Out of the depths of my past

This is a photo of the combined kindergarten classes of Mrs. VanWinkle from Pierce School, 1955. I don't know where Sandy got it, but we're both in there, along with so many others. I can pick out maybe half of them...we have all changed. 
I am the last person in the bottom right...leader of the band.
Sandy is the second from the left on the middle row.

10 only

What if some totally misguided authority declared that each individual could only have ten people they could love? These people would have to be named to a semi-permanent list and the names could only be updated, say, once a year?

We're talking dystopia for sure, but aren't all futures possible?

I don't know what made me think of this, but it's just one of those things that comes up as I am unable to sleep.
And I had to think of ten people, just to satisfy the non-existent rule.

Immediate family= 3
Mother=1

That puts me down to six left. I have two brothers who are married and have two children apiece. Already I'm over ten and that's not including spouses. No room for them all if I cut and cut.
I figure these would be my people. The other relatives would have to take care of themselves, making sure that everybody was loved and/or cared for.

But where does that leave friends?
I have lots of friends that I truly love and would want to include them somehow. Yes, their own could take care of them, but I'd want them on some sort of reserve list. If I had to wait for someone to pass on or for me to want to exclude them from my yearly list, that might make room for others, but not those I wish I could include.

When we got married, my parents wanted some sort of wedding. Mom drew up a list of people she'd invite and while most of them were lovely, others I did not want to invite. I didn't want a big deal; I wanted something intimate, quick and painless. No big party. No bunches of people eating chicken and complaining about the cake. When I proposed having Chinese food for a few friends, that didn't go over well at all.

I'm not a big to-do type. Not unless it would be for my coronation, and we all know that ain't gonna happen.

So, go ahead. Try to limit yourself to the ten people you would hold most dear.
It ain't easy.

Dead men tell no truth

How does one go about writing a eulogy for a shit?
A person more despised than adored?

I've noticed that, recently, it has been a custom to deliver some sort of individual speech at a viewing or funeral for a deceased person. If you care enough to attend the viewing or funeral or both, you ought to have something to say. I can't imagine standing before a group and telling them what a jerk or bitch you thought the deader was. But to tell the complete truth in this instance would be falsifying evidence.
So, you are left with half truths and kindly words meant to ease the pain of those this body has left behind--even if they thought the deader was a skunk who has left them better off for passing.

If called upon, I would suggest some sort of vague excuses for not really knowing the person, but knowing what kind of person he/she was. Considerate, a joiner, loyal to causes, veteran, hard-working, devoted to the family...that sort of hogwash. One would not talk about negative things here. Speak only good of the dead.

I'd go further back. "God doesn't make junk." How the person came into the world, all innocent, pure of thought and action--what happened later was the choice of the individual or circumstances beyond anyone's control. Burying Caesar, not really praising him. Leaving the eulogy up to God and anyone who would tell the truth about how much of a shit the deceased actually was.

God made the person perfect. Made the mistake, perhaps, of gifting a human with free will. In that way, what God did wasn't a mistake, but what the poor soul chose to do with life was totally up to them. Good or ill. Kind or...not kind.

I write this because some day I will die. I would hope those burying me would have better things to say than "she was a real shit".

God willing and the creek don't rise

Yes, I have plans for this week.
This story of mine needs to be put all in one place so I can start working on what needs to be added, what needs stringing together and what I can possibly do without.
There have been more words written, but I sincerely doubt it is near 85K. One of my best buddies loves to "write tight". But there is tight and there is "slight", which this may be.

First mistake, as I have mentioned time and time again, was writing out of sequence. A thought here, a bit more here, writing what I felt like writing at the moment...dumb, dumb, dumb. Stupidest thing ever for someone who is so linear. Granted, I did start this after the first cancer and wrote some of it between and then wrote some stuff while undergoing chemotherapy. Whoa! You oughtta see some of that crap! Or, no, really, not. It is such garbage, but I had to write something and until I totally went off into the time travel delusion/nightmare, the WWII story suffered.  Luckily, there isn't much of that garbage, but the time travel story...oh, Lordy.  Karyn says it is the absolute pits.
We shall see.
That, at least, is novella length.
Unfortunately, I wrote it in Livejournal and copied and pasted it onto paper. It did not do well. I would have to retype the entire story into the computer.  Oh, boy. Not fun.

So. Plans for this week:
Place the hard copy of the additional words into the proper stack of hard copy so I can locate it in the computer then copy and paste it where it should be. If I can find where it should be.  There may be things I have recently written that need their own chapter piles!

Dumb, dumb, dumb. If my mind is failing, I'd better hurry while I can still manage to handle this. I hope with concentration, I can get things in order. If not, I'm going to require the assistance of my artistic kid. Or the ultra-logical one who is hardly ever around. She did help with the initial hard copy sorting, so perhaps she can help with this.

Never, never, never again, Irene. You have had the entire story plotted for seven years. Yes, seven! You just need more words in the right places.
This is my most favorite story ever.

Ever.

Meet me again in Dreamland

She was about 17 or 18.  Popular, pretty, smart.
Perhaps too smart.
That's why they came for her, in the dark, searching outside the second story bedroom with lights and small flying drones, peering inside the two small windows on either end of the housetop.
They'd been by before, rising over the house across the street with their huge moon-colored ship, hovering without sound, suspended over the neighbor's house...waiting.
She'd seen them, the only one on the block to see that huge ship. No one spoke of it, no one in the tight little neighborhood had been awake.
Or perhaps, they slept in induced sleep, caused by them.

After the sighting came the calling.
Through dreams and echoing in her head to the point where she thought it madness.
But always, always quiet and urgent.
What would happen if she ignored the summons?

She did.
She hid.  She kept away from windows at night, not wanting to see that big ship, not wanting for them to see her.

They called.
She refused to answer.  She refused to allow them into her mind.

In dreams, they got her, but not for long.
Her mind refused to allow them control and she would awaken and force the thoughts from her mind.

Nights without sleep. Long summer nights of hiding.
Threats against her and her threats against them eventually must have worked.

The ship stopped hovering. Perhaps they had been seen by someone else. Perhaps they picked on someone more susceptible to their calls.
They are now only hauntings of her willful mind.
But, they are gone.

Refreshing

I have two daughters.
The first one came after the loss of three boy babies. I prayed, I promised God, I stopped doing things that were no longer important to me in a crazy attempt to have a live child.  All I asked was for the baby to be healthy, happy and strong.
She came out perfect in every way.
She's a scientist now and I'm very proud of her.

When she was five months old, one morning, only one morning in her baby life, she went back to sleep after rattling the crib bars and another miracle happened.  We got pregnant again in the quiet of that one morning.

I didn't think I could have a second miracle, but Someone was smiling at me.

Daughter #2 didn't open her eyes for me for a whole month...the month she was supposed to be born but surprised us early. She was perfect in every way, just early. And vastly different from the first baby. I couldn't go by anything that had happened with #1 to figure out how to handle #2.

This one was so interested in tactile sensations.  She adored color and played for hours with toys that the other one eschewed. They did play together, but it was odd to watch.  The younger one established the scenarios for their play and the older one followed along. The older one, who could read before she was two, would share books with her sister. I guess it was a mutual thing, this sharing, and sometimes it wasn't mutual.

The younger kid displayed talent in the ways I could thoroughly appreciate.  Singing like an angel, artistic to the point where she can draw just about anything...just ask her.
She has drawn the covers for my newest books and novellas.
She is responsible for my new website.  It is her gift to me and my stories.

Cold cream

But Sally wiggled out of Maggie’s arms. She went closer to the sink and turned the jar around so that the label faced out where she could see it.  The three glamorous women on the label smiled seductively back at her.  Sally smiled.  Maggie thought she was trying to match their expressions…which was something for a seven year old redhead to do, but she managed to achieve at least little girl coy with her look.

“Ah, that’s us, isn’t it?  You, Lulu and me.  Blonde, redhead and brunette.”

“Momma!  Yes, that’s us!  Did you think of this before you had us in your tummy?”  Lulu peered through her glasses, her big blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
Maggie stood slowly. How to answer this?

“Yes. Your father and I planned on having two beautiful girls, one with lovely blond hair that curled better than Shirley Temple’s hair and the other with flame red hair that danced gloriously in the summer sunshine. Yes, we planned it quite well.  Of course, I had to be the brunette, to make things even.”