46 - December 26

Topic - "Instructions on how to cry"

     I remember talking to an actor once about "Method Acting".  As I was not an actor, it was a foreign concept for me but one that I realized I innately understood.  Strange when that happens.  But that's for another time.
     In it's most basic form, this actor shared with me how in Method Acting, the actor develops thoughts and feelings of the character to make him/her more life-like, more real.  We all have an "inner monologue" going on or are motivated by internal things that prompt us to 'act' (or react) in a certain way, and that's sort of where this comes from.  What it broadens to include is every aspect of the character and the more detailed and specific that inner monologue can be, the more "real" the visual portrayal will become. So they say.
    "Can you give me an example?" I asked my friend.
    "Sure," he said.  "Let's say you're in the play Les Miserables. And, in this play, you are Marius.  You're at the barricade and Eponine has come to you through the battle lines.  She is shot, falls towards you and you catch her.  A very powerful moment, right?"
    I nod my head.
    "How do you play the moment?" he asked.
    I shrugged my shoulders.
    "You get very specific, every detail becomes a conscious moment.  You get very deliberate.  Such as, create an inner monologue .... what's the first thing you hear?"
    "The gunshot."
    "Is it the first you heard today?  The 10th? How is this one different?"
    "It's not the first, but it's the one that is accompanied by a lot of yelling.  I hear Gavroche yelling and Francois shouting in anger.  There is a sound of movement, people rushing to someplace, scraping of the barricade wood."
    "Very good.  What are you thinking?"
    "There is someone there, someone has been shot.  I must see who it is.  I push people aside and freeze when I see them carrying Eponine over the barricade.  She is leaning heavily on them, I make my way to her, worried that she didn't get the note to Cossette, sick that something else happened. I lift her and gently set her down on the street ... she leans heavily on me and I feel the warmth of her body.  No, it's not the warmth of her body that I feel. I slowly pull my hands away and see the glisten of blood on them."
    "Ok," my friend interrupted.  "Now, as Marius, you are going to need to break down.  But, you don't know what a breakdown is to Marius ... do you know what would cause you to break down?  What experience would you, Matthew, you have that would cause you to breakdown?  Similar to what Marius would experience?"
     I paused. 
     "Once you have figured that out, once you have created that moment in time, with every sense you have, with every thought, and fear and emotion you can enter into ... I promise you, your Marius will weep. The key is in the details. Do not leave one emotional, one sensory stone unturned," he said to me, winked and picked up his water bottle.  "Your audience will feel Marius's pain even though it was you who created the experience on which to react to.  That, my friend, is Method," and he left the stage. 

    

45 - December 25

Topic - Hidden in the corner

     It was Christmas morning and Cindy was the first one up.  She listened carefully - she didn't want to sneak downstairs and surprise Santa! That would be horrible!  No sound.  Nothing downstairs, nothing on the rooftop.  The only sound she could faintly hear was her daddy snoring in his bed.  How mommy puts up with that, Cindy had no clue.
    As quietly as she could, she slipped out of her bed and peeked down the hall.  There was a faint light coming up the stairs but it probably was just the lights of the Christmas tree.  She tiptoed down the stairs and looked into the living room.  The tree was dazzling!  all the lights twinkling, the icicles waving in the air, the decorations sparkling.  Heaps of presents under the tree, each box wrapped in a different paper!  Santa had been here already!  She looked to the plate that held a cookie, a carrot and beside it, a glass of milk.  The milk was gone, there were crumbs on the plate, and no carrot in sight!
     But there was a glow that didn't come from the tree.
     Carefully looking into the corner, she could make out a glow that looked like a little door.  A door about 1/2 as high as she was.  A door?
     I've never seen a door there before.  Especially one so little! she thought to herself.  She went over to the door and tentatively knocked on it.  She could even make out a tiny door knob!
     "Hello?" she whispered before knocking again.
     "Who's there?" came a tiny voice from behind the door.
     "My name is Cindy, who are you?  And what are you doing in my house?" she asked.
     The tiny door knob turned and out stepped ... a tiny little man.  He was no taller than her cat, Garfield, who had quietly taken position behind her, intently watching this strange creature. He had on a big pointy red  hat with a tiny jingle bell on the end.  His shirt was blue and he had a brown belt around his waist.  His brown ants buckled under the knee and on his feet were the cutest red shoes with a silver buckle that she had ever seen! But the most imposing aspect of his appearance was a huge, fuzzy beard that came to his knees!  She peered at him intently and Garfield stepped closer.  "Are you an elf?" she asked.
     "Oh, Cindy!  I am a nisse, and not a very good one, I fear," the little man shook his head.
     "What do you mean?" Cindy asked.
     "I am one of Santa's special helpers and I get to go with him every Christmas Eve to deliver presents. I help him with his job, placing the presents and doing whatever he needs. This year, when he came to your place, your monster over there scared me half to death and Santa left without me," the little man moaned.
     Garfield was looking at him suspiciously.
     "But, how did you find this door?  I've never seen it here before!" Cindy queried.
     "Oh, this.  The door was here, but it was a mouse hole ... I just made it larger and added a door."
     "Larger? But no mouse hole needs a door and a door knob," Cindy asked.
     "That is true, young miss," the little man responded.  "But your monster has big claws and I had to protect myself someway, so I added the door with the door knob to keep him out."
     Suddenly, it was if Garfield recognized the little man.  The hair on is back went up, he arched his back and hissed a second before he pounced on the little man.  Quick as a whistle, the little man jumped back behind the door and closed it an instant before the cat body-slammed him to the floor.
     "No!" Cindy whispered loudly and grabbed Garfield.  "Please, little man!  Please come back!  I have so much to ask you!  I don't even know your name!"

40 - December 20

Topic: "On my birthday, ..."

     Sharon sat in her therapist's chair, not for the first time.  But this was the first time she didn't really want to talk.
     "Sharon, tell me about a birthday," Dr. Thompson asked.
     "Dr. Thompson, I really don't want to talk about it."
     "Why not?"
     "I never really had any good birthdays.  They were often just like every other day."
     "Tell me about this."
     "There's nothing to tell."
     "Did you go to birthday parties with friends?"
     "Sometimes."
     "How did you feel about what you saw with others and what you felt on your birthday?"
     "How do you think I felt?  I was a kid.  I wanted what they had."
     "Looking back on it now, what are your thoughts?"
     "I understand days like that and Christmas were tough in my family.  My mom didn't have much money and there always seemed to be something else.  I get that it was not easy.  An, at the same time, I wonder why there wasn't more basic joy."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well, birthdays don't have to be about gifts. But if a gift isn't possible, I think the day should still be about the person.  Somehow show them you care about them, let them know they are important to you.  And that, none of that, did I experience."
     "What are you saying?  That you didn't feel loved?"
     "In a way, I guess.  Mom was always out, working and whatever.  She was often never home on my birthday, and sometimes brought something that seemed to be a last minute thought.  When I got older, a friend often made me a birthday cake.  I realized that I never got a birthday cake ... except," Sharon got lost in thought, "except for that birthday when I had two friends over.  That year mom got me a cake."
     She paused.  Her therapist remained quiet.
     "I think mom made it.  Maybe not.  Maybe Crystal's mom brought it."  A faint recollection tickled the edges of Sharon's memory.
     Sharon looked up and looked in Dr. Thompson's eyes, flooding with tears.  Her shoulders slumped over and clutched her hands in her lap.  "Not even then ... not even then did mom bring me a cake."

39 - December 19

Topic - A one-way ticket

     The night was dark as she stared into the abyss. There was no lights to be seen, save for the sliver of moon pushing through the clouds. The seat was barely comfortable and the coat she wore didn't cover her well. The rumble of the bus engine was regular enough to lull anyone to sleep but it wasn't working.  Too many thoughts chasing each other around in her mind. She was too exhausted to sleep.
     She had reached the end of her rope.  Everything came to the end in Toronto and there was nothing left.  After months of trying to find another job, only to continue empty handed, she realized this was it.  She finished deleting her life yesterday, saving the things she could not part with in a small storage unit to return to later, and bought a one-way ticket west.  Suitcase in hand, she boarded the bus three hours ago to begin again somewhere else.  She had a small amount of money for this ticket, and decided to see how far it would take her and that is where she would begin again.  $300 got her as far as Dryden ON, and it would be a place to start.  She still had hours to go.  Gratitude that the bus was relatively empty, she got up to stretch her legs and wandered up to the the front. 
     "I don't know how to you it," she stood with her arms crossed, just behind the bus driver, staring out into the night.
     "You get used to it," he replied.
     "The endless hours of driving, with nothing but the radio for company, it just seems so empty to me," she mused.
     "I don't have to run away from my life until I'm ready to," he answered.  "I have lots of time to think and often I find the answer on roads like this." He looked sideways at her, as if he knew more than he was saying.
     "Are you psychic?" she smiled.
     "No, but you're not the first with an 'end of the rope' look about her to board this bus."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Not many get on with a large suitcase and a pillow for a day-long journey.  Most would fly and not bus through the night ... except for those that want time to think.  And Dryden ... either you have family there, or that's as far as you could buy."
     "Hmm ... you have a point.  Are we going to be stopping any time soon to walk around a bit?"
     "Yes, there's a ten minute stop at the Pointe-Au-Baril turn-off coming up in about fifteen minutes."
     "Great. It will be good to get out and move around."  She turned around and headed back to her seat. 
     Trying to cover with her coat again, she closed her eyes.  Memories of the day she was called in to her manager's office, of the number of resumes she sent out and the phone calls she made and realizing that she needed to change something and the sleepless nights ... all didn't stop.  Even the slowing of the bus's engine didn't slow anything down for her. 
     The bus came to a stop.  She got up again (not nearly as stiff as before!) and made her way to the front.  The door was open so she disembarked.  A couple of other passengers were standing around in the cool night air, sleepily having a cigarette.  She walked a few yards away and stretched. Looking up into the dark night air, she almost believed that she could reach up and touch the stars.  They seemed so big and so close! Oh, that she could just pull herself up and off this planet!
     She turned back to see the passengers making their way back on the bus.  The bus driver was talking to someone on the side, someone she had not seen before.  He was tall - taller than the busdriver.  Lanky with dark hair and it looked like a black leather jacket that he wore.  It seemed like money was exchanged and he made his way on to the bus.  She picked up her pace and got to the bus seconds after. 
     "A new passenger?" she asked.
     "Yup.  You might get to know him.  Seems he's also going to Dryden," the bus driver answered.
     "You make it sound like Dryden is a tiny town where everyone knows everyone and their business!"
     "Well, it's not quite that bad but it ain't no Toronto!"
     She made her way back to her seat and noticed that the new passenger had made himself comfortable in the seat behind her. She settled into her seat again, arranged her pillow and tried to get comfortable.  It was going to be a long night if she didn't fall asleep soon. She closed her eyes.
     She woke when the bus started to slow down and mumbling came through.  It was still dark.  She heard the firm, loud words: "Sir, you need to hand that to me, calm down and return to your seat." Her eyes flew open and she peered over the seats.  The bus had stopped and the bus driver was standing in front of a passenger, holding out his hand.  There was a strong note of concern in his voice.

    

38 - December 18

Topic - He (she) ordered the usual.

     It was Friday night ... again.  She walked in the door and kicked off her shoes, dropped her handbag and walked to the bedroom.  With a deep breath, she took her clothes off and crawled into her 'jammies'.  It was barely 6:00 and it looked like she was ready for bed.  Walking into her living room, she curled up on the sofa and sighed.  Looking at her watch, she though, that must be a record - less than 3 minutes from door to sofa.  Oh, what an exciting life I live!
     This had become her regular Friday night.  Sometimes she wondered if it was healthy, for there were days in her past that Friday was her 'going-out' night.  She'd do anything to go out, even if it meant going shopping or dining or going to a movie alone.  But Friday was the night she set aside for that.  Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time she had gone out, with a friend or otherwise, on a Friday night.  This was now her usual Friday night.
     And, along with that, came the usual phone call to Wong's Chinese Food Take-out and Delivery.  The number was programmed into her phone and she rang it.
     "Hi Sam, it's Sam," she smiled, remembering when they discovered they had the same name - his, the Anglo name he chose for himself when he moved here; mine, the shorter version of Samantha.
     "Hey Sam! how are you?" he asked in his accented voice.
     "Doing fantastic, Sam!" I responded.
     "What I get for you tonight?" he asked.
     "The usual," I said.
     "You sure you no try something new? We have other good food, too," he encouraged.
     "Not tonight, but another time, I promise."
     "And only for you?" he asked again.
     I sighed.  Yes.  "Yes, Sam, and no smart comments," I tried to smile through the words so he knew I wasn't upset.
     "You really need to get out more, Sam," he said.
     "Yes, yes, I know." I really did know. 
     "Pick up or delivery?  wait ... don't tell me.  You want delivery, yes?"
     "Yes, have someone bring it around."
     "Sam, you know something wrong when I know your 'usual' but I also don't ask for address. Just once,before I die, promise, you will call and surprise me!"
     "Yes, Sam, I promise I will."
     "I'm an old man, girl! I no live much longer!"
     "Sam, you're not much older than I am," I laughed.
     "Ok ... your usual is usual price.  My grandson bring it by in 10 minutes."
     "Thank you, Sam!" I smiled. He was a nice man, almost twice my age with very little hair.  I think he owned the restaurant at one time but now his son owns it and his grandson just got his license so he's the courier and enjoys making a little money on the side.
     I picked up the remote and surfed through my usual channels.  The usual Friday-night shows ... maybe something better will be on later.  Until then, there was quite the selection I had PVRd from the previous week, yet to see.  I pulled the blanket over me and picked a show.

  

37 - December 17

Topic - "He was the kind of man who ... "

     Christmas Day was fast approaching and though there wasn't much snow on the ground, the people in the malls made up for it.  Every mall in the city was packed and for as much as the atmosphere was happy and festive, there was the occasional place where the fight over an item would escalate to the point where both parties lost the item and found themselves on the sidewalk outside the mall.  At Evergreen Mall, this was the responsibility of Theo, the security guard for the mall.
     Theo had worked at Evergreen Mall ever since it was first opened, many years ago.  He started as a nightwatchman and eventually worked his way up to head of security.  Not bad for a little boy who had all his teachers say he'd never amount to much and didn't go past grade 8!  If you would watch Theo outside of his job, you probably would be distracted with something far more interesting.  He really wasn't noticeable in any way, he lived in a tiny apartment about a block from the mall and it was easy to miss him in the rush of life.  Theo had dated a girl back when he was in his twenties, but obviously, that turned out different and since then, he very much kept to himself.
     This season had been particularly difficult - it seemed that more and more people were shoplifting and getting smarter at it.  More than once he had been taking care of an incident with a conflict, only to hear a shout from behind him and some punk kid running down the hall with something grasped in his hand.  And, as much as he would try, he could no longer catch the hoodlum.  Theo knew this was not a good thing.
     On December 23, he arrived for work to find a note tacked on his locker, requesting a visit to the mall manager that day.  That's interesting, Theo thought.  Christmas wishes, likely.  Mr. Merton had always been nice to him so it was probably something to do with the well wishes of the season.
     He donned his jacket and made sure everything was in place before making his way to the office.  Opening the door, he was greeted by the smiling face of Shelly, the admin assistant to the manager.
     "Hi Mr. Smithers,  are you here to see Mr. Merton?" she asked cheerfully.
     "Good morning, Shelly.  Yes, I had a note on my locker to come in today, so here I am.  Is it a good time or should I come back?" Theo asked.
     "No, he should be free right away.  It's the start of the day, so nothing much has got going yet.  If you can wait a minute or two, I'm sure he can see you,"  she said.  She picked up the phone and had a quick conversation.  Turning back to Theo, "Have a seat - he'll see you in 5 minutes."
     "Thank you very much, Shelly," Theo said and found a chair to sit on.  
     Right on time, the door opened and a hearty man with a jovial demeanor walked out and came over to Theo, offering his hand.  "Well, well, Theo; thank you for coming in.  Come, come ... join me in my office," he shook Theo's hand and ushered him into his inner sanctum, closing the door behind him.  "Have a seat, Theo," he indicated a leather chair in front of the desk.
     Theo sat down cautiously, making sure that everything was in its place. "What can I do for you, Mr. Morton, sir?"
     Merton sighed.  "Theo, this is not easy for me to say."
    Theo froze.  The room froze.  Everything stopped. 
    "Theo, you have worked here longer than I have.  You are much a a part of Evergreen Mall as the mall itself.  Everyone here knows you and loves you and you have done so much for the mall through the years you've been here.  The fact is that, well, the commercial world is changing.  As you know, we've had to install security cameras in every corner of the mall.  We are going to have to go in a new direction with security and I tried to hold it off as long as I could, but the fact is that things will be changing around here in the new year.  Theo, I'm afraid we will have to lay you off at the end of the year."
    Theo didn't ear much after "you have worked here ..." but those last words did sink in. 

   
    

35 - December 15

Topic: Write about moon shadows

     The land was blanketed with a fresh layer of snow, twinkling like a million diamonds in the moonlight.  In the darkened window, a small face could be seen, gazing out into the night.  The house was entirely dark, sitting in the middle of a small opening in the forest.  No other houses, towns or cities were near, so there was nothing to break the night sky.  A full moon, stars close enough to touch, and the sparkling snow.  It was a breath-taking sight.
     The pale curtains were pulled back a little further so the small face to come close to pressing her nose to the window. In the cold. the window lightly fogged and frosted beneath her nose. 
     Suddenly she felt a slight tugging on the blanket that was wrapped around her.  She looked over.  The little boy took the opportunity and crawled up under the blanket and beside her on the chair.
     A sleepy voice asked, "Katie, why are you still up?  What are you looking at?"
     "Shhhh," she whispered to him as she pulled his little body closer and covered him.  "I'm just looking at the pretty scene.  Isn't it something?"
     "It's just snow in the moonlight."

34 - December 14

Topic: The Table in the Corner

    

     Every home has a kitchen, and in that kitchen resides the 'kitchen table'. I once lived in a fabulous little apartment where my 'kitchen table' was a counter that was between the kitchen and dining room area. Sometimes I ate at it, but more often, I filled my plate and ate in the kitchen standing up. Why? simply because my 'table' was stacked with work to do, my computer was set up on it and there was no room. If you look in my apartment right now, a rather nice basement apartment, I do have a kitchen table - sitting in the far corner, stacked with receipts, unopened envelopes, containers, papers, a hole-punch, tape and that thing that you use to pump up an exercise ball. Oh, and 2 warped candles. I removed 4 stacks of papers that I still need to go through ... relocated them to a box, which now sits on a chair beside the table. There is a lamp over the table and a florescent light in the ceiling close by. I encourage you to take a moment right now - to look at your kitchen table, where is it placed, what is on it, what is the relationship between it and your kitchen, and the rest of your house?
      Now, let's step back a second. Take a 'snapshot', hold it in your mind's camera and reflect.
      If you go shopping for a kitchen table, there are so many options to consider, so many things to think about ... what do you NEED? What is the purpose of your table? Where does it fit in your kitchen?
      It is the kitchen table around which people gather to share a meal and share their lives. It is the anchor in the family. They say you can see how strong a family is when you look at how they spend their mealtime together. It is the center of social activity, where nourishment is obtained, where food is shared, a source of unity, togetherness, connection. Tables can be round (closeness, intimacy, equality) or square (socializing, gatherings, celebrations). Think of dinners you share with extended family or friends - birthday parties, Christmas, Thanksgiving. The decoration and beauty of a table for spring, for holidays, a romantic dinner with candles, a summer tea with lemonade and scones. What is at the bottom off all of these? Community and relationships.
      Now look at my table ... or at yours. Go back to that snapshot. Do you see community in your table? do you see relationship and beauty there? I don't in mine. As it sits on the side, covered in utilitarian piles of paper, it is not conducive to any sort of romance or celebration. In fact, even in the attempt of those candles, they are warped and pushed to the side. Like the table.
      I think in our lives, we fill it with clutter. Albeit necessary clutter (those bills in those unopened envelopes need to be paid!), there needs to be a place for that clutter to be regulated and kept and managed. And the table, just like parts of my life, needs to be cleaned and the space needs to be created ... for community, for relationship. If there is no space, how can I ever invite someone in and share a cup of tea or a glass of wine?
      I don't think I need a kitchen table ... I need a bigger desk. And yet I do need a table ... I desperately need all that it symbolizes. I wonder what would happen if I cleaned it off? Maybe that would be a good place to start. I wonder what ... or who ... I could invite in when the table is cleaned off and made to look pretty with straight candles and fresh flowers?
      They say that your outer world is indicative of your inner world, and if that is the case, we have some serious work to do!

Build it and they will come ...

31 - December 11

Topic - I couldn't see anything but the road in front of me.

      I had left late - there were just so many last minute things I wanted to get done before leaving.  I got most of them done, but it was also pushing 8 PM by the time I pulled out of the driveway.  It was going to be a long drive but I wanted to get there as close to midnight as possible.  At this rate, I would probably pull in closer to 1 AM than midnight!
     It was Christmas and I had decided at the last minute to drive to a friend's place in another province to spend the holiday with her and her family.
     Christmas was one of those holidays for me that was bittersweet ... it never quite was what I dreamed it could be.  Yes, to a great deal, that was due to the poverty I grew up in.  You can't create a lavish holiday when there's barely enough money to put a meal on the table.  I thought back and through all of this as I drove through the countryside towards my destination.  I didn't remember any gifts I had received over the years, but I did remember a few Christmases where my mother sure complained about the gifts she received.  I remember making my mother gifts but I don't ever remember her using them. The good memories I have are of going to church on Christmas Eve ... the peaceful and beautiful moments when the room hushed and sang "Silent Night" a capella while lighting candles.  I remember joining friends for Christmas Day meals, I remember driving to my grandparents for the season.  Those were good memories.
     Since growing up, I don't remember any Christmas that ever measured up to what I dreamed.  The one that came closest was the last Christmas I spent with my brother, his family and my father.  And since then ... well ... yeah. I still love the season but ... what can I say?  Spending this time alone makes one think odd thoughts.  Spending that day alone makes one really look at what is this day, this time really about? about for me?
     All these thoughts and more continued to spin through my head as I drove through the darkness.  The road was pretty much straight .. straight through a vast emptiness of prairie ... that it was easy to get lost in my own thoughts.
     Somehow, gradually, a fog began to roll in ... it must have started very faint, little wisps dusting across the road. It wasn't until it was thick enough to affect my distance vision that I realized the weather had changed.  If it was possible to be snowing at the same time, I was convinced that it was snowing, too.  I instantly banished the trip down memory lane and turned my attention to the road.  It wasn't slippery, I didn't think, but the fog was increasing with each kilometer I was traveling. 
     Yes, there was snow ... I had to turn my windshield wipers on to keep the snow from accumulating on the windshield but that didn't help the fog that was almost thick as pea soup around my car.  Slowing down, I was starting to get a bit nervous.  It was not getting better.
     Suddenly, out of nowhere, there appeared a huge shipping truck in front of me, sideways, stopped in the middle of the highway.  I gasped and put pressure on the break ... more more ... I felt my neck muscles tense up as I pushed the break as hard as I could .... and I stopped with inches to spare before hitting the truck.  I backed up, put my hazard lights on and pulled to the side of the road.  The fog was so thick that I had to get out of the car to check each side.  There was no way around on either side.  On my way past the truck cab, I checked inside.  It was empty.  Strange.
     Climbing back into my car, I sat for a minute or two, contemplating my options.  I seemed to remember a road off to the right a short distance back.  Maybe if I back up slowly with my hazard lights on, I can both find the road and avoid on-coming traffic. 
     It was probably less than a kilometer back and I found the turn off.  I made the turn and paused.  The road was barely a road and the snow and fog made it impossible to see anywhere except the road in front of me.  Barely a path, but it was open for travel.  I figured I'd drive and turn towards the direction I was initially traveling, then turn back towards the highway.  Country roads usually were in squares so it shouldn't be hard to detour and make a return to the highway beyond the shipping truck blockade.  I began inching forward.

30 - December 10

Topic - After the last guest left

     Thomas was not a man for parties, so why he agreed to host this thing for his parents, he'll never know.  It seemed to turn out a success; after all, 80% of the invited guests showed up! He wasn't going to be bothered with food, so he had the thing catered, and that turned out to be a good idea.  The thing that bothered him the most, was that now he wondered where people had gone and what drawers or closets they had looked into when he wasn't around.  Was everything still there?  He sure hoped so.
     He walked into the living room to see his parents relaxing on the sofa.  "So?  How'd it go?" he asked.
     "You done good, little brother, you done good!" his sister Magda walked into the room and collapsed into the chair.
     "I sure hope so! ... who decided to have this schin-dig at my place anyway?" he asked.
     "Why, Thomas, dear, you offered!  Don't you remember?  We were talking about our fiftieth anniversary and when we started talking about renting a place, you offered your home! And what a lovely thing it was," his mother reached over and patted him on his hand.
     "I don't remember that, but I can see myself doing something like that," he grumbled.
     "Don't worry, Tommy-boy, I helped keep an eye on them so that nothing was bothered.  You did lock important rooms, didn't you?" Magda asked.
     "With what? Does your home come with lock-able doors?" he said.
     "I guess you have a point," she replied.  "But I did watch for people wandering round on their own and guided them back to the party."
     "And I thank you for that, Maggie. I just hope it was enough."
     "Well, Sonny," his father gruffly said as he rose from the sofa and held out his hand to his wife.  "We thank you for this wonderful event, and I guess it's time we head on home.  Come along, Martha, this is our cue."
     "Yes, I guess we should be heading out,"  she replied as she accepted his hand and got to her feet.  She turned to her son.  "Thank you so much for this, Thomas.  It really was a most wonderful time and it was lovely to see so many old friends and family again." She came to him and gave him a motherly hug.  "And you, too, Magda, thank you for everything you did," and she gave her daughter a hug as well.
     Within minutes, they were gone and the brother and sister were left in the living room.
     "Thank you for all your help, Maggie.  I really couldn't have done it without you.  You know how much I dislike things like this, but I agree.  It turned out pretty darn good, I agree," Thomas said. "But please, let's not do this again for a long while, a long, long while!"
     "I agree," his sister said. "I guess I should get going also.  Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?"
     "If you're up for it," he said.
     "Yeah, and we can talk about the final bill and I'll bring my cheque book to help out."
     "Sounds good," he said. He reached out and helped her out of the chair.
     "Man, brother, I could sleep for a month of Sundays in that chair!  Please make sure you will it to me!!" she groaned as she got out of her comfort spot.
     "Don't want to rush you, sis, but I am exhausted.  I have cleaners coming in tomorrow to clean it all up, so don't worry about anything."
     "Are you going to be charging me for 1/2 of that as well?" Magda looked at her brother with a raised eyebrow.
     "No, sis, don't worry.  That's all my bill.  I can't be bothered cleaning all this up, so I'm bringing in my cleaning lady a few days early," he said.
     "Must be nice!" she sarcastically replied as she walked out the door.
     "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" he good-naturally called after her.
     He followed her and locked the door behind her and let out a huge sigh.   "Glad that's over," he said out loud to himself as he turned down the hall to his bedroom.
     He opened his door, and flipped on the lights.   And froze in his footsteps.  This was worse than his worst nightmare.
     "Hello, Thomas," the beautiful woman seductively whispered to him.  She was dressed in almost nothing, partially covered by his blankets and bedsheets.
     "Samantha, what are you doing here?"

    
    

29 - December 9

Topic: 7 or 8 things you know about her

     She was the best friend I had since school.  And now, this is where it ends.  I can't believe after all we had been through, after everything we had done together, that it is finished.  But, I guess that's what happens when one's life goes one way and the other goes another.  I've come to the conclusion that even though there is so much talk in our world about how we need to support those around us, that often it really is how everyone needs to support 'me', and if 'you' need support, it's too much effort for 'me'.
     Maybe it had come to the point where she and I could no longer empathize with the other.  Victoria's life was all about Victoria.  It had always been .. and so long that I made my life all about Victoria, too, all went well.  However, it had come to the point where everything important to me would default to Victoria ... if I was in pain, she was in more pain; if I was busy, she was more busy; if I was confused, she was more confused; if I was reading a book, hers was better.  The sad thing was that I now kept things to myself, I no longer shared things of my heart with her, and consequently, I shared them with no one.  I know human relationships are the reason we are here, and I felt that I had none - who I am matters to no one, not even my best friend. 
      But this night, this night that ended it all came because I had reached the end.  Everything in my life was gone, my family was gone, my career was gone, my world was gone.  And, when I wanted to speak to Victoria about my anguish, she said, "Oh, hun, don't be so sad ... that's nothing.  Things are much worse for me ..."
     At which point, I cut her off.  "Tori, I've had it.  This isn't 'nothing', this is something.  Something of significance to me.  And if you don't know me by now, maybe you never knew me at all."  I had no idea how to proceed, how to communicate to her that this was a crucial point in my life.  It wasn't a headache or a sore muscle, it was like my soul was being choked.
     "Oh hun," she began again with a sigh.
     "Don't 'hun' me," I was upset.  "You have no idea."
     "I've had it tough, too, you know.  It's been forever since I've been able to get a new pair of shoes," she sighed, "and my Jimmy Choo's are getting so worn!"
     "Screw your Choo's!  I don't have money for food!  It's just a matter of time before I lose my home! Don't you get it?" I all but screamed at her.
     "Perhaps you should not have spent all that money last year. And if you lost weight ..."
     "What? You really don`t get it. This isn`t about a pair of shoes, it`s about my life! And if you cannot understand, if you cannot empathize, then maybe this is where it ends.  Tori, I`ve stood by you through every difficulty and every frustration you have gone through.  And now, when I need you to do the same for me, you can`t.  You still make it about you.  Tori, I have nothing any more, and I`m done."
     I turned and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind me.  I guess I`ll now know what it`s like to be without a best friend. 

    

28 - December 8

Topic - This is her/his fantasy.

     The moonlight filtered in as on gossamer wings, icing the rumpled blankets on the bed.  He stood, cloaked in shadow, just inside the room.  If one looked in that corner, all they would be able to see would be the whites of his eyes.  He wasn't threatening, he just stood there.  Reverently, watching the girl beneath the blankets, as she breathed evenly the stress of the day away.  The last time he saw her was over a year ago, just before he left for his last mission.  Oh, for him to come forth! To hold her once again!  To leave the darkness and gently wake her ...
     But that was not to be.  He opened his eyes and immediately was back in the hot, dirty, dusty climate that was his home for now.  The day was shaping up to be a scorcher; one was just like all the others.  He was stationed at the base to oversee the communication that his team received from the Corporal's office.  His tour should have been over a month ago, but there was an uprising just north of them about 5 weeks back and they needed all hands right now.  He opened the the door to his hut and made his way across to the mess. 
     "Hey, Boyo!" the slight soldier at the nearest table called out, as he entered.
     "What's the story?" he asked.
     "Something's off," the soldier spoke in sotto voce, furtively looking around. 
     "What'd ya mean?"
     "The night watch heard something coming over the airwaves about a countdown and a gathering."
     "I'm not following - a countdown to what? and a gathering of what? for what? That doesn't make sense.  Are you sure they heard right?"

     "They're as confused as we are."
     "I better get over there before they sign out," he said as he got up from the table.  Making a small detour by the food, he grabbed a protein drink and a coffee before heading out the door.  He still preferred a cup of coffee to start his day, even though it was probably nothing more than coloured hot water. 
     He made his way across the compound and was oblivious to the changing atmosphere until he put his hand on the door to push it open.  He stopped.  The hot, dusty morning air had taken on a chill and a shadow oiled across the sun to pull the earth into an eclipse state ... sans eclipse.  With his hand on the door, he looked up to see what was holding back the sun.  The sky was black - not black like night, but black from an obstruction.
    
     It happened so suddenly that he didn't see it coming.  Within a micro-second, a searing flash of light.  White-hot and intense, like the focus of a magnifying glass.  Once instant he was looking up; the next he was a small pyramid of ash, human carbon, in front of the door, with the shadow of his hand burned into the door.  And somewhere in between, with eyes closed, he stepped out of the shadow of the corner, gently raised the blankets and joined his wife in bed.  One more breath and it was over.

27 - December 7

Topic - Four miles out of town, the highway ....

     Four miles out of town, the highway makes a gradual turn to the left.  But if you take the side turn off down the gravel road, you'll end up going down the Old Gower Road.  And, if you drive to the end of this road, there will be a trail that takes you to the right again.  It's barely there, but you can see it through the trees.  And taking this road, you'll come to a deserted town.  A whole town.  Five houses, a garage, and what seems to have been a hotel.  Have you ever wandered through an empty hotel?
     When I was younger, my friends and I would often find our way out there, and more than once, we felt that we were not alone.  The houses were spooky - left over cabinets, a bed with no mattress, and in one room, a bunch of ratty, stuffed toys, all in a circle.  I'm sure someone else had found them and arranged them thus. But there was this one time that made even us skeptics a little nervous.

     John, Wellington and myself had gone out on a Saturday.  It was a bit later in the afternoon but John had borrowed his brother's car so we weren't worried about getting away before it got dark.  This time, we wanted to explore the hotel.  "Urban exploration" it's called, and people do it all over the place - I think it's called that because people once used to live there, hence the 'urban' part.
     "Hey, Brady!" John called to me.  "Are you coming or what?"
     I had been outside, looking in the windows and not seeing much.  "Hang on!  I'm coming!" I yelled back.
     Wellington (who's parents would call their poor kid that name?  ... we just called him 'Wells') had already gone in so it seemed I was the one bring up the rear.  I opened the door and saw their footsteps in the dust on the floor.  "Wait up!" and I dashed off in the direction of the dusty tracks.
     I passed the check-in desk and the cubby holes that held the occasional key.  I pushed aside a tapestry and found myself in front of a large staircase.  The stairs stretched in front of me with the footprints faintly seen going up to the floor above.  "Where are you guys?  I can't see you!" I called out again. 
     I made my way up the stairs, following the footsteps, and came to a room with the door closed.  Room 235, it said on the door.  I knocked on the door.  No answer.  "This isn't funny guys," I whined.  I tried the door, it was locked.  "Hey!  Why did  you lock me out?" I asked through the door. 
     "Brady!  Where are you?" I heard Wells call from downstairs. 
     I turned away from the door and went to the balcony that overlooked the staircase.  Wells and John were at the bottom looking up at me.  "What are you doing down there?  I followed your footsteps up here," I asked over the railing.
    "What do you mean?  We've always been down here.  And there's no footprints.  What are you talking about?" John asked as he and Wells walked to the base of the staircase. 
    I walked back down and joined them.  There were no footprints.  And yet, I knew I had followed some.  "There were some right there, I know there were!" I pointed to where there were dusty prints but no longer.  The stairs held a slight layer of dust, not even my steps were seen! 
     "And where did these dusty tracks lead you?" Wells asked in a snide tone. 
     "To room 235, at the top of the stairs," I said. 
     "Well, maybe we should check this room out," John said and joined me on the ascent. 
     "Yeah, what will we find there?  A ghost?" Wells muttered under his breath. 
     We got to the top of the stairs and I led them to the door. 
     "This isn't room 235," John noted.
     "What do you mean?  This is where the footprints lead me."
     "Duh, can't you read?" Wells said.  "This is room 234.  Beside is room 236.  There is no room 235."
     "But I was sure," I looked at the door with a puzzled look.  This was it, I am certain.
     I reached out and turned the doorknob.  It turned.  I looked back at my two buddies.  "This was locked before," I whispered. 

26 - December 6

Topic - "The first birds are waking into song."

     "Do you hear that?" Josh asked.
     "What?" Winnie responded.
     "It's quiet outside.  It seems like the first birds are waking into song.  The sun must be coming up," he commented.
     "It is quiet outside," Waverly pondered.  "I wonder if it's over."
     We had been in the bunker for at least 48 hours, and though we still had a lot of food and were ok for a while more, it was strange to hear silence.  No gunfire, no bombs.
     "Can we go outside and see?" Winnie asked.
     "I'm not sure if we should yet.  Let's wait a little more; after all, it is only 4:30 in the morning," I said, looking at my watch.
     "Wilson," Josh turned to me, "what do you think we'll find out there?"
     It was something to think about.  We had entered the underground bunkhouse almost 3 days ago, when the shelling in our town had gotten bad.  No one really knows how it started - the killing of an innocent man?  Someone disgruntled with the government?  But our nice quiet village had gone from peaceful to a war-zone in a matter of hours.  My family's home was old and in the basement, under the concrete ground, was an old bunkhouse that was sealed off from the outside world.  My family had put extra non-perishables in there for a long time.  When there was a threat of war, they kept it regularly stock-piled, but when things never erupted and went on as usual, we let it drop over the years.  My parents had passed away years ago and now, it seemed their fears were coming true.  At least in our city.
     Winnie asked, "Can we turn the radio on, Wilson?  maybe something will be announced?"
     "Good idea," Josh responded.  He reached behind Waverly to find the battery-operated radio.  Switching the small electronic on, we were greeted with static.  That did not sound good.
     Scanning the dial, all of a sudden, there was a scratchy voice that came over the speaker. "This is the National Guard.  If you receive this message, please know that we are doing our best to contain the situation.  Please do not venture forth, even if it seems safe.  Stay tuned to this station; we will keep you informed."
     "Well, I guess we got our message for now.  Maybe later today we can see what life is like beyond these confined walls," I suggested.
     "What if it never ends?" Winnie asked.
     "We will deal with it then," I pulled the little girl into my arms and hugged her tight.

 

25 - December 5

Topic - Your earliest memory.

     It was a dark, cold night.  The old Valiant car kept on going, occasionally coughing but moving forward none-the-less.  Mom and Dad's faces were softly lit from the white light of the radio, tuned in to CJOB.  Christmas carols were coming forth and instead of singing along, Mom and Dad were caught up in some kind of disagreement.  Again.  I looked at my little brother beside me and reached out to hold his hand.
     "Henry, we've talked about this enough.  We'll do it this way and that's final," she said.
     "Mary, you know ... every year we are heading out and every year it ends up being the same thing."
     "I don't want to talk about it anymore," she said and turned her face to the darkness outside.
     "Daddy?" I whispered after a minute of silence.
     "Yes?"
     "Could you please turn the radio up?  I think they're talking about Santa," I tried to smile.
     He reached over and turned up the volume slightly.  Sure enough, it was just in time to hear the news break from NORAD!
      I turned to my brother.  "Can you see Santa out your window?" I asked.  I wanted to get his mind off of the fight that was going on.  I didn't know much about adult things, but I did know that people shouldn't be fighting on Christmas Eve.
      "I don't think so," he said in his little voice.  "Becky?" he asked.
      "Keep looking!" I said.
      "Becky, what if we're not at home when Santa comes here?  What if we're still in this car going to Grandma and Grandpa's?" he asked.
      "I'm sure Santa has a way of finding all the good children tonight," my dad joined in.
      "Henry, why do you insist on spreading those stories?" Mom piped in.
      "Mary, just leave it, ok? We're almost at your parents and they don't need to know about this."
      At that point, we turned into a huge farmyard, full of cars.  The old two-storey farmhouse was ablaze with lights and in the front window, you could see the Christmas tree, twinkling its welcome.
      I looked frantically over the cars ... yes, there it was!  the dark Mercedes! She was here already!
      I jumped out of the car and ran towards the door.  I could hear my brother crunching over the snow behind me. As I reached the door, it flew open and there stood my Aunt, with a huge smile on her face and her arms open wide to catch my brother and me as we flew into her hug.  She smelled like Christmas cookies!  For all the problems in the car on the way up, I was glad to be here with my Aunt at Christmas again. 
      "Merry Christmas and welcome! Come in, come in!  There's lots of food and lots of warmth - so glad you could make it!" she laughed as she hugged us.
      I looked up and there were big snowflakes falling from the heavens ... the world around was a twinkling masterpiece! It really was Christmas!

24 - December 4

Topic:  A map of a daydream.

     The day was sublime ... I had a thousand and one things to do in the house and I decided to blow it all off for an hour or two.  Until Scott got home from work, anyway.  He was supposed to pick up Sarah from school so I had nothing to distract me for the next little bit of time.  I felt like a thief! 
     I scrambled up into the sling.  It was a bit awkward but once I was finally in it, it really was quite comfortable!  I opened the book ... and it wasn't long before my eyelids were starting to droop.  No reading for me!  I picked up my pen, opened the book to the most recent clean page ... and wrote "bliss ..."
     The heat was working her magic!  Oh! I'm going to close my eyes for just a second and feel like a golden glow was washing over me.  The heat is like liquid, and I am blanketed in the most deliciously warm feeling I've had in a long time. 
     I feel the light breeze drift lazily across my skin.  Maybe even the light tickle of a butterfly's wings.  I can almost smell the flowers in the meadow across the road from us. A sweet, tartish smell played with my nostrils, a smell that reminded me of my younger days in grade school.  I remember a day, far in the distant fog of days gone by where I forgot where I was and became so overwhelmed with the meadow and flowers that I danced ... yes, really danced! into the middle of the open area.  I heard a melody, like a trill of a flute and a rhythm like the beating of my heart, and I closed my eyes and just moved however I wanted to the song in my head.  The tall blades of grass, some capped with delicate flowers, swayed with me, accompanying me as my partners of grace.  I opened my arms and twirled, watching my skirt flare out around me and ripple with movement.  My face upturned to the sun, bathed in the warmth of her rays, and moving as I wished to the song in my head, around and around, because I knew no one was watching. 
     A horn honked ... Scott was home.
     "Mommy! Mommy!" I heard a little voice almost directly after the distant slamming of the car door.
     "Over here, Honey!" I raised my head, shielded my eyes and called out.
     "What are you doing?  Are you sleeping in Daddy's ham - mock?" she forced the strange word out her mouth.
     "Kind of ... I started to do some reading but got sleepy and then I tried to do some writing and got really sleepy .."
     "Can I see?" she leaned in towards me and almost sent me swinging.
     "Sure," I said.  "Wanna join me for a minute?"
     "Yes!" Sarah squealed with excitement.
     I lifted her up and she immediately snuggled into my side and opened my journal.  "Mommy, look!" she pointed at some really strange markings on the last page.
     I looked, puzzled. 
     "Mommy, it looks like you drew your daydream!  Maybe this is a map of where you went when you were dreaming!" she smiled at her thought. 
      Maybe ... since I don't remember setting my pen down ... maybe she's right!

23 - December 3

 Topic: What washed up on the shore

     It felt so good to go walking on the beach, to feel the sand between my toes.  Master and I went for a walk every day, ever since I was small.  Things are much more difficult now - I no longer bound down the edge of the water, splashing as the water comes in.  No, the arthritis is in my joints and the moving is slow.  My Master is slower, too, but not as much as me. We walk slowly, carefully stepping over the wood and logs that have washed up on the beach.  It's colder today.  I walk close to the water's edge and lap some water.  So good!
     There is a pile of debris I see in the distance - wood and sticks, fabric and all sorts of junk.  I look back at my Master and then to the pile again.  Whimpering a bit, I pull at the leash.
    "What is it, Max? What do you see?" she said.  She looked in the direction of my line of vision.  "That?  You want to go there?" she asked.  "Do you see something?  smell something?
     I whimpered and she turned in the direction
     "Alright, Max Buddy, let's check it out."
     They head closer to the pile of debris.  As they got closer, they could make out a few things - a broken boat, splotches of colour of old clothing, lots of driftwood in all sizes and a flash of light.  I looked up at my Master.  Did she see it?
    "Did you see that, Max?  I wonder what's over there.  Wanna investigate?" she asked.
    I tugged the leash in that direction.  Suddenly I smelled something funny.  Something that I didn't like.  I stopped.
    "What's up, buddy?"
    I started to whimper and sat down.  I didn't know what I was smelling, but it wasn't normal.
    "You're going to stop now?  You wanted to go there ... come on, boy!" she gently tugged at my leash.
    I looked at her, in her eyes, and pleaded with her.  Trust me! I wanted to tell her.
    "If you're not going to come with me, give me a minute to check it out myself," she said.
    I grabbed the edge of her coat and pulled her back.
    "What's up with you?  You've never been like this before."
    I pulled her back to the beach.  I wasn't curious anymore.  I knew what was there and it was not a place for my Master to go.  She resisted a bit, but I refused to let go.  I pulled with all my might.
    "Ok, ok, Max, we'll head back. You've never done this before and I have to trust that you know something I don't know," she said.
     She followed me and I turned back to our home.  I was exhausted and everything hurt.  I gingerly and slowly walked back along beach from whence we came.  Without warning, I sat down.
     She came around the front, and crouched down in front of me.  "What is it, boy? Man, I wish you could talk to me!"
     I looked her deep in her eyes.  I remember when she first picked me up.  I remember when she cried so much and all I could do was snuggle up to her.  I remember when I was sick and she sat up with me all night.  I remember all those nights watching TV and just being with each other.  There's no where else I wanted to be and even though I know my days are numbered, I know she has much more to live.  I want to tell her how grateful I am to be with her all these years.  On impulse, I licked her face.
    "Oh Max!" she laughed, "I love you, too!  You're my best friend!" She leaned over and gave me a huge hug.  This was the best moment of my life.

22 - December 2

Topic - It was her mother's recipe

     Fall had passed, the leaves had fallen and it was that sad time between the end of the beautiful weather and before the magic of the first snowfall, indicating the the end of another year.  I can find beauty in all the seasons, but there is something about this time, this limbo, this purgatory of waiting, this not quite the end of one season and not quite the beginning of another ... something that creates an ache in me.  At this time, I long for the first snowfall.
     This year, an email had gone around at work to see if there was any interest in having a cookie exchange at the beginning of December.  That was about a month away and, since this was something I had often wanted to participate in, here was my chance!
     I lived a rather solitary life, not by choice, and know I need to put forth the effort of changing things in my life.  And I thought that this would be a good opportunity to put my toe in the water, so to speak.  Eight women and two men had signed up for the exchange, and I was one of the women.  We had a meeting one lunch hour and talked about how we all need to agree to put forth a commitment for something more than a simple sugar cookie, and definitely not chocolate chip cookies from Costco!
     I don't do much baking but I enjoy it.  I thought long and hard on what I was going to make, what I wanted to share with my colleagues.  Remembering back to Christmas when I was a child, it was not a particularly happy time, but I do remember sometimes helping my mother make cookies.  I remember shortbread cookies with nuts, rum balls covered with chocolate sprinkles, thumbprint cookies.  I vaguely remembered a cookie that my grandmother made; I don't remember much about my grandmother as we didn't spend much time with them, but for some reason, I remember this cookie.  A buttermilk cookie with cocoanut on it. I decided that was the one I would make. 
     But first, I had to find the recipe!
     My grandparents and parents had long since passed away, so this was not going to be easy.  I had fallen out of touch with my relatives on that side of the family, for good reason, so contacting them was out of the question.  Perhaps I could find the recipe online?  Out of all the gazillion recipes online, not one resembled the cookies I was determined to make.  Perhaps someone from the community?  There was a woman who seemed to always be visiting at my grandparents the few times we were there - I wonder if she would have the recipe?  But what was her name??
     I called my sister and she, not only remembered her name, but also had an old phone number of hers!  Edwina Crupp obviously had made more of an impact on my sister, Theresa, than she did on the young, impressionable me!  I tried the number ... the phone was answered by a woman's voice, someone definitely younger than what I thought Edwina would sound like.
     "Hello?" she ..
     "Hi.  I'm looking for Edwina Crupp.  Might you know who I'm talking about?"
     "She is my aunt.  Can I help you?"
     "This is a bit of a strange request - I'm participating in a Christmas cookie exchange and I would like to make cookies that my grandma made.  My grandparents and parents have passed away and since she knew my grandparents well, I wondered if she might have the recipe.  And that's why I'm calling.  Can you help me?" I rambled on.
     I could hear the woman smiling on the other end.  "Are you the grand-daughter of Norma and Otto Schmidt?" she asked.
     "Yes ... how did you know?"
     "My aunt used to talk of them all the time. Her family was very poor and sometimes they could not afford to take care of my aunt.  My father was older than his sister so he had gone away to seek his fortune, but my Aunt Edwina had a difficult time.  Your grandmother and grandfather took her in like their daughter, and sometimes I think she thought they were more her parents than her own parents!"
     "Wow!  I didn't know that!" I responded.  It made me feel a little bad that I did not get to know my grandparents that well. 
     "Is this cookie recipe the one made with buttermilk?" the woman asked.
     "Yes, that's the one! Do you happen to have it?" I asked excitedly.
     "As a matter of fact, I do.  Would you believe that your grandmother created that recipe?  She invented it!"
     "Really?  Wow!  Now I really want to make them for this exchange!"
    
     I made arrangements with Irene Crupp to drive out to meet her and get the recipe.  Irene offered to email it to me, but I wanted to meet her and talk to her about what she knew of those days.  It would be nice to know a bit more about my grandparents than just their name!
    And I knew that when I made the cookies, that there was much more than a recipe in these cookies! There was a story that was part of my history, a part of who I was, that came from these cookies.  I was very glad for this chance to meet my grandparents, even if it was 50 years too late.