I’m out of writing steam today. Today was the last day for the Scavenger Hunt challenge set up by the lovely MoonCatBlue (check her out; she’s truly a talented writer). I didn’t complete every challenge but I got really close (I didn’t do 7 of the challenges).

Here is a list of the challenges I did not complete:

9. Write a travel Haibun
12. Create something in which a lobster is a symbolic centerpiece. – mode of creation open
19. Create a piece to go with a favorite song.
25. Revise and/or choose 3 old poems, prose or photography pieces. Research and muster the courage to submit them to a publishing entity.
26.  Create something in which death is a central theme. -mode of creation open
27. Create a post incorporating the following: butterfly, sawdust, Mack truck, blood, ocean- mode of creation open
36. Go ahead. Write a sex scene. You know you want to.

I had fun though! It was nice to write some fiction and poems. That’s definitely not something that I do very much of.

This weekend, we are off to Pennsylvania. First to visit the Architect’s parents and second to go see Princess Diana dresses in Philadelphia. Yes, I’m dragging the Architect to see Princess Diana dresses but he’s getting to go to a gun show in November. I’ll probably go to but guns for Diana dresses worked like a charm for a bargaining chip

Happy Halloween to everyone!

This morning, the Architect and I drove into work together. We usually listen to a morning show on the local rock station. It can be a little raunchy sometimes but they talk about some pretty interesting topics. This morning the topic d’ jour was one that really got me steaming mad. They were talking about how one of the local news stations did a story about getting breast exams to check for breast cancer and they showed a young woman getting a full breast exam and you saw everything, nipples and all. I saw this report last night and wasn’t offended at all. I have boobs and I rather like my boobs and understand the importance of performing self-exams on my boobs every month so in case something goes awry, I can try to catch it early. I thought it was really wonderful that the news showed a full breast exam because I’m sure that there are a lot of people out there who either don’t know how to do a good breast exam or don’t do it every month so I saw it as a good reminder for everyone.

I also thought that it was rather brave of the young woman in the story who got the breast exam done. She was in her late 20s and detected breast cancer through a self-exam and felt that it was important for other people to know about getting regular breast exams. While I don’t see breasts as being dirty or shameful or anything like that, I think it would take a lot of guts to show your boobs on tv for the whole DMV area to see even if it was for a good purpose like this.

What made me mad this morning is that the radio show host was essentially making fun of the woman’s breasts this morning. She was only an A cup and had an inverted nipple and he said that took away from what the news program was trying to show because her boobs were small and he thought they looked weird. He thought that it would be better to show someone with bigger breasts. I thought that it was a pretty ridiculous conjecture. Some people have small breasts, some have big one. Nipples can be inverted or not inverted. All breasts are different but all need to be checked every month for lumps regardless of their look or size.

The news show was not meant to be a sexual show. Anyone who thought that is pretty dumb. Breast cancer is serious business. The person showing her breasts on tv was doing it for a good purpose and it shouldn’t matter what her boobs look like. She’s going through treatment now for her breast cancer and felt it was important for other people to know how to do self-exams.

What do you think about this?

No one has lived in the old Abbott house for about 20 years. I sometimes sit on my porch and look at the ruins of the house from across the street. You can still tell it was a house but it amazes me how relatively quickly nature has come back to take what was once hers. It was said to be haunted as most abandoned houses in Small Town, USA are said to be in some way, shape or form.  It was an old Victorian style house that probably would have been very pretty at one point but now the pointed slope of the eaves and the roof seemed to add to its ghostly story. It was the type of house that teenagers led each other to every Halloween in hopes of causing mischief and scaring their friends.

As all good ghost stories start out, there was a family who suffered a tragedy. This family had a mother, father and five sons.  I grew up in Culbert as well but was several years younger than the sons and never really knew them. Mrs. Madison was a socialite in the small town of Culbert or at least as much as a socialite one can be in a town of a mere 1,000 people. She was a glamorous lady who had grown up in Boston and moved to Culbert to raise her family. Mr. Madison ran a very successful men’s clothing store on Main Street. Everyone knew the family and liked them.  Although everyone in town pitied the Madisons for having so many sons and no daughters to balance the load, the Madison brothers were good boys who grew up to be good men. Michael, Eric, Joseph, Sam, and John were inseparable even with their differences in ages. When Mrs. Madison wanted Michael, the oldest to take horn lessons, the other four begged to take horn lessons too.  Mr. Henney taught all five boys to play the horn.  All five took to the instrument like fish to water and could be heard practicing all the time on their front porch.

Years passed and they got good enough to begin playing in the Front Street Restaurant, the only fancy restaurant in town. Then the Great War broke out. Michael, Eric, Joseph, and Sam all signed up to fight. John was too young and still hadn’t finished high school. 1,2,3, 4 brothers shipped off to the unknown to fight the good fight while John stayed home.

It didn’t take too long before word got around town that Joseph had been killed somewhere in Europe. His body wasn’t recovered but it was assumed that he had died in an attack in the trenches. Mr. and Mrs. Madison were devastated. Mr. Madison closed up his shop. Mrs. Madison became a recluse. John finished high school and tried to sign up but by that point the war was about to end and the army wasn’t taking new recruits for battle. Michael came home. Then Sam. Then Eric. The family was together but things were not the same. The boys withdrew. They never returned to their gigs at Front Street. Things never went back to normal.

Every night, the four brothers, minus the brother lost to the war, played their horns late into the night. They played the same mournful tune each night. Time passed and eventually Mr. and Mrs. Madison passed away within a week of each other. Each brother took their own turn in passing and each lived in the house until the day they died. John was the last brother in the house and after he passed, no one in Culbert could bring themselves to live in the house or destroy the house. It is said that on a quiet night even now, if you listen closely, you can still hear the four brothers playing their horns for their lost brother. It’s as clear as day if I sit in the rocking chair on my porch. I can hear them even now.

Atoms into cells

A million plus chances to get it wrong

One chance in more than a million to get it right

Odds stacked against everything

Who wouldn’t question going forth?

Life does though

It goes on and on

Taking small chances everyday

“Didja hear about Jonah?,” asked Pete.

“Yup. Sure did. It made it into the newspaper,” said Leo, through a mouthful of peanuts.

“I wonder who would’ve put that in there. I thought he didn’t have no family in town,” said Pete.

“That’s true but I betcha it was Mrs. Snyder. She checked in with him every once in awhile, cooked dinner, cleaned house, that sort of thing.”

“She did? Hah, why didn’t she ever come drag his drunk ass out of here? Probably would’ve added a few years to his life,” guffawed Pete.

“Now, Pete, you cain’t talk about the dead like that. It’s not polite.”

“I don’t mean no disrespect but do you remember how many fights he got into in this here bar. I mean he closed the place down several times.”

“You can’t fault him. He was a drunk. Probably needed help or somethin’. We probably could’ve done something, you know.”

“Oh, now that’s no fair. We couldn’t have done a thing about it. He wanted to drink and so he drank,” said Pete as he took another sip of beer.

“Guess that’s true but you still can’t talk about a dead person that way. It’s rude. And he was a nice guy anyhow. He was always nice to you even when you was boo-hooing about that ex-wife of yours. ‘Member that night. He bought you a bunch of rounds of beer, told you some jokes and even sprung for some of those nachos you like so much. He was a good friend to us all. Friends ain’t perfect. You ain’t perfect and I ain’t perfect but that doesn’t make us bad people. Didn’t make Jonah a bad person either. You gotta take the good where you can get it. The rest is just a buncha small details that don’t matter too much in the long run. We all got a small amount of time that we’re on this earth and we ain’t going to be perfect for that whole time,” sighed Leo.

“Yeah, you’re right. He was a good guy. I’m sorry. We should drink to him. I’ll buy this round! You in?,” asked Pete.

“’Course.”

“Tim, we need two more beers here. We’re drinking to Jonah, you want in?,”

“Sure. Three beers coming up,” said Tim

“To Jonah, a friend to us all,” said Pete, raising his glass.

The Architect has been one of my biggest supporters with this whole grad school thing. I started grad school right after I met him and he’s been my rock ever since. If I need help with homework, he’s there. If I need someone to tell me that I’ll get through this, he’s there. If I need someone to calm me down about whatever I’m doing, he’ll do it. Little did he know that when he took on this role, he’d also be signing up for the role of test subject.

Last Thursday, he had just gotten back from teaching classes for the week at his alma mater. It’s about a 3.5 hour drive from here and he was tired. After a heavy dinner of take out Chinese food, I informed him that I needed him for an experiment that I needed to do for statistics. Being the good rock that he is, he agreed… even before he heard the terms…

He had to eat 40 M&Ms and guess what color M&M he was eating out of two colors as he was blindfolded. A lot of M&Ms but a lot of delicious, delicious M&Ms. Who could complain? A person in my statistics group did some research and found that sparkling water made a good palate cleanser so in order to have a clean test each time, the Architect had to take a sip of sparkling water after each and every M&M.

Poor guy! Do you realize how quickly sparkling water will fill you up? But he did it. Even though he was already full from dinner and hates sparkling water. Now that’s love!

“Okay, we’re leaving now. Good luck and remember, we’re just a phone call away. I love you!,” my mom said, giving me a tight squeeze.

The door shut and I was alone in my very first place. It wasn’t perfect but it was what I could afford with my meager salary. The walls were the inevitable landlord off-white, as was the carpet. The apartment was a small studio but it was mine.  I didn’t have to share the bathroom with anyone. No one else’s dishes would crowd the sink anymore. I was free.

After five years of putting up with five different roommates after college, I was ready to be on my own. I had gone through Kate the Dirty, Nate the Drum Player, Colin the Food Burner, Anna the Hermit and Heidi the Lusty. Kate, I’m pretty sure, had no idea that we had a dishwasher or a vacuum cleaner because she never ever used them. I remember going on vacation for a week and returning to our apartment to a stench so great, that I left a note for her to clean up and promptly left again. Luckily for both of us, she took the hint. Nate played drums at all hours of the day it seemed like. I’m not sure how we didn’t have more neighbors knocking on our door or calling the cops. Colin burned food in every single pan I owned until they were unusable. He never offered to replace any of them. Anna never left the apartment, ever. I would come home and she would be there, always without fail. Heidi brought home every single guy (and about a 1/4 of the girls) in the entire city and slept with them very, very loudly. How much could I really complain about any of these people though? They paid rent and therefore the apartment was half theirs anyhow. I parted ways with each of them after our year lease was up and then it was back to Craigslist to try and find another roommate who would be a little bit better except they never ever were. It was time for me to be my own roommate. I decided even if it meant moving to a smaller place in a less desirable area, I would do it. I needed some independence.

Convincing my parents that this was a good idea was no easy feat. They didn’t like the thought of me, a young woman, living on my own. When I pointed out how miserable I had been with the previous roommates, they finally conceded as long as I promised to be safe.

Mom had helped me unpack the major stuff. I pondered opening some of the remaining boxes and putting away a few more things. I laid on my back in the middle of the apartment and looked up at the ceiling. It felt good to be home.

(This is fiction)

When we were little, we didn’t know how to play chess. I still don’t know how to play chess. A few different people have tried to teach me but I never really caught on. I guess I didn’t put much effort into it and I preferred playing chess our way. We would play for hours. Grandpa set his chess set with the heavy marble pieces right by the big picture window. I loved the way the sun came in the window throughout the morning. It was so nice and warm. I like looking back at those memories now. Our family was whole. We were a full set of chess pieces. Time changes things and without the proper care and concern, things fall apart, even families.

I was always the black pieces and you were always the white pieces. We named the major players. My queen was always Stephanie and your queen was always Erica. We played our chess game sort of like checkers because we didn’t know any better. Except in our game, the pieces talked to each other. Every once in awhile, Grandpa would poke his head in to see what we were up to. He’d offer to teach us how to actually play chess but we told him we were fine. This is how we would while away the morning. Eventually Grandma would call us for lunch and we would be done with our game for another day. There were other games but the fake chess game was ours.

I’m really not sure what happened between then and now. If you asked me to pinpoint when we first started to diverge, I still couldn’t do it. I guess sometimes blood isn’t thick enough. I wonder if you ever think about the games that we once played. Do you look at them fondly? Are they good memories for you too? Or do you simply have these memories buried in the back of your head? Are they not to be uncovered until necessary, whenever that may be?

The chess set is in my house now. I put it by a picture window. The kids have played with the chess set once or twice but these days, there are much more exciting toys that they would rather be playing with. I keep it because it reminds me of those long summer days with you. It makes those memories tangible.

Tonight on the news, I heard this story out of my hometown of Frederick, MD. Basically, the sheriff wants to charge inmates $10 a day to be in jail. He also wants to charge them a $35 co-pay for dentist visits and a $25 fee for those that choose to pursue a GED. This measure has not passed in the county government yet but if it passes, the sheriff thinks he can see about $300,000 to 1.5 million dollars in income from these fees. These numbers are based on what the sheriff sees as a “fair amount”; he knows that he probably won’t be able to collect all of the fees from every single inmate.

On the whole, I think it’s a good idea. As a taxpayer, I really don’t like having to pay for other people’s bad behavior. I think that these payments can act as extra incentive to not go to jail. Yeah, it sucks to go to jail in the first place (although sometimes I’m sure how much some people care whether or not they go to jail in the first place seeing as how they are repeat offenders) but I think that the monetary impact can be a bit more of a deterrent.

I do see how a program like this could be a problem. I foresee inmate rights groups stepping in and saying that the financial burden would be too great. A year in jail would cost you $3,650 a year (hey, it’s cheaper than yearly rent for most). I can see prisoners refusing to pay and then what would you do? Add time for them not paying? Some people just don’t have money and really couldn’t pay in the first place.

What do you think? Is it a good idea to make people pay for their own jail time?