Canopy in Autumn by Tommia Wright
A bit of scenery from a platform along the zipline.
Cookie Collection by Tommia Wright
“Twelve, twelve, twelve,” Sophia counted before the timer sounded, catching movement out of the corner of her eye. “Get your fingers out of the batter,” She said snapping the spatula towards him.
“So you lose a cookie’s worth of dough, so what,” Higgins asked, stealing a mint candy instead. “Cookie, it isn’t-.”
She was beginning to hate the nickname, still uncertain how it came about between them. “I have at least another container to prepare before your sister gets here. If you’re not going to help, then get out. Wait, you chose not to help; get out.”
“I said I think you’re doing this all wrong, Cookie. Since when did these over-the-top preparations-?”
Sophia stepped from around the counter and pushed him towards his armchair. “Pretend you’re a quarterback or a grumpy coach. I’m not explaining this to you – again.” She had two more batches to bake, cool, then divide before it was safe to take the other items out of the fridge.
If her boyfriend couldn’t understand the importance of her family’s tradition, then maybe the odds of him joining the family were crumbling. At least she could vent to his sister and her husband.
“What happened to the tray of fudge and no-bake bars that were in here,” she asked. The former was her grandfather’s recipe, the latter her late-great aunt’s. Sophia had promised Vivian that there’d be plenty to share, but now-.
“Dunno. Might have finished them off last night.”
Sophia closed her eyes, counted to ten. “I told you to take the leftover pizza home with you. How does a tray-?”
“What’s the big deal? So you don’t have as many sweets to give away, so what? What’s the draw to-?”
“All those times you said you listened to me, I’m beginning to doubt you now. Did you even pay attention to my father when-?”
“He’s the strong, silent type, emphasis on silent. That’s why I like him. C’mon, are you going to be mad at me all through Christmas?”
“Silent Night can be more than a song, you know,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “If you want to be the Grinch, go ahead. You won’t rain on my plans. Put wrinkles in them, sure, but not ruin them. So help me, you didn’t do anything with the gifts I had in the closet.”
“Cookie, you don’t even have kids, so who-?”
“And at the rate your chivalry and true colors are showing, I doubt we’ll have any or many of our own in the near future.”
A half hour later, with Vivian’s blessed arrival, the three of them loaded the station wagon with the items to be given away. Higgins grabbed his coat and gloves to join.
“Oh no,” Sophia said, taking the last space behind Vivian in the car. “You can spend your holiday elsewhere, like your parents, maybe. My father might take pity on you and let you in, but not if I get to him first.”
“Now you’re acting childish,” Higgins said with one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the door she was trying to close.
Vivian’s husband stood to his full height. “Higgins, drive home while you can. I find out you’re harassing Sophia, then we’ll need to have a ‘talk.’ Understood?”
Sophia felt her face redden, thankful and regretful that her brothers weren’t here. At least Vivian’s husband had the kindness of giving a warning.
“See you next year,” Sophia said, pulling the door closed.
As the car pulled out of the driveway, the three of them waiting to see that Higgins would leave, Vivian reached around and grabbed Sophia’s free hand.
“Had I known he was related to Ebeneezer I wouldn’t have introduced you to him.”
Sophia laughed before texting her father, asking him not to let Higgins in for the night, no matter what. “No worries. If he hasn’t figured me out now, I doubt he ever will, even if we said ‘I do.'” She felt her shoulders relax at her father’s reply and a promise of some warm Russian tea and teacakes waiting for her.
“Hey, we’ve some deliveries to make,” she said, then found herself humming a familiar holiday hymn.
It’s amazing what a power outage can do. I can handle being without the internet. Fixing it just the same was a pain.
Four transfers, three days of trying, two hours + on hold (with the actually connected call lasting 2 hours), for one ‘defected modem.’
I have patience, really I do. However I will only stay on hold for so long before hanging up and trying again – did solve quite a few kakuro puzzles in that time.
The first operator had me repeat steps I had done for the past two days, then transferred me back to where I was before – on hold – for tech support.
The second operator gave me advice in two different languages (thankfully I could comprehend the remarks in the second language without saying anything) – only for me to have to argue the price given, a price I’d later learn wasn’t even close to what he had said in the first place.
The third operator had the same name as the second operator and I feared the worse before being transferred to the fourth operator, who said the same thing as the third operator – ‘you’ve a defected modem.’ The suggested result was ‘there was nothing that could be done at all, but transfer me to a different level/tier of support…
After hours of listening to Muzak-renditions of holiday songs buried by obnoxious promos for cable shows I’ll never watch, or pay-per-views I’d never pay for, I was finally connected to someone who could help me get to a solution.
Thank you, Shane!
It’s amazing what happens when there is someone on the other end of the telephone line who wants to solve the problem in an efficient, simple way to alleviate any other pending headaches on behalf of the customer. Not only did Shane provide a means to helping me with the internet, he remarked that the charges mentioned would not exist, had no business to exist and that ideally this problem should not happen again.
He then thanked me for staying with (the company). The only reason I’m staying with (the company) is because it was a better alternative to the one I had just left. If there was a third option available, would I take it? After three days, two+ hours and one ringing headache, I’d be tempted to.
Amazing what the customer service of one can do.
Camano 2 by Tommia Wright
Today’s ficlet (trying to return to the Friday habit) was inspired by an ‘interesting gift’ given to a friend of mine. Some key details were changed for ‘safety’s sake’
A Matter of Drowning
The straw box had seen better days, in a time before Adam and Eve most likely. While the apple had been dangerous to Eve’s health (way to go, Adam!), the string-wrapped sin contained under the lid with its faded fuchsia bow brought about a personal Pandora’s Box problem to the recipient.
Jim Simpson had been generous to a fault, never saying ‘no’ to anyone’s request. It was only a matter of perspective to him: Was the problem really as large as it seemed or were folks taking a pebble and blowing it up into an island? He always believed the former, leading people to see the problem could be put under foot.
Until now.
He would have preferred his mother-in-law’s fruit cake over the contents of the box (not that he didn’t love his mother in law, bless her soul, but she didn’t know the first thing about fruit cakes and that was another story he would eventually pen and publish in the local paper – if the local paper ever returned to being a ‘local paper’ again).
The request was simple – read the memoir. Jim tried. He failed. It took ten takes to get past page one as it was. So many times, he tried, skipping or diving deeper into the stack.He knew the person and the fact of the fabrication in the first five lines fried his mind. He even tried to read later chapters – chapters separated by torn pages of newspaper comic sections in their full color. Poor Snoopy, poor Dagwood, poor Annie and Calvin and Hobbs. Maybe he could file claims of ‘abuse’ for these innocent characters being wrapped around such….such…
For a man who swam in words most of his life, Jim couldn’t find the right one now. Had his previous writing marathons led him to a ‘drought’ or had he simply used all of his words now? Was that even possible?
Jim gave a heavy sigh, wishing for once he was a dragon releasing fire with every other breath, tempted to pour his cup of ‘morning mistake coffee’ (the result of brewing a pot using an already pot of brewed coffee in lieu of water) to see if that might make waves. Probably not, he decided. He was a reasonable man who lived by reasonable beliefs and practices and values.
If there was a comprehensible story buried in this mess, he’d find it, despite the waves of resistance and reluctance. He would find it, highlight it, (aware that the nugget would most likely be the size of a pebble if not a grain of sand) and resist the urge to hand write a note with the instructions: ‘Apply lit match. Contents combustible.’
As friends and family prepare for the holidays – e-cards vs. traditional, this drove the point home on the treasures of the latter…
An article in today’s paper gave me pause. Cursive handwriting has one foot in the grave.
A debate wages as 45 states adopt school curriculum guidelines for 2014 that exclude cursive handwriting, but do require keyboard proficiency by the time students exit elementary school.
You can read the full article here, but some highlights are:
“ . . . it has teachers and students divided over the value of learning flowing script and looping signatures in the age of touchpads and mobile devices. Some see it as a waste of time, an anachronism in a digitized society where even signatures are electronic, but others see it as necessary so kids can hone fine motor skills, reinforce literacy, and develop their own unique stamp of identity.”
“When a kid can text 60 words a minute, that means we’re headed in a different direction. Cursive is becoming less important.”
“School assignments…
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Having enjoyed a splendid Saturday at the senior center bazaar, thought it was time to share a few possible book options to consider for readers of various ages.
I present the SnoValley Writes! Collection here.
Colorful by Tommia Wright
Sometimes a colorful shot can be found just around the corner.
Sweet Finish by Tommia Wright
54,381 was the final count (after a mild panic of 5,000 words lost just before validation Wednesday/Thursday). Is the story finished? Of course not. Definitely a twig or seedling, however, into something doable. So the indulgence as the gathering for the final finish at the local bar and grill? A deliciously prepared raisin bread pudding!
Letting this draft percolate/ferment for at least a month before taking the figurative sheers to it, snip it, re-piece it, etc. Four for four isn’t a bad feeling.
Steps at Camano by Tommia Wright
So, down to the final five days of NaNoWriMo.
I’ve almost made it to the 50K mark with the latest story, not saying that it is logical by any means. The promising start was good, the cast of characters intriguing and enjoyable, and the so-called logical direction I thought the story was going to take, well…easy. (Very wrong on that last point…very, very wrong).
So what did I learn with my fourth NaNo? Aside from the fact that Fear and the Inner Critic need to be cast aside, set adrift at sea (until the Critic-Turned-Editor returns to shore to untangle the seaweed wrapped mess of 50K+ words)- Sometimes it’s all right to admit to having a rough (rough, rough – as in rougher than walking on broken seashells rough) draft. Sometimes it’s all right to just let the story drift in a different direction than planned. If items placed as foreshadowing get overshadowed by something more interesting -fine. The world hasn’t ended yet.
Do I know where this will end? Well, definitely not at 50,000 words and not by November 30th. Like the four novellas before it, this will not get completely tossed (even if Fear and the Inner Critic say ‘Delete, delete’). It will be set aside as of December 1st to see what emerges after a dormant time.
A few steps to go towards the goal… one word at a time.
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