100 Word Increments: Growing Old is Mandatory.

Next week is my birthday. I’ll be 32.

“Does it make you feel old?” my mother-in-law asked me after Christmas dinner.

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m aiming for thirty five. After that, I’ll celebrate the anniversary of my thirty fifth birthday every year.” I told her about my favorite Oscar Wilde quote: “Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years.”

“Wonderful!” she said. “I enjoyed being thirty five for about twenty years.”

We had a good laugh about that.

---

When I was five years old, I decided being a kid was awful. No one listened to my opinions on world events. I couldn’t buy my own toys or set my own bedtime. I had zero say in what was for dinner.

Worse yet, I was bad at being a kid. I was bad at playground games and making friends. I was bad at being stupid and impulsive.

However, I was brilliant at self-denial, planning ahead, and budgeting my allowance.

I just knew I’d be good at being old, in a way that I was never good at being young.

---

One day in November, as I entered the Goodwill store, several vibrant signs proclaimed, “Senior Day: Twenty Percent Off for Senior Citizens”.

“Are you eligible for our senior discount today?” I heard the cashier asking a tiny black woman who was very obviously eligible for the discount.

“Oh, no, honey,” the tiny woman said. “I’m only 39.”

Lady, are you kidding me? Pride is one thing, but twenty percent off is something else altogether! If you’re not going to take the discount, at least give it to me! For crying out loud, I could have saved, like, three whole dollars!

---

As we drove to the art museum earlier this month, my grandmother regaled me with descriptions of the delightful senior’s luncheon to which she had escorted an older woman she knows from church. “It was great!” she said, then hastened to add, “I wasn’t old enough to go, of course. It was all for Dottie.”

“Of course,” I said, motioning for her to continue.

I wisely refrained from commenting when, upon arriving at the museum, grandma bought herself one senior admission, and didn’t pay until after checking with the girl at the counter to be sure her discount was applied.

---

“It’s great getting old, because you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can say whatever’s on your mind. People expect you to be cranky at my age, so I get away with it,” an older friend from work told me not too long ago. As she finished speaking, she ran her fingers through her hair and came away with hair on her fingers. She ‘tsked’, as if the situation, while disappointing, was not unusual. “Just FYI,” she said, catching my horrified gaze, “when you get old, your hair falls out. Wouldn't want you to be surprised.”

“So noted” I said.

---

Last week, Randi lamented that, while she was stocking up for our New Years Eve party, neither of the liquor stores she visited carded her. “How many bottles of wine do I need to bring?” she asked sadly. “I have three, but I would kind of like to drink one tonight.”

I winced for her but I’ve never been carded myself. As someone who was bad at being young and impulsive, I was at least twenty-eight – well past the point of carding – before I ever bought anything at a liquor store.

…I wonder if liquor stores have senior citizen discounts?

100 Word Increments: September's Journey of Self Discovery, Part II

(Click here for Part I.)

-

“I’ll ask the twins,” thought September.

August and January were the smartest, most organized people he knew. Full of fire and resolutions, she was the start of the calendar year, he was the start of the school year, and both ran their lives by lists.

“We could help you become special,” said January. “But it won’t happen overnight!”

“There are steps, you know,” said August.

“Procedures,” confirmed January.

“Supplies to buy,” said August.

“You might have to take classes.”

“And start waking up earlier.”

“Are your finances in order? This won’t be cheap.”

“I’ll get back to you,” said September.

-

“I’m thinking of taking steps,” September said, at a backyard barbecue with his big brother July and July’s wife, Sunday, “to be more special.”

“Who said you weren’t special?” July asked, looking at September over the propane grill. “Do I need to have a talk with them?”

“No,” said September hurriedly.

“Because you are special!” said July, motioning with the barbecue tongs. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently!”

“Temper, dear.” Sunday smiled, serene as always.

“Okay,” said September. “How exactly am I special?”

“You’ve got…” July frowned, flipping a burger, then said, “Ask February. He’s better with words and things.”

-

Over wine and a plate of expensive cheese at a posh restaurant downtown, February spoke eloquently (mostly about himself, but he mentioned September a couple of times).

“I love your style, Sept,” he said. “You may not wear suits, like me, or office attire, like the twins, or anything memorable, like October, but you do your own thing.”

“Thanks,” said September. “I think.”

“If you want people to like you, give them chocolate, or flowers. Send a card! I’m brilliant with cards. Sometimes I put poetry in them! For example-”

“Look at the time!” said September, “Thanks for the cheese.”

-

September headed to May’s garden to clear his head. Unfortunately, the garden was not tranquil at all.

“I still have to till the southeast bed, get these roses in, and finish by 5 to take mom to dinner. Give me a hand with that mulch.”

“I just needed a place to think,” said September. “Do you ever feel like you’re not special?”

“I’m too busy for that. Who cares if you’re special?”

“Well, I sort of care...”

“No, you’re fine. April, though? Who knows what that girl does with herself. Talk to her. I bet you’ll feel remarkable by comparison.”

-

What September found at April’s cozy cottage only made him feel worse.

“What’s with these postcards from Japan?” he asked.

“I’m sort of popular there during cherry blossom season.”

“And all these books?”

“National Library Week!”

“What about this box of practical jokes?”

“I did some fooling earlier,” said April. “Want to borrow the fake dog poo for your next dinner with February?”

“Yes. No! I mean – Sis, this is frustrating. I’m the only month who isn’t special at all.”

April hugged September tightly. “Somebody out there needs a month, Sept,” she said. “You just have to find your people.”

-

And so instead of trying to make himself special, September searched for people who needed a month like him. He found people who weren’t looking forward to winter and took them boating on the last hot days of the year. He rescued people who had been hiding from their allergies since spring. He invited people who didn’t get along with the summer months for long walks in the cooling evenings.

“It’s working!” he told April, “Though it’s slow going.”

“Try having a holiday,” she suggested. “I know some librarians who want to celebrate controversial books. Maybe you can do that?”

-

“Wow! Holidays are easy!” said September. “Let’s have another! Everyone, why don’t we take Monday off and go to the lake?”

Workers everywhere cheered and patted his back.

“We would like a holiday too,” said some pirates. “Is your house available?”

“Come on in,” September said.

By the time he saw October again, September was exhausted. “Do you feel special now?” October asked.

He nodded, looking around at the photos now covering his walls, of smiling faces at parties and picnics. “It’s easy to be special when people need you.”

“You were always special,” October said. “But now you know.”

The End

100 Word Increments: September's Journey of Self Discovery, Part I

Once upon a time there was a month. A month is like a man with days on, and just like ordinary men and women, each month is unique. This particular month was named September. September had eleven brothers and sisters – most months do – and September’s siblings were all beautiful, talented people. One day, as September flipped through the family photo album, looking at pictures of his industrious brothers and sisters hosting holiday parties and posing in front of vacation landmarks, September began to feel sad.

“Look at them,” he said, “with their holidays and celebrations! There’s nothing special about me…”

-

Because he needed to tell someone about his sadness, he visited his oldest sister. November was very domestic. She loved to cook, bake, and host huge family dinners in her impeccably decorated house. She always wore beautiful red and orange and gold sweaters. September sat at November’s grand oak table and poured out his worries.

November patted September’s shoulder, served up some pumpkin pie and said, “Don’t lose heart. My family makes me feel special. You’ll find something that makes you feel special too.” She sipped some hot cider, considering. “Why don’t you ask your sisters what their secret is?”

-

September knew just which sisters she meant. He started with December, the star of the family, who was hardest to catch. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for company today,” she said. “I’ve shopping and baking to do before my cocktail party with Wednesday, and gifts to wrap for the white elephant exchange. I’m sure I’ll see you at the family dinner for Christmas. It’s on my schedule, or maybe my calendar. It’s written down somewhere. Anyway, terribly busy at the moment. But it was so nice to see you! I love you, and I’ll call you later! Kiss, kiss!”

-

September’s sister October was almost as popular as December, even though she was a middle child and kind of weird, with her dyed black hair and black fingernails, and with bats on most of her t-shirts, but she had lots of friends and was great with kids. She took September to a carnival, where they rode the carousel and ate corn dogs. She said, “You’ve just got to find your niche, Sept. Not everyone is going to like you, but the people who do will like you for who you are. Just try to have a little more fun, okay?”

-

To learn how to have fun, September sought out his younger brother March, a burly jock who loved to play sports and go out with the guys, Monday and Saturday. He had a lot of friends in a little place called Ireland, and a reputation for being rather wild. All the ladies loved March’s infamous spring break parties, and it was at one such party that September found the high-spirited month.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“What?” said March over the party noise as March’s pet wind barked excitedly.

“Talk!” September repeated.

“What?”

September eventually excused himself and went home.

-

June called to check on him. “March said you left his party early. Is something wrong?”

September tried to tell his most laid-back sister how he just didn’t feel special.

“We’ll soon fix that!” she said, and drove over to pick him up.

They had a lovely picnic on the beach in June’s favorite tanning spot, followed by seaweed massages at a fancy clinic. Later, there were ice cream cones. “Don’t you feel special now?” June asked.

“I’m sure there’s a difference between feeling specially treated and feeling personally special,” he said.

“Only if you’re doing it wrong,” said June.

-

(To be continued...)

100 Word Increments: Riding in Cars with Matt

On long car rides, I do my best to keep my husband entertained with scintillating conversation. Sometimes, he entertains me right back.

-

“Welcome to Killeen, Texas”

“What kind of name is Killeen?” I asked.

Matt shrugged. “It’s better than Slaughter.”

“What?”

“Slaughter, Texas,” he said.

I blinked. “Is it in Massacre County?”

“Something like that.”

“Is the Bates Motel there?”

“That’s the county seat.”

“Next to Happy Hannibal’s Steakhouse and BBQ?”

“It’s delicious.”

“You know, you can tell a lot about a state from the movies it brings to mind. Kansas – The Wizard of Oz, all nostalgic and over the rainbow. Oklahoma – nice, musical cowboys singing about beautiful mornings. Texas, on the other hand, had a chainsaw massacre.”

“It’s because of the traffic here,” Matt said.

-

TGIF?

“I like this song,” I said. “So cheerful.”

Matt scoffed skeptically. “You like a song about partying too hard?”

“Yup,” I said. “It’s catchy!”

“You’ve never partied,” Matt said. “Ever.”

“It’s still a fun song.”

“Shouldn’t we try it at least once?”

“Let’s just live vicariously through the music video,” I said, staring at him.

Several minutes later, he noticed and said, “Yes?”

“Just looking at you,” I said. “Can you guess what I’m thinking about right now?”

“Curious F-ing George?”

“No.”

“Beach balls?”

“No.”

“Tomato?”

“No.”

“Albuquerque?”

“No, it was ‘He’ll never guess what I’m thinking about right now.’”

-

Sullied.

“Look!” I said. “A fake kookaburra bird!”

“What?” said Matt.

“Kingfishers look just like kookaburras,” I explained. “My mom used to sing me the song.”

“What song?”

“Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree.

Merry merry king of the bushes he.

Laugh, kookaburra laugh

Kookaburra, gay your life must be,” I sang.

“Your mom used to sing to you about gay birds?” Matt said, laughing. “That explains sooo much about your childhood.”

“It’s a cute song! Don’t sully it!”

“Dear, you know I sully everything I touch,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, he poked me in the leg. “Touch!”

-

Thought Exercises

“Here’s one,” I said. “You drive a space taxi in the center of intergalactic commerce. Unfortunately, you’re a racist. What is the one alien species you never stop for?”

“Ferengi,” he said. “They never pay.”

I laughed. “Hutts, because they wreck the suspension.”

“Wookies, because they leave hair everywhere,” said Matt.

“No, I always stop for wookies. Otherwise, they’ll chase you down and rip your arms off.”

“Point,” said Matt. “Weeping Angels?”

“I don’t want to think about them!”

“It’s hard to drive when you have to keep watching them in the rearview mirror.”

“Conversation over!” I said.

(Don’t blink!)

-

Try Again.

We came up behind a truck transporting a pile of rebar, each piece as long as the semi trailer and as thick as my legs. “What does one even do with rebar that size?” I wondered aloud.

“Build bridges,” said Matt.

“Oh,” I said. We pulled up level with the truck. “Let’s try this again,” I said. “Think like a mad scientist. What does one even do with rebar that size?”

“Kinetic energy weapon.”

“Now you’re a spaceship captain.”

“Antennae.”

“Pretend you drive a Mech.”

“Field repairs.”

“You’re the iron chef.”

“Appetizers.”

This kept us entertained through half of Texas.

100 Word Increments: Parenting Advice from the Library

Imagine, if you will, that I don’t have friends with kids. Or coworkers with kids. Or relatives who talk to me constantly about kids (namely, the part where I don't have any kids). Imagine I have no access to books or blogs or magazines about parenting and I’ve never seen a family sitcom. Imagine that everything I know about parenting comes from close observation of the parents and children who pass through the library each day. Now, imagine that you have just asked me (the childless wonder) for parenting advice. Based on my extensive observations, this is what I'll say:

1. Other people can still hear your child screaming.

The twins would have been cute in their matching outfits if not for their identical gaping mouths, wailing like a pair of banshees at an Irish hospice. Their mother wandered the library with her double stroller, ignoring the noise, or possibly deafened by it, for half an hour.

Here’s a concept I’ve been toying with - just a thought, really:

How about - I know this is crazy, but when your kid is having a bad day and just wants to stand in the middle of the room and scream, how about we have that day NOT be library day?

2. Kids are sneaky.

Fetching a book from the bottom shelf in the children’s section, I found myself at eye level with a smiling boy.

“Hi!” he said, surprised, as if I had magically appeared before him.

“Hello,” I said.

“How did you get here at the library?” he asked.

“I drove here in my car,” I said. “How did you get here?”

“I drove here in my car too!”

“Really?” I said. “You look a bit young to be driving.”

“No, I’m not!” he said, holding out his mother’s keys.

“How did you get hold of those?” his mother said, taking them back.

3. When all else fails, resort to bribery.

“Rawr!” a pigtailed girl played in the floor with our plastic dinosaurs.

“Whatcha doin’?” her brother asked.

“I’m a dinosaur!” she said, flexing pretend claws. “Rawr!”

The boy shrugged and ignored her in favor of the blocks.

“Kids, it’s time to go,” said their mother.

“We can’t!” said the dinosaur. “I’m not done destroying yet!” She demonstrated by leveling the block city recently abandoned by her brother.

“Time’s up. We’re leaving.”

“Rawr!”

“That’s too bad. I was going to take us for ice cream, but dinosaurs don’t eat ice cream.”

“Ra…” The roar ended on a cough. “Let’s go, mommy.”

4. You have to watch your children.

The adorable little boy in overalls looked like he was on his way to the fishing hole: barefoot, blond duck-fluff hair sticking up, smiling as he walked the stumbling walk of children barely past crawling…

Gaily plucking book after book off the shelves and dropping them on the floor.

It looked like the shelves had exploded.

“Where is your mother?!” I cried aloud.

“Here!” she said from across the room, making no move to interfere.

I glared at her for as long as it took her to gather her child and leave, then spent an hour cleaning up the mess.

5. Teenage nannies are more interested in other teenage nannies than in their charges.

While shelving, I eavesdropped on three teenagers whose toddler siblings played nearby. Toddler Brother wouldn’t leave Teenage Boy alone to get his game on.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Toddler Brother asked the girls.

“Go play. You can’t have a girlfriend,” said Teenage Boy.

“You have a girlfriend!” said Toddler Brother. “Why can’t I?”

“Because you’re five.”

“Oh,” said Toddler Brother, turning away sadly.

 “So,” snapped Teenage Girl 1, “you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” Teenage Boy backpedaled. “No! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

The girls traded knowing glances. “Uh-huh,” said Teenage Girl 2, collecting their sisters. “Let’s go.”

6. It’s never too early to think about their future careers.

As a haggard mom flipped through the books on the cart, her daughter pointed. “What’s that?”

Mom sighed as though she were tired of answering questions. “It’s a book about squirrels.”

The girl’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why?”

Mom, still flipping through books, shrugged. “Because that’s what the author wanted to write about.”

The girl waited for more.

Mom ignored her. Flip, flip…

Finally, the girl said, “That’s silly.”

Mom didn’t even look up. “What would you write about?”

The girl stared in thought, then said, “Dogs.”

“Well,” said mom, “someday you can be an author and write about dogs.”

100 Word Increments: Road Trips

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." J.R.R. Tolkien

Mental Wanderlust

I’m very good at road trips… or very bad, depending on your point of view. On the plus side, I’m easily entertained in the car. “Mental wanderlust,” my husband calls it – my mind flits from thought to thought with little provocation. Every billboard is an adventure: I want to eat at every restaurant, shop every flea market, experience every roadside attraction.
Unfortunately for my long-suffering family, this is also the downside.
“Can we stop there?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that place look neat?”
“Not really.”
“Can we stop there?”
“Maybe next time.”
It’s like a tradition, the repeated requests and subsequent refusals.

Rodeo Pawn

A billboard in the middle of nowhere read, “Rodeo Pawn – Best saddles, jewelry and guns”
“We could stop and get a gun!” Matt said.
I scoffed. “You can’t buy a gun from a Texas pawn shop!”
“Why not?”
“It might be possessed by the vengeful cowboy spirits of old!”
He blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Endlessly riding through the desert on horses of spite and flame, digging in their lightning spurs, rustling the shady cattle of the Damned – Get along, dark little doggies! – and you want to buy their gun?”
Matt sighed. “Dear,” he said. “I love you, but you’re crazy.”

Beach Wishes

Everything’s beautiful when you’re going to the beach. “Look at that!” I said, pointing out every lovely thing we passed. “I wish we had one of those!” I said more than once.
We arrived disheveled after having stopped to play in the waves. I showered while Matt checked the condo’s closets for beach gear. “Dear!” he called “You get your wish!”
“An inflatable turtle floatie?” I asked.
“No…”
“A paddle ball set?”
“No.”
“A parrot kite?”
“No! Sheesh! It’s a rainbow umbrella!”
“Yay!”
“Good grief! You have a lot of beach wishes!”
But, see there? One of them came true.

Mascot

When we passed “Sunnyside Elementary: Home of the Dolphins”, Matt and I glanced at each other, obviously sharing the same thought.
“Ouch,” he said.
“I know, right?” I said. “Dolphins? What kind of mascot is that?”
“I bet they get beat up all the time by the schools with cooler mascots.”
“Definitely,” I said. “All the bigger, world-weary kids go to school down the block.”
“Their mascot is the sharks,” Matt said.
I giggled. “Dolphins vs. Sharks! It’s a slaughter every time.”
(Later, I said, “You know, in the wild, dolphins really kill sharks.”
Matt patted my knee. “I know.”)

Signs of the Times?

It was one of those church signs: “Sign broken. Message inside.”
Farther down the road, another said, “Forbidden fruit creates jams.”
Sarah said “I wonder, is there a book that they get these out of?”
“No,” I said “The puns are passed down orally through memorization by members of the secret society.”
“Enlightened Keepers of the Sign?”
“Yes,” I said. “Other people ponder the Bible’s cryptic references to signs and portents, but the Enlightened Brethren merely nod knowingly to each other.”
“Because they know which signs the Book is referring to,” Sarah said.
These are the signs of the apocalypse.

Wanderlust Fulfilled

“Ride with us!” Matt’s parents said. “Matt can meet us there.”
But after the fiftieth “Can we stop there?” I wondered if Richard and Leann regretted their decision to have me along on the drive across Texas, collecting adventures from billboards like a magpie gathering shiny things.
“Let’s eat there!” I said.
“Not hungry,” Leann replied.
“An outlet mall!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t need anything,” Richard said.
Then a billboard said, “Drive-through safari”.
“Can we stop there?” I said.
After a long silence, Richard said, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”
Leann nodded. “Me too.”
So we did.

100 Word Increments: My Job at the Public Library

“Look at this book!” Leslie says, waving a paperback from the pile of books she’s just checked in. Kathy and I look over at the romance novel entitled “My Devilish Scotsman.”

I snort when I laugh sometimes. It’s very unattractive.

Kathy steps in for a closer look at the buff male model on the cover. “Is that… Is he wearing a mini-skirt?”

Leslie’s hand flies to her mouth. She looks scandalized. “It’s a kilt!” she says.

“It’s a mini-kilt,” I say.

“There’s no such thing!” Leslie scoffs.

Oh, honey, you haven’t been to as many ren fairs as I have.

---------------------------

The cart weighs more than I do, and I’m not exactly twiggy. I take a deep breath to prepare my soul. The young adult section is mine, my baby, and I will see it shelved.

It’s easy to ignore the books at the circ desk – we’re always so busy there, and things go so fast – but shelving is dangerous: I notice the titles, the beautiful covers. I’ll end up with eighteen books to read over the weekend.

But not today! Today, I will shelve these books without stopping to read any of them.

Cue “Eye of the Tiger”.

Bring it!

---------------------------

“May I use your phone?” says an old lady with coke-bottle glasses.

Angela passes it to her. The old lady dials and listens for a moment.

I clearly hear the voice on the other end. “Hello?” I glance at Angela, who nods. She heard it too.

“Hello!” the old lady says.

“Hi, grandma!” The voice is definitely coming from the audio book section. “What are you up to today?”

“Just visiting the library,” she says.

“Really?” A teenager with a cell phone steps out of the stacks and waves. “So am I!”

The old lady hangs up. “Thanks,” she says.

---------------------------

Listen, sweetheart:
Times are tough all around.
No one ever said life was fair.
You don’t always have a choice.
Sometimes, things have to be done and you have to be the one to do them. There’s not always a reason and there doesn’t have to be.
Everybody has to make sacrifices for the good of all.

So when the library director tells you it’s National Donut Day and outright orders you to eat the maple glazed (with sprinkles), then, by God, girl, you eat that frakking donut and you like it.

Now shut up and do your civic duty.

---------------------------

“You owe a fine,” I tell a good-looking man in an expensive suit.

“Can we let it go just this once?” he says, flashing me a perfect smile.

Flirting? Seriously? Does that ever work? “Not for fines over a dollar,” I say.

“What’s it for?” he asks, still smiling.

I open the record. Must… maintain… straight… face… “That would be a cake pan.”

He stops smiling.

I clarify, “A Dora the Explorer cake pan.”

He nods, lips in a tight line.

“Maybe your wife checked that out?”

“Probably,” he says.

“Will you be taking care of that fine today?”

“Yes.”

---------------------------

I like processing the new stuff: being the first to see what we’re going to have, the repetitive motion of taping covers and applying barcodes. It’s good work, appreciated by the community. Whether it’s a novel or a DVD or an audio book, someone out there is waiting for me to get it ready for the shelf. Someone will smile at my work.

And if it means that I get the smug satisfaction of sticking a barcode right on top of Bill’s smarmy face as I process the case for Trueblood: Season 3, so much the better.

Go, Team Eric!

---------------------------

Cheri, the acquisitions librarian, polls the three of us at the circ desk: “Zombies or vampires?”

We stop processing books for a moment. “Zombies are more ruthless,” I say.

“But zombies are easy to kill,” says Benjamin.

“So are vampires,” I say.

“Vampires are more romantic,” says Angela.

I nod. “Rotting flesh isn’t sexy. What about werewolves?” I ask Cheri.

“Werewolves are fuzzy,” she says.

“Yes, they’re known for it,” I say.

“I mean they’re a grey area,” Cheri says. “So vampires are cooler but zombies are scarier, is that it?”

“Yes,” we say.

We go back to processing books.