Thursday Thoughts

Reflect

Well it's been awhile....my excuse...ah life.

On Family -

It's been a great week. Last weekend we spent some time as a family down at the coast. It was cold and raining...but absolutely beautiful - it's great not having to worry about sunburn and just enjoy the ocean for as long as we want - well, as long as the littlest bundle will stand for it, that is. But we got some great rainbow views over waves and rocks and beach and we were even able to take advantage of the winter timing to be up to watch the sunrise over the water - now that's something I have never seen and it was worth it :-)

It's the last week of schooling before a couple of weeks off, so the kids have been finishing off the work I set for them as fast as they can so they can start the holidays early. I am going to spend the holidays correcting a mountain of workbooks and setting new, less monotonous schedules for Term 3.

Master DJ had a nasty earache a couple of weeks back and I even had to submit to taking him to the doctor for antibiotics (which of course I have big issues with, considering research suggests antibiotics (including amoxycillin which is what he was prescribed) are linked to the onset of ulcerative colitis. It certainly would make sense in my case - Before I knew better, I was on about every antibiotic there is for a recurring throat infection when I was 17 and then on an acne antibiotic for months when I was 19). Anyway, he is thankfully through the 5 day course now and we are dosing up on probiotics.

Little Miss Ginny is still a night owl, but we are getting there, she is so close to 1 year old now - it's carazy.

On Writing -

No progress to post as regards the novel, but I have been soooooo excited working on another short story for a local competition titled "The Doctor, the Dancer and the Doors of the Cathedral". It was quite a challenge as it was only allowed 3500 words....my chapters are usually more words than that. But I have to admit the editing and culling process was liberating in a way and now I feel inspired to keep my novel sharp and succinct. Depending on how I go in the competition, I may post the story here for you in a couple of months.
The coastal trip was research for one of the settings in my novel and oh my - guess what.....they have fenced off an area to the public that plays a critical role in my story...Mr. T says not to worry about it and just write for what and how it used to be, but it does concern me some.
And as to be expected with such scenery and history on show, I have some new ideas for another story that has been playing out in my mind for a good ten years...so that's got me excited also.

Rave

Coconut Yoghurt -

I don't have all the commercial details for my rave this week. However, on a recent trip to another close by city we discovered a wholefoods store selling organics as well as wheat and dairy alternatives....it was like a candy store to me, I tell you. I tried not to get too excited for my own good, but I did try a little luxury item - Coconut yoghurt.  Oh my....it was delicious....of course the kids weren't near so impressed and I've decided it should be mandatory for everyone to go on my restrictive diet every so often just so they don't forget the simple pleasures...the wonderful flavours that become blazay and even distateful in our over-sugared over-artifically-flavoured world.

Review

This is a children's story, but I believe it would do good for absolutely everybody to read it.
I bought it as a gift for my 6-year-old god-daughter a few weeks ago, but my own kids also loved it.
Using the story of little wooden people (Wemmicks) and their creator (Eli) Max Lucado writes a poignant story about self-love and how our feelings about ourselves should be based only on how our creator feels about us, rather than anything that other Wemmicks (humans) think/say about us.

What was most interesting/impressive about this story about star and grey dot stickers was that it wasn't just the grey dot stickers that we should not allow to stick, but the star stickers also. There is a prevailing attitude in our society that those who receive earthly praise will and should be happy, but the problem is that those who receive star stickers end up believing that their value lies only in the accumulation of these star stickers and the achievements for which they were given them....this view is just as dangerous as the poor self-esteem of those who received the grey dots due to their lack of "achievement".

A beautiful story with equally beautiful illustrations.

Religion

I was saddened to read this week of the death of young Italian mother Chiara Corbella after she lost her battle with cancer. I had been praying for her and am comforted to know that her husband has taken such a heroic attitude toward the death of his wife. The young family is inspirational and their cross is bitter -sweet.

http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/im-going-to-heaven-you-stay-here-with-dad-italian-mom-sacrifices-life-for-u

And another interesting quote I read this week -

 The United States was a nation founded to secure liberty, not comfort.

Interesting point.

Sunday Shorts

The Hole in the Ceiling

 

A Sunday Short By M.E. Born

The marks on my bedroom wall scared me.

Mum said they were just rusty water stains from a likely hole in the tin roof, or the mess from a cup of coffee accidentally thrown across the room, but I didn’t think so.

She said she was absolutely positive that nothing bad had happened in the house before we moved in - nothing strange, nothing scary - other than the elderly man who owned it before us dying in his bed, that is.

He was there for three days before they found him and that only happened because someone called the emergency line from his house. Someone had said nothing; only dialled the number and left the phone off the hook. When the ambulance came they found only the old man, already dead in his bed - nothing suspicious except the fact that someone had already covered him with a sheet.

I knew nothing about any of this until after Mum had already packed me out of our old house, 200 kilometres away, and moved us in here. She knew though. She knew the house was strange, that it had a history, a story. But she didn’t ask questions. If the questions were asked and the mysteries solved, the rent wouldn’t have been so cheap and she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

It had been only Mum and me since the day, twelve years ago, when my dad took my brother fishing and they both drowned.

It’s a sad story, but I don’t remember them so it doesn’t make me cry. I only cry when I see my mum crying. She used to cry all the time, but only when she thought I was already asleep in bed.

I knew what nights she was sad and when she would cry over the photograph of my dad and brother. She would always rush me to bed, and sing my lullaby in a voice that was high-pitched and breathy and she wouldn’t look into my eyes when she kissed me goodnight. On those nights I would wait for a little while and then sneak out of bed and watch her from the hallway. She always took out the photograph and rubbed her fingers across it, kissed her lips to the glass and then clutched it to her chest as she sunk back into the chair and sobbed. I never went to her. She would have been mad if she knew I’d seen her. I would just sit on the floor in the hallway and cry too. Maybe I would miss them that much too if I remembered them.

But she didn’t cry these days, so neither did I. Mum was too busy to cry. After he’d died, Mum had got a big payout from Dad’s life insurance, but my uncle had encouraged her to invest it in some business scheme of his and he’d lost it, every cent. So Mum had to work hard now to keep us. She didn’t have time to miss Dad or my brother or be sad. She didn’t have time to sing lullabies and kiss me goodnight anymore either. But I didn’t need her to. I didn’t want her to, not now.

Because she was so busy it meant I was at home by myself a lot. At our old house she had worked two jobs, one during the day and one during the night, so I’d been by myself all day, apart from when I was at school - some days I didn’t go to school.

The whole reason we’d moved house was so she could take a better job and not have to work all day. But she still did. She did a lot of unpaid overtime, because she wanted to make sure that the new boss was happy with her.

So I was still at home by myself most of the time. I didn’t mind, I was used to it, it didn’t bother me at all until the kids at school told me about the house. The stains on my wall hadn’t bothered me until then, neither had the noises, sometimes loud thumping noises, but usually just quiet noises, like footsteps – the footsteps of somebody who is trying not to be heard.

I told Mum about the noises but she said it was just a possum in the roof and I nearly believed her until other things started happening.

Sometimes I found doors opened that I knew I’d closed, and windows open that I knew I never opened. So I knew it wasn’t a possum, and I also knew it wasn’t a ghost; which is what the kids at school always claimed. But a ghost wouldn’t need to open the doors or windows if it wanted to come in or go out and a ghost wouldn’t eat our food.

Mum was kind of worried when I told her I found doors open. It was the first time she hadn’t just completely dismissed my concerns. She frowned and mumbled and when I came home from school that day I met a locksmith waiting to change the door locks. But when I tried to tell Mum that someone had also been eating crackers from the pantry and drinking milk from the fridge she told me I had an overactive imagination.

Of course she didn’t notice, because whoever it was had self-control. They never finished a whole packet of biscuits or polished off left-over birthday cake entirely, they took it one cracker at a time - one tiny slither of cake, just a mouth full of milk. I wondered if they drank it straight from the carton and I guess they did because I never found a dirty milk glass. I did find a dirty sock though.

I’d come home earlier than usual from school that day. I normally had drama practise on Wednesday nights but it was cancelled due to the rain. I joined the theatre group in a lame attempt to make friends at the new school. It wasn’t working. Kids only talked to me when they wanted to remind me how haunted my house was.

The idea that practice had been cancelled due to rain sounded crazy to me at first. I thought it must have actually been an excuse because the drama teacher had a date with the new janitor that night, but it was something to do with a leaking roof in the play hall. It was the first time it had rained since we’d moved here – I guessed I’d be able to test Mum’s theory about our leaky roof too now.

I pictured the stains on my wall growing larger as I walked home - in the rain. When I got to the door I could hear something. Voices - mumbling. My heart was pounding like a drum as I unlocked the door and went in. It turned out it was just the TV. Of course the TV shouldn’t have been on, but I was just relieved to not find anything scarier that I hardly concerned myself about the TV playing away to itself even though I knew I’d shut it off before I left for school that morning.

It was playing some medieval history documentary, so, whoever they were, they were too intellectual for the day time soap operas. It was then that I noticed the sock. It was lying on the floor in the middle of the room, as if had been dropped by someone in a rush. It wasn’t my sock. I didn’t own any black socks. Initially I tried to convince myself that it was Mum’s sock, but I knew that wasn’t the case either. Mum didn’t have time to wear socks these days. She only ever wore pantyhose. I don’t think she even took them off when she went to bed. 

I looked at the sock for a long time from a distance. It was old and holey and I didn’t dare to go closer and undoubtedly find out that it smelled too. Eventually, I went outside into the backyard and fetched a long stick that I used to pick up the sock and toss it in the trash. I felt kind of bad for whoever it belonged to, but I figured if they really needed to they’d just help themselves to a new sock from my drawer.

The next day I was sick. Well, not literally. I was sick as in the “I was suppose to sit a maths test that day at school that I hadn’t studied for and my throat was slightly sore” kind of sick. Anyway, I told Mum I needed to stay home and she was too busy to insist upon anything different, so she went to work and I stayed in bed.

For a while I listened to music and slept, until I was woken by a much louder than usual thump. My heart started beating like a drum again and I noticed that the stains on my wall had definitely grown. I lay quietly in my bed to start with. I guessed I should probably call the police but I was always a little concerned they might lock my Mum up for my truancy if I got them involved.

I got out of the bed and peeked out into the hallway – nothing. I walked past Mum’s room and the bathroom – still nothing. I’d just decided it must have been that alleged possum when I reached the laundry and saw where it had really come from.

I’d never even noticed it was there before. I guess it’s one of those things that you don’t notice at all unless you need a tradesman to fix your wiring or until …. it’s missing. In the ceiling of the laundry there was a manhole. The cover of the manhole was gone. It was wide open, just a big black hole in the ceiling. Someone had come through the manhole. Someone was in the house.

© M.E. Born, 2012.