ANTICIPATION

     Lottie looked at her watch. It's already noon. They'll be here in a minute. As in Thanksgivings past, she placed Haviland dinner plates on the table, admiring the tiny pink flowers of the Varenne pattern. Next, she put her sterling silver knives, forks and spoons in the proper order on either side of the plates. She slipped pure white cloth napkins into brass rings and made sure they were exactly parallel to the spoons.

     "Oh," she said with a little tremor in her voice, "someone's knocking at the door. That must be Susu, she always gets here first."

     When Lottie opened the door, she got a big hug. "Glad to see you, Mama. How are you doing?"

     "I'm fine. You want to help me finish setting the table? Get the turkey platter. It's on the bar in the kitchen." She smiled. "I didn't carve the bird yet. I wanted you to see how pretty it is."

     "It's lovely, Mama." She put the turkey in the center of the table.

     Lottie poured some iced tea in each crystal goblet. "I hope Jansen gets here on time. Everything's hot and I don't want it to get cold."

     The door opened and a tall, slender man walked in. "I'm here," he announced. Putting his arm around his mother's shoulders, he said, "Good to see you." Then he sat at the table and Lottie sat across from him.

     "Let's say the blessing." Reaching out, Lottie took each of their hands. "Oh, Lord, thank you for the many times we had Thanksgiving at this table in the past. And please bless those who can't be with us today." She reeled off a list of grandchildren's names. "Please bless all of us, too. Thank you for all the gifts you've given us, including our family being together today enjoying this meal."

     They said an Amen in unison.

     Lottie pointed to the turkey, "Could you please do the honors, Jansen? Use that electric knife, it slices more evenly and..."

     Her words trailed off as she slumped forward in her chair. When it tilted sideways, she fell to the floor with a thud.

     Seconds later, two nurses who'd received an alert from a monitor rushed into the room. They shoved a card table out of the way and, following procedure, carefully rolled Lottie onto her back.

     "She's still breathing, but her heart's beating erratically. I don't think we'll be able to resuscitate her this time," one of them said as she frantically administered CPR.

     Minutes later, despite their efforts, Lottie was gone. The older nurse had tears in her eyes. "Miss Lottie was a sweet woman, kind and patient, not like some of the old biddies in here. She rarely complained." She looked at the lifeless figure. "It's sad. She's been in Baytime Nursing Home ever since I have. Four years and not once have her two children visited; the only time I saw them was when she was admitted. I guess they think they're too important to be away from their offices. The son's a psychiatrist in Atlanta and the daughter's a big-shot literary agent in New York."

     The other nurse raised her brows. "Really? That's awful that they don't come see their mother."

     "Well, they seldom call to check on her. Oh, the daughter sends expensive clothes for her birthday and Christmas. But I think that's to ease her own conscience."

     "You're probably right. But Miss Lottie never spoke ill of them. I'm new here but Miss Lottie's one of the patients I took a liking to right away." She looked at the table with paper plates, cups, and plastic serving pieces wrapped in a paper napkin, all were in disarray. "What's all the stuff on that card table about?"

     "Oh, we humored her. Every Thanksgiving we'd set up a table and let her pretend her family was coming for dinner," she replied as she bit her bottom lip. "She'd talk to them, but I don't know if she really believed they were here. She did have a little dementia." She looked at the pale pink blouse with the lace collar they'd pulled back to work on Miss Lottie. Stepping closer, she re-buttoned it and pushed her patient's white hair off her forehead. "But she didn't forget her nice designer clothes and she always made sure we dressed her up for this occasion."

     The nurse backed away and shook her head. "So, whether this dinner with her family was pretend or real in Miss Lottie's world, I guess it doesn't really matter. Either way, for her, it was Thanksgiving and she used it as a time to give thanks, even if her family didn't show up and she didn't have much to be thankful for." 

     She pulled a tissue from her pocket, roughly wiped her eyes, and kicked a folding chair beside the card table out of her way. "I'll notify her son and daughter. Maybe they'll make it to the funeral." She shrugged. "But I wouldn't bet on it."

    

Spooked

The little boy walked
Up the stairs
That creaked on every step.

He held his nose
To stop the smell
Of old food that was kept.

Then suddenly
He heard a sound
Like one not heard before.

As he shook
And turned around
He heard a slamming door.

But in the dark
He could not see
What creature lay in wait.

Nobody lived here
For many years,
And he knew not their fate.

Behind him then
A step did squeak
And he knew all was over.

So, terrified,
He froze in place
Till it said, "I'm your mother."

MSP
10/25/13

Halloween

Ghosts and goblins
Walk around
Scaring children
All over town.

Trick or treat
Is the word
Treat's the one
That is heard.

At other levels
Adults live
Not so happy
As they give.

But fun abounds
And problems wane
As we become
Children again.

10/23/13

Writer's block

I'd like to know what the term Writer's Block really means. For some writers the definition is simple. They say it's when they sit with a pen in hand or at the computer, like I do, and nothing comes to mind. How can that be true, though? As far as I know, people always have something, whatever it may be, on their minds. A mind is never really blank. Of course, we can have things drifting through like what we need at the grocery store or whether we have enough time to go there before picking up Johnny from baseball practice, but some thoughts are always there.

True, writers are a different breed. Some want a full outline before beginning to write. But it may work to just sit down and type whatever IS on your mind. That thought, no matter how insignificant, could lead to a story. I avoid using cliches, even in dialogue. That requires effort. Instead, I'm trying to use more original metaphors and similes in my writing, so, I plan to write down random thoughts and see how I can transform them into figures of speech. That should give me a way to use those seemingly useless ideas floating around in my brain.

I also discovered that almost any incident can find a place in a manuscript. Especially the humorous ones that happen to all of us. I generally jot down notes on these on the spot. As soon as possible, I develop them into a couple of paragraphs. Later, I find a home for them in another story. Quite often, they provide comic relief. The serious ones which pop into my subconscious can be more difficult to place. One example was a time I rescued a toddler wandering on a highway at night. I forgot the incident for years. Something may have triggered my memory because one day I found myself wondering what happened to him as he grew up. I didn't have the answer but I found a place to use the incident in a book.

I've been told that I don't waste anything. I either eat leftovers or save them for soup. I suppose that habit spills over into my writing. If I find words wandering around in my brain, I latch onto them, put them into sentence form, develop the batch into paragraphs and, finally, I will tuck them into a manuscript. Does this help turn the key to unlatch Writer's Block? 

HAPPY DAY

HAPPY DAY


With good news,
It's a good day
I'm having one
I'm glad to say.

The sequel to
TIME WILL TELL
Is coming soon,
I hope it sells.

QUESTION OF TIME
Is in Musa's hands
I hope it climbs
To a status grand.

And then TIME WAS,
The third book,
Will be published, too,
Please take a look.

When a contract's signed
It's a step on the way,
Hopefully leading to
More happy days.

Mary S. Palmer
9/10/13

END OF SUMMER

I used grammarly.com to check this because:

Though poetry is subjective,

Readers still spot misspelled words.

I would rather write it right

So I won't be corrected.  

End of Summer

Summer's waning,

But Daylight Saving Time

Still provides

Long evenings.

As August creeps along

And Labor Day approaches,

Children reluctantly

Return to their classrooms.

Beachgoers return home,

And settle in

For the chilly days

Of fall.

Work resumes

At a faster pace.

Multitasking sometimes

Causes waste.

Writers try to tell

Of the beauty

Seen in the changing

Of the leaves.

But no words

Can adequately describe

The pictures

God draws on the wall.

MSP

NITPICKING

"I used Grammarly to grammar check this post, because I don't want any nit-pickers finding errors in it.

NITPICKING

     It's always amazing how some of the worst readers, those who can't spell I, can find errors in books. Although such criticism can be instructive, it's often nitpicking.

     The source of the phrase is gross. It comes from the task of removing eggs of lice from someone's hair and clothing, a tedious job that requires close attention to detail. It's interesting to note that fifty percent of Civil War soldiers had lice, so one of their favorite pastimes was having lice races.

     Maybe that's what some readers are trying to prove--that they can find flaws in an author's writing, even though they themselves can't write a complete sentence. Such fault finders never seem to make any suggestions for improvement, either. Perhaps their goal is just to win the lice race by finding the most errors.

     Should authors listen to them? I'd say Yes. It's possible to learn something from anybody. However, don't be discouraged because your writing isn't perfect. You should also make your own final judgment regarding whether the criticism is justified with an eye to considering the source. Remember, monkeys nitpick all the time.