I'm a gummibar

Just wanted to share a little piece of my Momma hell with you. This has been stuck in my head all evening. Delightful. The kids think it is hilarious. My brain isn't going to offer you anything more from its gummy state I'm afraid. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to find a poetic pen...

A Goodbye Cruise

You would think all I did was drink while I was in Africa at this rate. Brett and Oliver met back up with us later in the day after Miki and I returned from our canoe safari. Hugs and apologies led us to a makeup date on a booze cruise into Zambia. It was just across the river, but our passports were always hungry for new stamps, so a-cruising we would go. We saw a most beautiful sunset as we chugged along the Zambezi above the Falls with many, many drinks in hand. One too many for poor Miki, as she was a fallen soldier half-way home. Not sure if the border guards appreciated cleaning up after all the booze cruisers that went through that border, but the economy was grateful I’m sure!

Miki’s groans were joined by the rest of us, as we begged for sleep under a blazing light post in the campground where we had set up our tents. At 3 AM we tossed and turned laughing at our fate, but by 5 AM we blissfully crashed again. Brett pushed on to get a view of the sunrise from the falls, but I could not muster the strength to walk, let alone goggle over a new day. Miki and I would make a trek to the falls later in the day to get our fill of the magnificent view and feel the spray of the Zambezi’s water on welcome cheeks.

This was our Coup de grâce for a journey that had spanned just over 3 months. Miki would depart the next evening on a Translux bound for Johannesburg. It saddened me that she would no longer be my travelling companion, but fate had thrown her in my path and for that I would be eternally grateful. When I had concocted a journey to Africa the year before, it had held no one in it, but myself and  relatives to meet. I had never dreamed that I would be back-packing around the African continent with someone I barely knew from high school, an Aussie bloke and whatever other travelers we came across. She helped me to get comfortable in my backpack’s straps and have the confidence to strike out on my own. With a heavy heart I wished her well, but knew that when she left the next evening I would wipe away my tears and turn to the next bend in the road on my African Adventure.

Cleaning Spree

Time to empty shelves.

We discard old

and broken items

that no longer hold love or attention

in hopes that St Nick

will come to offer

shiny new baubles

for our play!

$$$

Yesterday we headed to the mall and spied Santa on his throne. My eldest hid behind me, but little R headed straight for the Big Guy's lap to chat. I figured that made it a good excuse to clean the playroom and thin out the toy shelves down there. Perhaps I will be able to see the floor for a day or two...

Oh, and this little ditty is my entry for the Sunday 160 over at Monkey Man's as well. 

Hope your Sunday was swell!

Stranger

Stranger;
by Megan Hart
(© 2009 Spice)

This is exactly what it looks like my friends. Yes, this is the selection for my book club this month. I will give you one chance to guess the genre and if you cannot guess it, then perhaps you need to flip through some of the magazines that they have on the very top shelf of the magazine rack at variety stores. You know the ones; either covers are hidden or stickers are dotted all over the front cover to hide prying eyes before a purchase is made. Yup, this is along those kind of lines.

You might ask why we are reading a book that hearkens from the realms of Harlequin. Well, some of the members of my book club are wondering the same thing to be honest. Ha! We all agreed to read whatever is on the table though and this year we went with genres. One lucky lady selected Erotica and we all agreed, with a round of titters. When it came time to announce the selected book for our genre, Stranger was presented to us for our erotic pleasure. Some had questioned why not a classical approach, such as Lady Chatterly's Lover, Tropic of Cancer or perhaps something by the Marquis de Sade. Modern was the answer. So a modern look at erotica was perused this month compliments of Meagan Hart and her novel Stranger.

^^^

The story opens with the main character Grace entering a hotel lounge and settling into the bar for a drink. A description of her provocative attire leads one to assume that she is meeting someone for a date, or at the very least trying to meet someone for something of the kind. A lewd and pushy man tries to hustle her, until a tall, dark and very handsome man interrupts. He fashions himself her boyfriend to dissuade the first stranger to depart, then with him gone introduces himself. Before either of their drinks are done, they are headed upstairs for a night of wild and raucous sex. 

Now you might think that Grace is a bit of a tramp, but this is where the story tries to hook you. Grace is under the impression that the handsome stranger she "picked up" at the bar was a man that she had hired from an escort agency. She had already paid for his services and had requested a bit of kinky fun with the game of "having sex with a total stranger". Little did she know, that is exactly what she did. After wonderfully satisfying and over the moon sex, she freshens herself up and heads out the door, checking her voice mail as she goes. Only then does she get the message that her "real" date is wondering where she is and if their gig was cancelled. Well, she is mighty shocked, appalled, but even more titillated, but she doesn't have time to think about it as she heads out to pick up a body from the hospital. 

Oh, I haven't mentioned that yet? Yes, well, our dear Grace is a funeral director. She has just taken over the family business and is trying hard to impress her gruff father that can never be pleased. She has a male intern and female secretary (who have an affair, but is a pretty minor sub-plot that doesn't add anything to the story in my opinion) that work for her, but other than that she is fiercely independent. That of course is why she hires men for company, but more importantly, sex. She has no time for a relationship, but as the story unfolds, it is pointed out that she is afraid of commitment, loving someone,  and ultimately losing them. In her narrow world, all she sees is that everyone leaves you sometime. She forestalls the hurt caused by someone leaving her, by not letting anyone in to cause harm. Wonderful, except for the fact that she is dealing with the bereaved as a line of work. 

At this point the novel is more than a little flat on character development. Grace is a self-centred, narrow-minded individual that has no room for anything other than proving her father wrong, and of course sex. She supposedly is good at her job, but without truly caring about another individual, I don't see as how she could actually come across as believable to any kind of client. Her words would ring pretty false to a grieving soul's ears. I suppose that the story is trying to legitimize itself here though, so I will move on.

What else is in this book? Well, sex for the most part. Fine, except for I find it annoying how she has the best sex ever, every single time she has sex in the book. I am not saying that I am virginal, but I also wouldn't suggest that every time I have slid between the sheets with someone the moon and stars have realigned into a new constellation with my name on it. Jealousy on my behalf, I suppose, but I have to beg realism here. I don't mind the sex, but a little more titillation wouldn't hurt either. I suspect that I will not be alone in my questioning as to why the book did not appeal to my erotic imagination. That is not what this book was about though. The pictures were vividly painted and no imagination was required. 

Ah well, I did read it to the end and to be honest didn't mind it that much. Intellectual stimulation was not the main point, as the story was all about getting the motor running, if you will. Predictably, Grace gets together with her Stranger, loses her stranger, and then finds him again, as well as a dose of love thrown in for good measure. Any moral or ethical questions to be learned here? That is a stretch, but perhaps it is that while an individual's happiness is vital and important, allowing others into our lives to share the joys and sorrows makes for a much more enjoyable and worthwhile ride. 

Winner

I took the empty jar devoid of its pickle treats down to the dusty basement. I tucked it into the box, where it would wait until next year's crop of pickling cucumbers to be made into sour, crunchy nibblies. For now, it would just fill in a corner of  the derelict store room. 

As I lifted the jar back onto the shelf, my gaze fell upon another box on the adjoining shelf. No written missive on the side of the box gave clues as to its contents. I paused, trying to think of what the box held, to no avail. Curiousity got the better of me, so I brushed off my hands and pulled down the box from the rickety metal shelf. A layer of dust coated the top of the box telling me that it had been forgotten for too long. A puff from me sent the dust into the air. An erstwhile warning burst from my brain, but too late to prevent me from sneezing and coughing in the cloud I released. 

One final sneeze released me from its grip, as I choked back a thick snurtle. With now bleary eyes, I wondered why I was down there in the first place. Ah yes, the box...

With already dirty hands, I wiped the lid of the box. It had certainly been down here a long time and my jeans took the punishment as I swiped my soiled hands against them. Now what was in this thing anyway?

The yellowed tape that protected the contents of the box was brittle in my inquiring hands. It crumbled as I picked at it. Intent on seeing the interior of this vessel, I put the box down to collect a blade to aid me in my quest. Retrieving an exacto-knife from my tool box, I returned to my mystery package. Gently, I ran the blade the length of the top. It was a big box, now that I thought of it. Some weight to it too, but still I could not place its contents.

Brringgg....

The phone broke me from my explorations. I jumped up and ran upstairs to the demanding ring, leaving the contents still a mystery.

~~~

A week later, I carried the laundry downstairs to the washer. Humming to myself, I sorted darks from lights, into my regular waiting piles. I tossed the first load into the washer and brought it to life with the push of a button. Stilling humming an errant tune, I paused to shut the open storage door with a frown. The tune disappeared on my lips as I remembered the box I had discovered the week before. I never did return to unearth it's contents, as life busily spun me on to my next task. 

With curiousity peaked again, I approached the dusty box. A memory nagged at me, but I couldn't quite place it. I knelt on the concrete floor and felt a shiver run through me. Suddenly, the contents of the box didn't seem so important anymore, but a compunction drew me forward despite myself. I slowly lifted a corner of one of the flaps, feeling my heart flutter around its edges. I don't even want to know what is in this thing! My brain cried, but my fingers demanded I continue. They knew what I did not.

I took a breath to focus my running thoughts and peered into the small revealed rectangle. Dry newspapers gave up no hints, so I flipped open the other flap carefully. Crumpled newspaper. I released the breath that had disappeared within me. A dull glint caught my eye and I froze. My hand mutinied my soul's demands and reached out to the cold metal in the box. No! no! was all I could muster in a whimpering voice, but it was too late. My fingers tentatively brushed the metallic edge, even as tears began to fill my eyes and overfill their bounds. Slowly I pulled one, two, then three pieces of yesteryear's news world out of the box to reveal the trophy nestled inside. 

Water streamed down my face, as I attempted to blink vision back to me. It did not matter. I knew the name on the cup. I ran my hand over the lettering and broke. Sobs wracked my body. I convulsed and choked out my pain and loss, filling my husband's old relic with fresh grief. Why now? Why now had I discovered this snapshot of his past, when I had been so with it for weeks now. It hurt, this reminder of a reality that I could not change. His glory athletic days were long gone, swept away by the disease that had robbed his body of its health and vitality. It had robbed him of everything. It had robbed me of everything. 

It would be a year that he was gone in a few short weeks. I could never forget that date. It loomed on the calendar, but I had tried to busy myself to forget it. Now this old burnished trophy demanded memories and I was powerless to stop. I sat cradling its cold comfort in my lap, as it filled up with pain, anger, sorrow and tears. Its lie of Champion felt heavy, as I rocked back and forth on the unforgiving concrete. I did not want this award today. Any day really, but the wave would pass. 

Winner. 

I sighed deeply and gently brushed a travelling tear off the front of the award. It seemed to gleam a little brighter.

Winner...

Inspired by a Magpie Tale Prompt