Friday, June 27, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Lost

Lost.  I got lost once...well, at least my parents thought I did.  We were on a family day trip to White Oaks Mall in Springfield.  I was just old enough to walk around the mall by myself...sometime in junior high...and my parents said to meet them outside of Sears in an hour.  So I did.  An hour came and went as I sat on the little bench outside Sears.  There were lots of interesting people to watch, especially a lot of mall cops with big flat brimmed hats on.  I was starting to wonder where my family was...they must've got sidetracked looking at the puppies in Pass Pets.

Finally, after a loooong while, I see my family rushing up to me, escorted by one of the mall cops.  My mom was shaking and my dad was mad.  "Is this your daughter?",  he asked my parents.  "Yes."  After a few seconds of very heated questioning, and lots of confusion on my part, it turned out my parents asked me to meet them outside of JC Penney.  The wandering mind of an adolescent girl...  I was probably too busy ogling at all the plastic jackets and chunky shoes when they were telling me where to meet them.

Five Minute Friday is a weekly one-word writing prompt by Lisa Jo Baker; set a timer for five minutes and write whatever pops into your head.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Release


Catch and release.  Fishing…catching lightning bugs.  I love to do both of these things.  Fishing is a peaceful experience if you don’t think about the gross parts. 

I remember running around my grandma and grandpa’s backyard with an old Jiffy jar trying to catch lightning bugs.  My brother and I usually made quite a haul.  Back then, I used to love the part when I could rip off their rear ends and make beautiful glow-in-the-dark jewelry for myself.  Seriously…who thought of that?  “Hey, how about we tear the lower half of this bug off, smear it on our fingers and call it a diamond?”  Usually, though, I think Mom made us let them go.  Probably because she didn’t want to deal with a jar full of dead bugs in the house the next morning; who can blame her?  They’re pretty to look at, flying around in the sky at night.  I feel like I see less and less of them these days, even when I am back at home in the Boro.  Hope they stick around for a while.


Five Minute Friday is a weekly one-word writing prompt by Lisa Jo Baker.  You have five minutes to write whatever pops into your head.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Messenger


Don’t shoot the messenger.  Messenger bag.  Deborah “Messenger”.  Messenger.  I have no idea what to write about this word.  But the clock is ticking, and I have to write whatever pops into my head about this word.  Messenger bag.  I keep coming back to that.  So let’s go with it.

I took piano lessons for ten years growing up.  One year for my birthday, I got a little messenger bag for my piano books.  It had a black and white keyboard on the front and zipped all around three corners.  On the very front in little gold letters it said “Kelli Marie”.  Eventually after a few years, the little gold letters started peeling off.  But they hung on for dear life.  I loved carrying around my little “brief case” of music.  I felt very professional…me and my bag full of Beatles sheet music.  Or Elvis.  Or whatever my fancy was at the time. 

When I was younger I wanted to be a lawyer.  I could picture myself in a smart pantsuit carrying around a brief case.  Then I saw Jurassic Park, and all that changed.  There was one scene where a lawyer was running from a large scary looking dinosaur and ended up in a porter potty screaming.  The dino got him.  And with the death of that poor lawyer my childhood dream of legal stardom died with him.  Porter potty…is that how you say it?


Five Minute Friday is a weekly writing prompt from Lisa Jo Baker in which she gives you a word, you set a timer for 5 minutes and write whatever pops into your head.  Fun times!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Hands

I really want to get back into writing again.  Just because I love it.  I found a lady with a blog, and she started something called Five Minute Fridays.  Every Friday, she gives a new writing prompt on her blog (a word, a picture, etc) and you have five minutes to write about it.  It can be anything: a stream of conscience, a poem, ramblings, etc.  And you can't be worried about grammar or anything else like that.  You just WRITE. I really like the idea of this, and apparently so do hundreds of other women who have joined in on the fun.  Now that I am a mom, it seems my time and brain power are slightly more limited than they used to be.  But I think I can handle five minutes on Fridays.  Here was last week's prompt: Hands.

My hands.  My mom’s hands.  My grandma’s hands.  My great-grandma’s hands.  My baby boy’s hands.  The older I get, the more and more my hands are starting to look like my mom’s.  I am 30.  She is 53.  And my baby boy is 4 months old.  Almost.  His hands are soft and mushy and have dimples on the knuckles.  I love his hands and I kiss them over and over every day.  His hands grasp my finger and hold on tight.  His hands go  in his mouth and are covered with drool.  His hands recently just started reaching down to his nether regions when I change his diaper.  I love his hands. 

I also imagine a potter forming a something or other with their hands.  Covered in clay.  Some of it is dried and some is still wet.  A big mess.  But creative.  It will turn into something beautiful.  I had a little kids’ pottery wheel when I was younger.  I never quite got the hang of it.  Plastic piece of junk.

On my left hand is a wedding ring.  This year we will be married 8 years.  I cried when he asked me to marry him.  And I cried on our wedding day.  My fingers swell at night so I take them off.  Sometimes I think my hands will shake when I get old.  And that is okay.  They may get stiff.  And wrinkly and freckled.  Age spots.  But I will always remember that these hands held the face and hands of my little baby.  And it felt so soft and squishy.  And he smiled at me, sometimes with his tongue sticking out.