistory parking garage. Finding the entrance is a little tricky but I got a parking place.

There were forms to fill out before I could see the Enrollment Officer. I filled them out as completely as I could. I got to one area that I had not planned for and tried to call my husband so he could get the information for me. I knew exactly where it was, but my phone wasn’t working. It had been working, but not anymore. I decided to go ahead and get in line. My ticket was 150 and they were serving 148 so my wait couldn’t be very long.

The waiting area was filled with people waiting for the Lab, a different number scheme on their tickets. And they were much worse off than I. Old people with walkers and on oxygen. Young people in wheelchairs. The thirty-something man who sat next to me smelled of tobacco smoke and I knew he must be more stressed than I was.

Again I read, avoiding eye-contact with the other waiting people who avoided eye-contact with me. Everybody there was having a long day and chit chat with strangers would not make it any easier.

After a shorter wait than some there, the Enrollment Officer called my number and asked “What can we do for you today?”

I told him my father needed new dentures and he stopped me right there. He didn’t look at the incomplete forms.

“We only provide dentures if the veteran has a service connected injury that causes him to need dentures.” He apologized for any inconvenience my drive downtown may have caused and called the next ticket “One-fifty-one.”

Backing out of my parking place I accidentally hit the rear bumper of a car parked behind me. It was the plastic bumper cars have and it was just scuffed. At first we couldn’t really tell which car it was I’d backed into. Those parking garages are so dark.

A VA policeman was johnny on the spot. But it took a bit to get some help there to direct traffic. You wouldn’t believe how many cars go in and out of that parking garage. And, of course, my vehicle was blocking one lane.

It took a while for all the paperwork and photographs and discussion about whether to let me go and them notify the owners of the victim car or keep me there until the owners returned. (They were somewhere in that great rabbit warren of a hospital.)

They did let me go, saying they would write it up as “Improper Backing.” Well, no duh. If I’d backed properly I wouldn’t have bumped into that car.

Traffic was a nightmare, I was shaky from the parking garage experience, and I’d never driven on those particular streets before. I knew my way home lay to the west, toward the mountains. The thing is, you can’t see the mountains from down there for all the big buildings and trees.

I stopped and got my phone fixed and finally made it safely home.

I may not know what the Zed word is, but I surely did have a Zed-word kind of day.

Yellowshift -- Creative Flash Nonfiction

A redshift occurs when a light source moves away from the observer. The wavelength of the light increases and appears more toward the red end of the spectrum. When the observer or the light source move toward each other, blueshift occurs.

Which brings us to yellowshift.

In Denver we have The Mercury Café. The atmosphere is dark, the food is acceptable, and the service is excellent. But what makes The Merc exceptional is the entertainment. Upstairs there’s music and dancing – the styles change evening to evening. It’s all live and local.

Downstairs is performance literature. One night a month is open mic night for Poetry. Another is open mic for Flash Fiction – scatologically referred to as “F Bomb.”

In March F Bomb Night fell on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. I put on my favorite green shirt in honor of Ireland’s favorite saint, a bit of makeup, my Washington D.C. shoes, and I was ready to read.

“I bet you think that shirt is green,” my daughter greeted me as I got into the car.

Instantly, I knew it must not be.

My daughter has accused me of color blindness for some time now.

When we went to see the Dale Chihuly glass exhibit last November in Denver’s Botanic Gardens, she and her boyfriend entertained themselves by asking me “What color do you think this one is?” and 

“Is this blue to you?” or “Are these green?”

When something is a shade of teal or turquoise I seem to see it as more green than they do. Maybe more green than most people do.

So during my annual eye exam I mentioned my accused color blindness to my optometrist.

“Let’s check it out,” he says and brought out a book of photos – numbers formed by different colored circles mixed among other colored circles.

I passed with flying colors. (Pun intended.)

“You remember I told you you have cataracts?” he asked then quickly reassured me again that the cataracts are not bad enough to do anything about, yet. “When you see through cataracts, things look more yellow than they would normally. And what do you get when you mix blue and yellow?” he asks.

“Green!” I say. “Yellowshift.”

“You could say that,” he humors me. Then he tells me about a patient he had last month. She’d had cataract surgery so he asked her how she was doing. “She said ‘fine, but I had to repaint the kitchen.’ Repaint the kitchen?” he asked. “‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It was such an ugly color and I hadn’t realized until the cataracts were removed.’”

So I’m not color blind. What can I say? 

Shift happens. 

Security Is Xed Out

security  n. 1. Freedom from risk or danger; safety

The concept of Security is Xed out every day of our lives. Sometimes in small ways. Sometimes in large.

A young man and young woman save their money and train their bodies. They make the trip to Nepal to scale the highest mountain on Earth. Each of their flights lands safely – no bombs, no terrorists. Their transport to Base Camp arrives safely. The change in altitude causes discomfort, but they adjust.

They consider the dangers. They know they might have to cancel their plans to summit the mountain due to sudden changes in weather, striking Sherpas, or a host of other obstacles both natural and manmade. They take what precautions they can and make contingency plans. They know this trip is anything but safe. They go anyway. That is part of the adventure.

We are at risk from natural phenomena – tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, blizzards, wild fires. The list is long. Some things are predictable and we can take precautions to protect ourselves and our property or be prepared to recover, repair, and replace.

When children go to school, we expect them to be safe. A bus ride to the casinos in the mountains or to a church camp or home from a music competition. These are all expected to be safe. Attending a midnight showing in a movie theater should be safe. Working in a post office or office building, shopping in a convenience store or drug store, and filling our car’s gas tank should be safe. Driving on a modern highway in a well-maintained automobile should be safe. And most of the time safety comes through for them and for us.

Sometime in my childhood I learned to mistrust the concept of security. For many years I sought a religion that could replace that lost security. I found lots of reassuring stories and scary stories. I found generous people who professed belief and intolerant people who demanded belief. There were beautiful costumes and simple, grand buildings and austere, and all kinds of music. But no security.

Then somewhere along the line, I discovered that a sense of security is not necessary for me. It is exhilarating to explore life and love people free of the need for a secure future. It’s part of the adventure.

If Wishes Were Horses -- flash fiction

The alarm! Shut it off. Quick, before it wakes Ken. If she can just sleep fifteen more minutes. She wishes she had another blanket over her legs. Damned arthritis.

“Mom?” 

The plaintive call to arms moves her to the master bathroom. She leaves the light off taking care not to wake Ken. The night light is enough.

“Mom.”

David’s a good boy. He’s hardly ever sick.

Snores rise from the man still sleeping. And the dog is stirring. Maybe she can get out of the room before the dog wakes Ken. Poor Ken. He doesn’t have to get up until six. She’s sorry about his job. She wishes he weren’t so worried.

“Mom.”

Where are her slippers? She should have put them somewhere specific when she went to bed.

“Hush, girl.” She pats the dog on the head and lets her out into the hall. Mollie’s tail smacks everything. She’ll wake Ken. A dog should wag her tail. She should be happy it’s breakfast time. “Shhhh.” It’s a shame to wish her less than happy.

The hall light is on. The hall light is always on. 

“Morning, Dad.”

Her elderly father shuffles from the bathroom. Yet again. She’s heard him up at least three times this night. It was her habit to listen for him to go back to his room, each time hoping he could find his way. Sometimes he couldn’t.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Haven’t slept since midnight.”

She knows that may or may not be true, but there’s nothing to be gained by pursuing the subject.

“Mom!”

“Just a minute, son.”

“What are you planning for breakfast?” her father asks.

“Oatmeal. I’ll have your pill out for you in a minute,” she says as she opens David’s door. “What is it, son?”

“Can’t breathe.”

“Why are your pillows on the floor?”

She’s tempted to turn on the overhead. Why should she care if it hurts his eyes? But the dog wants breakfast. Her father needs his pill. David would just be one more disruption. A fine way to think of her only child. And he really is a good boy. Gets good grades. Stays out of trouble. She piles the pillows on his bed and props him up. Maybe he’ll sleep at least until Ken is ready to leave.

Her father and Mollie wait outside David’s door. Mollie’s tail wagging enthusiastically. She wishes she felt like wagging a tail.

“Could you heat the water? For my pill?”

“Sure, Dad. Let me feed Mollie first.”

She steps out into the garage to get Mollie’s food and wishes she’d found her slippers. If she thought the floor inside the house was cold . . . .

“If wishes were horses,” her mother always said, “even beggars would ride.”

“If wishes were horses,” she thought, “I’d just have more to clean up.”

She misses her mother. 

V Day -- Flash Fiction

[Yesterday was my friend Ruth Ann's birthday and Day V in the A to Z Blogging Challenge. Life interfered and I missed writing for the challenge so here is a bit of flash fiction for her birthday and V Day.]

   Luxurious, that was the word. Not quite awake yet, but not still asleep. Not really. Warm and satisfied. The world smelled of gardenias and sex. She must still be asleep and dreaming. Leonard was gone. Five years gone.

   She squeezed her eyes tight to stop the tears. Five long years and still it hurt. Not as much, maybe. But there were still tears.

   She turned her head setting the whole world in motion. Oh, my God. If she opened her eyes she’d be sick. She must be still. Perfectly still until the nausea passed.

   The pillow against her cheek was so smooth she could not feel where her skin ended and the pillow slip began. It had been like that with him. She could not feel where her skin ended and his began.

   She opened her eyes. White walls. White drapes. The ceiling was much too high and the bed too low. Where was she? She had to get up.

   Again the world whirled around her. Her stomach rebelled. She rolled off the bed onto her knees.

   A waterbed? A waterbed. It wasn’t her. She wasn’t dizzy at all. It was the bed.

   My God, how long had it been since she slept in a waterbed? Leonard didn’t like waterbeds. They were too difficult to make love in. He had a bad back.

   That hadn’t been the case last night. But it hadn’t been Leonard last night either. She stood in the middle of the room and stretched feeling the near pain of muscles releasing tension. She felt tall and vital and beautiful.

   “Well, tall at least,” she said aloud.

   “And beautiful,” he said standing in the doorway. He handed her a glass. “Tomato juice, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and a little hair of the dog.”

   “Vitamins?” she asked.

   “Vitamins,” he said.

Goodbye Gracie Lu

Scott and Gracie Lu

Today I helped euthanize my daughter dog Gracie Lu.

She was.

She was beautiful and enthusiastic. She was fierce and loving. She was a lap dog and an indomitable hiker. She was almost four and a half years old.

She hunted mice and birds and snakes. Indeed she kept bigger game out of our backyard. Mule deer wonder through our neighborhood, but they knew not to scale our fence while she stood guard. And Bentley, our neighbor’s senior dog might outweigh her two to one, but I don’t think he ever won the through-fence verbal war between them.

Gracie came to live with us almost three years ago. She moved from Florida to Colorado following a young man to his new job. His work didn’t allow enough time for him to spend with Gracie so he put her up for adoption on the Dachshund Rescue website.

Our Bassett Hound Bess and our Dachshund Oscar were very senior and we needed new blood for the pack. I saw Gracie the first day she was on the website. I’m an early riser so I had to wait more than three hours to call the number. I wanted to make a good impression and everyone should be up and about by 8:30 even on a weekend. He graciously agreed to bring her to our home so we could see how she would fit.

He brought her in and put her on the floor. Bess and Oscar ran to see the strange dog. Neither growled or threatened, but she was terrified and leaped into my husband’s arms. Not the young man’s but Scott’s.

She was a full-size, smooth-coated, dapple Dachshund, about a year and a half old. And her name was Gracie Lu. Our human daughter’s name is Grace and my favorite restaurant is Lucille’s Creole Café. And she was in my husband’s arms. Of course she fit. She fit very well indeed.

Bess because of her seniority and innate good sense was the alpha dog. Oscar was Oscar. He didn’t care who was top dog, he was going to do his own thing anyway. (I think he may have been a cat in a previous life.) And Gracie Lu was too unsure of herself to aspire to high place. Her integration into the pack was virtually seamless.

A few months later we put Oscar down. He was fourteen years old.  Then it was just Bess and Gracie until we let Bess go. She was over fifteen. With her exuberance, Gracie inspired Bess to youthful entertainments until the end.

Gracie was down to just humans in her pack. She was not unhappy being the only dog. But we needed a new dog for her to train up. Last month a new dog came to live with us. You can read about her. Just click on  Maggie May.  

From that first leap into Scott’s arms Gracie Lu never hesitated to jump – onto our bed, off of our bed, down steps into the basement (for which she was chastised) and back up again. We have a ramp down from the back door to the patio originally installed for my father’s use, then used by Bess. Gracie leaped onto and off of it from whatever angle she might come to it.

My first Dachshund Sebastian had Intervertebral Disc Disease so we knew what might happen, but some Dachshunds do not develop that problem. Oscar didn't. And really there’s no way to prevent its development or, for that matter, Gracie’s jumping.

Sebastian had Laser Disc Ablation at Oklahoma State University’s Veterinary Teaching Hospital (my husband’s Alma Mater) Back then it was a new treatment. Sebastian did reasonably well with only minor episodes which could be treated with prednisone and cage rest. Until he did not and had to be put down.

Two weeks ago Gracie suddenly presented with pain. She didn’t try to jump onto the bed. But she still walked, indeed ran, normally. She continued to eat well, drink well, and be interested. We took her to the vet and she put Gracie on pred and cage rest. At first it seemed to be working. Then yesterday Gracie began to have problems walking. And sitting. She couldn’t squat properly to urinate.

Scott and I talked about it. Surgery was still a possibility, but her future would include more episodes of varying degrees of severity until at last nothing restorative could be done.

We decided that if she did not improve with the conservative treatment we would not put her through the surgery.

This morning she could not stand. She could still wag her tail a bit. And she did. She had a good breakfast.

My husband had eye surgery yesterday and couldn’t go with us, but he called Wheat Ridge Animal Hospital and explained what was going on. He’s a vet so he was able to talk to them doc to doc. He carried her out to the car in her crate and told her goodbye.

They were expecting us at the veterinary hospital and took us right in. They immediately took her to the back. While they put the catheter in place, I filled out the necessary papers. They were so sweet to me. But I assured them that I understood what we were doing, that I wanted to hold her while they euthanized her, and that I appreciated them and what they were doing for us.

And I told them that I was only sorry that this same service could not legally be provided to humans when it was time. I meant that and I mean that.

Having dogs and cats means saying goodbye. Our lifespans just do not match. And we love them just as much as we love our human family members. I am okay with this. I am more than okay. I celebrate the animals I’ve loved and lost. I celebrate the people I’ve loved and lost.

Losing loved ones after sharing however long we have together – if they know we loved them and we know they loved us – it is the purest form of sorrow – no darkness – only light. And tears.