A Full Life
I'm not quite sure how to describe a full life. I'm not even sure I have one. I live each day wondering what I will have experienced by the time I go to bed that night.
Most of my days are devoted to education, my own and my students. On my way to work I listen to books on tape or NPR news. I analyze and evaluate. I am introspective and reflective. I believe that my education enhances the education of others.
My family (I am totally biased on this), is probably the best family around. I have a husband who loves me and puts up with my ups and downs. My children are amazing people who accept responsibility to their family, church and community. My grandchildren are well mannered and wise little people who already know when to speak and when to listen. They are great communicators. And, even my dog, an eight year old Yorkie, is amazing. He knows if company is arriving at least one half hour before they knock on the door.
This is the full life. It does not involve or include a lot of money or a Mercedes Benz, but it includes a foundation of priorities. I learned this the first time my husband went into the hospital. He was thirty-five and I thirty-two. Suddenly, I did not care that we did not have new furniture or a light fixture in our living room. Within a literal heart beat, I knew that my husband and my children were my center.
Sometimes, I forget and think of that house by the ocean and then I breathe and accept that all I need I have within my embrace.
Most of my days are devoted to education, my own and my students. On my way to work I listen to books on tape or NPR news. I analyze and evaluate. I am introspective and reflective. I believe that my education enhances the education of others.
My family (I am totally biased on this), is probably the best family around. I have a husband who loves me and puts up with my ups and downs. My children are amazing people who accept responsibility to their family, church and community. My grandchildren are well mannered and wise little people who already know when to speak and when to listen. They are great communicators. And, even my dog, an eight year old Yorkie, is amazing. He knows if company is arriving at least one half hour before they knock on the door.
This is the full life. It does not involve or include a lot of money or a Mercedes Benz, but it includes a foundation of priorities. I learned this the first time my husband went into the hospital. He was thirty-five and I thirty-two. Suddenly, I did not care that we did not have new furniture or a light fixture in our living room. Within a literal heart beat, I knew that my husband and my children were my center.
Sometimes, I forget and think of that house by the ocean and then I breathe and accept that all I need I have within my embrace.
Flea Bites
Fictional Short Story
The building looked inviting, yet I didn’t know why it called to me. I was going to work, and would be late if I stopped for any length of time. However, I could not resist. The façade was convivial to my imagination. The architecture was obviously partial to the Federal Era, as it blended lovely Victorian detail while incorporating the strong arches and columns of Roman architecture. A detailed porch as well as decorative eaves brought images of Hansel and Gretel to my mind. There were corner quoins and arched cut-glass windows which were paired, regardless of their location as though a set of eyes watched pedestrians walk by the house. A lovely clock on the tower declared it was only eight a.m.
“I suppose,” I thought, “I still have some time, for I needed to be at work at nine. I rarely left home early, yet this particular morning I had felt a sense of wonder. I wanted to experience the loveliness of the morning, so I had decided to walk the half hour to my shop. There was an ugly “For Sale” sign placed smack middle in the yard, and it looked so out of place that I instantly hated its presence. I looked up at the one stained glass window and thought I saw a shadow watching, lurking, but the specter did not hinder me from opening the door to the screened porch. It squeaked but I thought nothing of it except perhaps it needed oiling.
“Hello,”I whispered, “is anybody here?” Nothing, not a sound pervaded the air. All was silent. Perhaps, I had not spoken loud enough, “Hello!” I yelled out, “is anyone here?”
I heard the opening of a door somewhere in the distance, and so with little trepidation, I entered.
I walked into a large Great Hall with hardwood floors and three layered crown molding. It was bright and cheery room as sun light cascaded from the skylight of the tower nearly forty feet above me. I was overjoyed. I basked in the warmth, thinking my day was going to be full of happiness and joy. I had to tear myself away from the sun’s embrace, for I knew I had little time left to peruse this magnificent
mansion.
I owned a small book store in town, and my favorite books were those by Emily Bronte and Jane Austin, so I had read many stories by Victorian writers, and I loved their descriptions of massive libraries with thousands of books, leather couches, and Indian rugs. Usually, the library was the door directly opposite the entrance, so I ventured forth to the massive mahogany doors.
“Surely,”I thought, “this door must lead to the grand library.” As I placed my hand ever so delicately on the brass door knob, I heard a giggle. At first I thought it was my imagination, so soft it was, but then I heard the abrupt, loud slamming of the front door while at the same time the library doors opened as though through magic welcoming me into the womb of my demise.
I was truly anxious now. I no longer believed in coincidence. Too much had already occurred what with shadows, slamming of doors, giggles, and such I was beyond the belief that my imagination was playing tricks. I entered the beautiful library, decorated exactly as I would imagine a Victorian library to look. There were books from floor to ceiling, and directly in front of me, was the massive desk with the high backed leather chair facing the multitude of books. An ornate Indian rug dressed the worn wooden floor. The entire library seemed out of place because it was dark rather than light like the remainder of the house. There was no sunlight streaming through the brocade draperies, nor was there any light streaming through the octagonal stained glass window placed high above the organ that graced the outer wall of the room. That entire side of the room resembled
the interior of a flamboyant church resplendent with religious icons on the walls as well as an immense crucifix just beneath the stained glass window. I looked at my watch and panicked at the time. I honestly thought I had been in the house perhaps ten to fifteen minutes, giving me plenty of time to get to work; however, my watch showed ten thirty!
“What the hell!” I exclaimed, “Where did the time go?” Well, I was late for work. I quickly set out to leave the library, promising not to linger any longer. The library door was closed. I didn’t remember closing it, but I dismissed myconfusion and promptly went to open it. It would not! It was stuck or locked,or someone was holding it closed from the other side, but it would not budge one iota. Then I heard the giggle, only this time it was not far in thedistance, it was in the library enclosed with
me!
“Where are you?” I asked, “Show yourself,” I demanded.
The giggles became louder, sharper and older than the timid giggles from before.
“Stop it,” I yelled, “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a good job. I want to leave, now,” I said. I was beginning to fear for my life because the giggles grew in intensity, yet I could not find the source. Then it dawned on me, the chair with its back to me. How stupid could I have been? Of course, a child could hide behind the tall back without any problem at all. I immediately walked to it and swung it around to face me. What I saw next sent shivers down my spine and the hairs on my neck to stand out.
“Don’t stare so,” it demanded, “I’m not all that ugly. Why after a while you’ll get used to me and won’t think I’m ugly at all.”
I think I fainted because when I awoke I was lying on the velvet settee facing the desk.
“I’m sorry you fainted. You’re not the first. One visitor actually died of a heart attack upon seeing me. Imagine that?” it said.
“What are you?” I shook as I spoke. I had never seen anything like it. It was hairy from head to toe and its features resembled a mixed breed something between a pug, and an African pit bull. Yet it stood on four legs and spoke as a human.
“I’m an anomaly, as you can see. No, my parents were not dogs; although, come to think of it they were. They abandoned me the minute they laid eyes on me. I think they thought I was going to die from my ugliness, but Hector has taken good care of me. He’s the only one who has not fled from my hideous visage.”
“I really must leave,” I managed. Its voice had become gentle as it told its story, yet I could not and did not want to look at it any longer than I had
to.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go,” it said, “it would be much too dangerous to let you out now that you have seen me. The first person you tell will tell others and so on until they will all want to look at the monster.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I pleaded but to no avail. It shook its head.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Now, what book would you like to read?
I watched it as it lumbered toward the book shelves. It removed two books from the shelf.
“Which do you want?” it asked.
Beauty and The Beast or the Hunchback of Notre Dame were my two choices. I chose Quasimodo’s story for in the end he dies and Esmerelda
lives.
The End
The building looked inviting, yet I didn’t know why it called to me. I was going to work, and would be late if I stopped for any length of time. However, I could not resist. The façade was convivial to my imagination. The architecture was obviously partial to the Federal Era, as it blended lovely Victorian detail while incorporating the strong arches and columns of Roman architecture. A detailed porch as well as decorative eaves brought images of Hansel and Gretel to my mind. There were corner quoins and arched cut-glass windows which were paired, regardless of their location as though a set of eyes watched pedestrians walk by the house. A lovely clock on the tower declared it was only eight a.m.
“I suppose,” I thought, “I still have some time, for I needed to be at work at nine. I rarely left home early, yet this particular morning I had felt a sense of wonder. I wanted to experience the loveliness of the morning, so I had decided to walk the half hour to my shop. There was an ugly “For Sale” sign placed smack middle in the yard, and it looked so out of place that I instantly hated its presence. I looked up at the one stained glass window and thought I saw a shadow watching, lurking, but the specter did not hinder me from opening the door to the screened porch. It squeaked but I thought nothing of it except perhaps it needed oiling.
“Hello,”I whispered, “is anybody here?” Nothing, not a sound pervaded the air. All was silent. Perhaps, I had not spoken loud enough, “Hello!” I yelled out, “is anyone here?”
I heard the opening of a door somewhere in the distance, and so with little trepidation, I entered.
I walked into a large Great Hall with hardwood floors and three layered crown molding. It was bright and cheery room as sun light cascaded from the skylight of the tower nearly forty feet above me. I was overjoyed. I basked in the warmth, thinking my day was going to be full of happiness and joy. I had to tear myself away from the sun’s embrace, for I knew I had little time left to peruse this magnificent
mansion.
I owned a small book store in town, and my favorite books were those by Emily Bronte and Jane Austin, so I had read many stories by Victorian writers, and I loved their descriptions of massive libraries with thousands of books, leather couches, and Indian rugs. Usually, the library was the door directly opposite the entrance, so I ventured forth to the massive mahogany doors.
“Surely,”I thought, “this door must lead to the grand library.” As I placed my hand ever so delicately on the brass door knob, I heard a giggle. At first I thought it was my imagination, so soft it was, but then I heard the abrupt, loud slamming of the front door while at the same time the library doors opened as though through magic welcoming me into the womb of my demise.
I was truly anxious now. I no longer believed in coincidence. Too much had already occurred what with shadows, slamming of doors, giggles, and such I was beyond the belief that my imagination was playing tricks. I entered the beautiful library, decorated exactly as I would imagine a Victorian library to look. There were books from floor to ceiling, and directly in front of me, was the massive desk with the high backed leather chair facing the multitude of books. An ornate Indian rug dressed the worn wooden floor. The entire library seemed out of place because it was dark rather than light like the remainder of the house. There was no sunlight streaming through the brocade draperies, nor was there any light streaming through the octagonal stained glass window placed high above the organ that graced the outer wall of the room. That entire side of the room resembled
the interior of a flamboyant church resplendent with religious icons on the walls as well as an immense crucifix just beneath the stained glass window. I looked at my watch and panicked at the time. I honestly thought I had been in the house perhaps ten to fifteen minutes, giving me plenty of time to get to work; however, my watch showed ten thirty!
“What the hell!” I exclaimed, “Where did the time go?” Well, I was late for work. I quickly set out to leave the library, promising not to linger any longer. The library door was closed. I didn’t remember closing it, but I dismissed myconfusion and promptly went to open it. It would not! It was stuck or locked,or someone was holding it closed from the other side, but it would not budge one iota. Then I heard the giggle, only this time it was not far in thedistance, it was in the library enclosed with
me!
“Where are you?” I asked, “Show yourself,” I demanded.
The giggles became louder, sharper and older than the timid giggles from before.
“Stop it,” I yelled, “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a good job. I want to leave, now,” I said. I was beginning to fear for my life because the giggles grew in intensity, yet I could not find the source. Then it dawned on me, the chair with its back to me. How stupid could I have been? Of course, a child could hide behind the tall back without any problem at all. I immediately walked to it and swung it around to face me. What I saw next sent shivers down my spine and the hairs on my neck to stand out.
“Don’t stare so,” it demanded, “I’m not all that ugly. Why after a while you’ll get used to me and won’t think I’m ugly at all.”
I think I fainted because when I awoke I was lying on the velvet settee facing the desk.
“I’m sorry you fainted. You’re not the first. One visitor actually died of a heart attack upon seeing me. Imagine that?” it said.
“What are you?” I shook as I spoke. I had never seen anything like it. It was hairy from head to toe and its features resembled a mixed breed something between a pug, and an African pit bull. Yet it stood on four legs and spoke as a human.
“I’m an anomaly, as you can see. No, my parents were not dogs; although, come to think of it they were. They abandoned me the minute they laid eyes on me. I think they thought I was going to die from my ugliness, but Hector has taken good care of me. He’s the only one who has not fled from my hideous visage.”
“I really must leave,” I managed. Its voice had become gentle as it told its story, yet I could not and did not want to look at it any longer than I had
to.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go,” it said, “it would be much too dangerous to let you out now that you have seen me. The first person you tell will tell others and so on until they will all want to look at the monster.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I pleaded but to no avail. It shook its head.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Now, what book would you like to read?
I watched it as it lumbered toward the book shelves. It removed two books from the shelf.
“Which do you want?” it asked.
Beauty and The Beast or the Hunchback of Notre Dame were my two choices. I chose Quasimodo’s story for in the end he dies and Esmerelda
lives.
The End
New Year's Resolution
There are so many resolutions I have made, and in retrospect, they have been outside my comfort zone. For instance, years ago I promised to stop cursing. That was impossible to keep because no sooner had I made the promise, I got upset with someone or something, and I said the dreaded F... word. Then there is the ill fated "I promise to lose ten pounds" which immediately goes out the window because I always follow those words with, "within two weeks." This is absolutely unrealistic and totally outside my range of possibility. Of course there is my favorite, "I will not drink wine during the week" promise that contradicts my Italian heritage. All Italians drink wine with dinner, what Italian can keep that promise? I sure as hell can't.
Once, I promised to write a gratitude list every night, but that fell through after the first week because I was saying the same thing every time like, "Thank you for my wonderful husband, my great kids, my loving dog, my amazing job," etc. I can't make myself thank God about the air I breathe, or the water I drink. Though, I really do appreciate these things, they don't make me gush with joy. Another resolution I made and didn't keep was, " I will read two pages from the Bible every morning." That one did begin with some sense of dedication, but then my morning activities got in the way and I would postpone the reading to the afternoon or evening. That worked for awhile until those times became hectic as well. So, that resolution died a slow death too.
This year, I have resolved to live guilt free. I won't make promises I can't keep and I won't beat myself up if I don't realize certain goals. I'm old enough and wise enough to know some things are outside my range of possibility. I know I will work hard, exercise, eat good food (notice I don't say what or how much), I will pray as I always do and thank God everyday, as I always do, for my blessings, I will call family and friends when I remember and I will tell everyone I love that I love them, as I always do. These promises I can and will keep. As for the rest, to hell with them. They are not who I am and, "frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."
Once, I promised to write a gratitude list every night, but that fell through after the first week because I was saying the same thing every time like, "Thank you for my wonderful husband, my great kids, my loving dog, my amazing job," etc. I can't make myself thank God about the air I breathe, or the water I drink. Though, I really do appreciate these things, they don't make me gush with joy. Another resolution I made and didn't keep was, " I will read two pages from the Bible every morning." That one did begin with some sense of dedication, but then my morning activities got in the way and I would postpone the reading to the afternoon or evening. That worked for awhile until those times became hectic as well. So, that resolution died a slow death too.
This year, I have resolved to live guilt free. I won't make promises I can't keep and I won't beat myself up if I don't realize certain goals. I'm old enough and wise enough to know some things are outside my range of possibility. I know I will work hard, exercise, eat good food (notice I don't say what or how much), I will pray as I always do and thank God everyday, as I always do, for my blessings, I will call family and friends when I remember and I will tell everyone I love that I love them, as I always do. These promises I can and will keep. As for the rest, to hell with them. They are not who I am and, "frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."