Handshake - H

Handshake? Yes, seriously, handshake.

Growing up, with a few exceptions, my gender was never brought to my attention as a reason to be treated differently. And in some respects, I'm sure the issue was more protect a potentially vulnerable child because of my mom's own experience. Very clearly I remember my dad telling me that he wanted me to be able to take care of myself. He told me he wanted me to know how to change the oil or tire of a car but to afford not to have to do it. The expectation was to be educated so as not to be taken advantage of but also to propel myself forward in life.

But as I got older, my gender was presented to me as something that made me different. As a specific example, handshakes. See, I was taught, along with loads of other kids (or at least kids I went to school with) that in business or polite social settings, you offer a firm (hopefully dry) handshake. It would serve us well, making a good impression in everything from meeting your in-laws to job interviews.

You could tell a lot about a person by the way they shook hands, we were advised. And it's completely true. What I've learned about most people is this: they don't expect me, as a woman, to shake hands. Or at least not to do more than a limp fish impression, finger tips to finger tips with a quick retreat.

See? It's totally a thing. *shudders* An abominable, horrible thing.

I've been in situations with my husband, buying a car for example, where I'm the one taking the lead and the staff as a whole defer to my husband all the way down to only shaking his hand or looking to him for permission to deal with me. Seriously. If it weren't so infuriating, it would be funny. My husband in those moments wants nothing to do with any of it, sitting quietly scrolling through his phone and hoping I take care of everything to get us out of there as fast as possible.

I will give credit to the dealership we most recently purchased from. Once the sales manager took over from a very green, very old school shmoozy young salesman, he quickly realized who he needed to deal with. To this day when I'm there getting an oil change, he remembers me, says hello and shakes my hand.

In a firm, full on handshake. You know, despite my lack of testicles. It is striking how much that resonates with me.

See, when I get one of those limp, half- (or even quarter-) assed wet noodle handshakes, it activates something on a primal, reactionary anger level. It also grosses me out. I am similarly annoyed when I don't get a handshake at all when the man or men I'm with do. As a shy person, I should want to be left alone. And generally I prefer it. But in a situation where it's happening to everyone else, and then the 'shaker' gets to me, pumps the breaks and pulls back their hand? What is your damage?

Like, gag me with a spoon.

The theme of this post came from something that happened recently. I met a friend's parents. The mother didn't shake hands, with anybody, which I respected and even appreciated because I don't generally make the first move in social situations either. (I'm not a handshake maniac despite this entire post, just when the situations call for it.) The dad, former military and someone who works with his hands - the kind of person who commands respect just by his presence, he shook my hand just like he shook my husband's. Immediately, I appreciated the hell out of him.

So while handshake may be an odd choice for a topic, it beat the anxiety inducing thought of Hugging as a greeting. But that's a (strange) subject for another day.

Genealogy - G

What's the most fascinating hobby you can think of? Cave diving? Geocaching? Base jumping? Drinking expired milk?

Well let me tell you, as a young married woman in my early twenties, I added a new interest to my recreational activities. Something with a bit more street cred than my established favorites: reading, writing, history, cooking and random crafts. (I crochet one hell of a lopsided, trapezoid blanket!) Nothing says youthful activity quite like... genealogy!

At the time I figured I'd amass this great collection of family history for my children and all the generations that would come after. Well, the children thing hasn't exactly panned out so my records and family tree has become a private showpiece of one woman's obsessive need for information. There really isn't a better project to work on if you love research, stalking, spending time in cemeteries, and spending endless hours with microfilm/microfiche/databases/endless church & civil records. I was on a first name basis for a while with the county clerk in my parents' home town. 

Obsessions with getting every piece of information possible or dreams of bequeathing an amazing legacy to children I (may) never have aside, I've always been pretty aware of why I'm fascinated with my family's history. 

I'm the youngest of my generation, cousins and all. By the time I was born, my mom's siblings weren't in the picture, not able to cope with her mental illness or the shared memories of a shitty childhood. My dad was the strangest thing of all in his family, an only child. Half my grandparents were dead. I grew up far removed from the kind of family tripping over family situation my husband has. Seriously, it's a bit overwhelming at times.

So? I grew up on family stories. Lore. Genealogy became the best way to find out about people long gone, to confirm or rewrite legends I'd heard my whole life. The deeper I get into it, the more questions I have, many of the answers never to be found. As someone into analyzing why things played out in my family the way they did, what went into making people do or not do certain things, I've taken a certain satisfaction in connecting dots, generational tragedy or mythic determination to survive. It's the sum of what went into who I am. 

Flash Fiction - Fail-safe - F

"I don't know where I put it."

Josh stood before his parents, hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. He couldn't meet his mother's eyes and hoped his father would run interference for him. Had he managed the careful balance of guilt and shame in the admission?

"Oh not today, Joshua! I've got three deliveries to make before I can drop off the picnic lunch for field day-" Dad rested a hand on Mom's shoulder. She shot him her own pleading look. Kathy poked her head into the kitchen as she struggled into her combat boots, a gleam of pure spite radiating from his twin.

"Did you check the bathroom? You took, like, an hour long shower last night after everybody went to bed. I'm surprised Hannah had any hot water when she got up for practice this morning. Or clean towels."

Josh flipped her the bird behind his back while his dad steadily pushed the Tabby in Tabby's Lunch Break towards the kitchen door. Despite the open mouthed horror on his mother's face, she allowed herself to be navigated to the nearest exit. It was a similar exit his father, Frank, had taken when his oldest sister Irene had announced a need for birth control the month before prom.

"Katherine Alice," Dad bellowed over Josh's shoulder after the minivan's engine shuddered to life, "that's the kind of crap I'd have put peroxide in Aunt Diane's conditioner for! Go check downstairs for your brother. Maybe he left it by the freezer."

Booted feet clobbered down the stairs, though not loud enough to cover his sister's high pitched insults and complaints. Frank folded his arms across his chest, taking a moment to remind himself he was the adult and not to respond to his daughter's. A cooler head was needed to keep them together as the morning derailed.

"I warned you, buddy. This is not like the time you forgot to feed the class hamster over winter break. Or forgetting to tell Mom you signed her up to bring four dozen cupcakes to the bake sale. This is bigger than you. It's a family commitment-"

"Going back to Grrrreat, grrrrreat, grrrrreat Grrrrandpa Archibald!" Josh finished with a flourish, his right arm swinging up in a grand salute. A muscle in his father's cheek spasmed. Frank's words came out in a growl.

"Scour the attic, turn your bed upside down, just find it, DAMN IT!"

Kathy returned from the basement as Josh rushed from the room and noting her father's darkening expression she offered to help upstairs.

"Better late than dead," she muttered once she was sure she was out of earshot. The twins came back down ten minutes later, somber and trembling. Kathy pushed Josh towards their father as she tried to sink within the depths of her track hoodie.

"It's not up there. I-I don't know where it could be." The skin on Frank's face ripened to a mottled purple. He loomed over his son, as though he could suck the air from the boy's lungs.

"You've doomed us." He turned away from his children and began twisting on the gas knobs of the stove.

"Daddy, no! There's got to be more time." Kathy peeked around her brother's shoulder. Her own skin appeared thicker, taking on an orange hue.

"There's just enough time to call your mother and sisters. You have to feel the pull by now, both of you." Kathy and Josh's arms moved awkwardly as they moved to hold each other. Their bones felt confined, wrong somehow, their skin hot and dry. Their fingernails stung just beneath the skin.

Frank picked up his smartphone from the counter, his hand shaking as fingers slowly knitted together into three larger appendages. He managed to scroll through his contacts to one noted as I.C.E - END. Before he could initiate the group call, his individual fingers spread apart with a gluey pop. The kitchen door flew open as the tail forming at the base of his spine disappeared.

"Looking for something, Josh?" Hannah held up her hand, a piece of amber the size of a quarter rested against her palm. Frank turned off the gas, opening the windows and turning on the hood exhaust once the room was no longer filling with fuel. His older daughter closed her fingers tightly over the stone as she walked through the kitchen.

"It was on the back porch, next to your baseball glove. I'll hold onto this for now. You know, because I'd really like to not turn into a mindless killing machine or be blown up to prevent massive loss of human life. I left my cleats outside to air out, Dad. I'll be ready for school in five."

Kathy punched her brother's shoulder twice before stomping out of the kitchen and slamming the front door. Josh, awash in shame, stared silently at his father. Frank took his time answering the swift influx of text messages from his wife and oldest daughter.

"Your mother," he drawled, "may very well have my balls for this. Because in the human world, beating a child is not acceptable and she's going to blow up once she gets home. Luckily for a three hundred mile radius it won't be in dragon form, huh?" Josh swallowed hard. Frank ran both hands through his salt and pepper hair.

"Shit, buddy. That's the closest... I mean, I've only reverted to that form twice in my whole life. Under extremely careful circumstances might I add, in hidden places."

"I'm sorry."

A flash, presumably Hannah, bolted down the stairs and out the front door.

"OkayI'mreadygottadash."

"Three of 'em and I still can't understand as fast as they can talk." Frank snorted, finally looking up at his son. "You need a change of drawers?"

"No, sir." Josh shook his head.

"But close?"

"Yes, sir." The older man nodded.

"At least your body knew what inning we were in." He exhaled slowly and gestured for the boy to head for the door. "Look, we all know you're not ready yet now. I'll let your mother hammer that in for the next two weeks. But you and me have a long road to go down over what I almost had to do. It's the kind of responsibility that comes with living in the human world. I can't let us loose if we lost that talisman. And until you can appreciate that, what I'd have to do, you can kiss your life as you know it goodbye."

Expansive, Encompassing E

Enh.

This is the first blog I've kept up with on a regular basis, admittedly without a real direction or focused topic. It houses my scatterbrained thoughts in a rambling fashion and I'm sure by now the writing friends who suggested I try it are deeply regretting the idea. But quality aside, at the last minute I signed up for this blogging challenge. Putting something together every week or two is one thing, this daily posting is starting to wear on me.

So to start with, E is for Empty, mentally and emotionally. I.got.nothing. It was a regular kind of day that had just enough mild mannered hiccups in just the right flavors to wear down my disposition. As John Pinette would have said, I lost my cherub-like demeanor. We've moved beyond my family's version of March Madness and as my mom's mood and mental health begins to level off from near catastrophe, the extra scaffolding I put up internally to get through the month begins to dissolve. I can stop bracing for a tornado every other minute. Which means, to try to put a more positive spin on being empty, that it's time for a little extra self-care to refill the engine.

Part of what has kept the empty at bay for a bit has been having things to Enjoy in the chaos. Theme parks, movies, nights out, writing, blah, blah, blah, all with a growing network of friends. Good people, the kind of people who don't just talk to me because they want something from me. The kind of people who remind you of friends you had as a kid before things were more complicated and before everyone had so much baggage. Beyond the people and the activities, I have quiet activities to recharge my batteries. A good book, an engrossing video game, a few shows stockpiled on the DVR for just such an occasion. A big salad (or, you know, like chili cheese dogs or a burrito - I'm flexible) a comfy pillow and a few hours to myself are just the ticket.

I'll end with Expanse. There are few things that bring me such serenity in life as driving a long stretch of quiet highway at night, the cool darkness stretching out seemingly forever. In that moment, with the stars lighting up the sky, life's potential feels infinite even if my destination is close by. I love to drive. I love to travel by car. I'm kind of happy living in the middle of nowhere (being in a hurry aside) because each time I come home late in the day, I get a little recharge from driving through the woods on a two lane highway. Bonus points if the radio stations are cooperating with awesome tune-age.

Destination Destiny - D

I’m not a card carrying sentimentalist. At least, not in my mind. I’m oddly attached to various things, places and memories (Maybe that’s not exactly odd, maybe that’s hoo-man, borderline sentimental even. Shh, don't tell!) in my own way, but I’m not beating down the door to many (any) tearjerker books or films. Also, for the love of God, Gaia and the baby Jesus, don’t let the dog die.

I’m also not exactly known for believing, for me at least, in a soulmate. One person and one person only who is destined to find me in the world and live and fairy tale with me. Life is… hard. Humans are imperfect and screw relationships up. People die. I’m not comfortable believing in there being just one person out there who is meant for me. And yet, here I sit a happily married person, staring down the barrel of two decades together. That in itself doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with destiny.

What does give me pause in terms of destiny is how much our respective lives swirled around each other before we were an item. We were both in scouts as kids, lots of people were. We lived hours away from each other, but on one of the biggest trips my troop ever took we camped at a state park less than an hour from where he grew up. While we camped, a group of boy scouts invaded our area. Our troop leader dragged them across the park and back to their own camp. More than a decade and a marriage later, my husband told me the story of how he camped at this local state park and the ne’er do wells of his group caused a ruckus with a girl scout troop, how his troop leader had gotten balled out by a very angry bear of a woman. We were able to confirm that our separate trips were taken at the same time in the same place. It’s a small world, ladies and gentlemen. Or our state lacks in scout approved camping facilities.

Coincidences happen (or there are no coincidences depending on your world view), so that may just be a one-off. In high school, after a couple of moves around the country, we settled in the city next to his. We had family in his town, so it was a quirk of fate (or something) that I almost went to his high school, but instead ended up about eight miles away. I tease him now that he wouldn’t have known what to do with me if we’d met in high school.

More eye make-up, less leather 

Our puzzle pieces finally started coming together as college wrapped up. I was in a serious relationship with someone when we met the first time, something he doesn’t remember at all. He worked at the local college and had to be called over to take care of something for the person I was with during registration. I couldn’t tell you what the cashier looked like at the grocery store I went to this morning (The store was new to me - don't judge.) But this random guy, his attitude (I thought he was a jerk, clearly overworked and fed up with his coworkers, but an asshole nonetheless.), I remember him having to help us. Nothing about him or the exchange made me give him a second thought at the time, other than perhaps to remark to someone later in the day about the grouch who had to assist.

In the months following this ordinary day, my life completely fell apart, turned upside down and reformed. Death took the person I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. In time, the Earth started to right itself and I stopped believing I shouldn’t ever laugh or be happy again. I started making new friends and getting out of the house. Eventually I went on a disastrous date that couldn’t be over fast enough and I ended after ordering nothing more than a soda (aka pop, for you weirdos thinking I was drinking baking soda). I had already decided I wasn’t quite ready for dating when a persistent gentleman firmly planted himself before me. 

The grouch, less grouchy/more jovial outside of work and while hanging out with friends, didn’t remember me at all, but made it very clear he was completely focused on me now. He was flirty and charming, doing everything he could think of to endear himself to me so I would go out with him. It took a few months, but I gave in.

I was skittish on our first date, barely able to look at him or speak. He wanted a hug at the end, I was ready to run to my car. He made me nervous in a way I couldn’t explain. I didn’t want to see him again. Instantly, I chastised myself and decided to give him one more chance. I wasn’t being fair, I thought. Mind control.  After our second date, we were completely inseparable. The first date, how I felt, what I (tried) to eat, what I wore, I remember well. I couldn’t tell you what we did after that. Could have been a movie, could have been a reef dive, could have been a mission to Mars, it’s all a blur.

The rest is history… with a dash, maybe, of destiny. And later, a library. Castle in the near future wouldn't hurt either.

Flash fiction - Cornerstone - C

Jack sat at the edge of the clearing, a thicket of trees behind him giving way to the dense forest just beyond. His annoyance at his sisters returning to their parents back up at the ‘struction site forgotten. He scooped up Jane’s metal trowel, an implement he’d spent much of the morning coveting, and continued digging in the dirt for treasure.

Once upon a time, Mommy had told them, there was a great big mansion in the middle of all these trees. It belonged to their Aunt Scissors. Daddy said they were in Mommy’s family a long time ago, but Aunt Joan and Aunt Cassie were Mommy’s family and they live right now so maybe they knew the Aunt Scissors. Mommy had hair-etted the land where the big house used to be because Aunt Cassie lived in a special home and Aunt Joan didn’t want the ‘sponsitility of it. Thinking about Aunt Cassie’s home made him think about the cookies the house mother made when they visited.

“Wish I had some cookies right now.” The six year old frowned as he glanced at his woefully stocked lunchbox. Mommy had put applesauce, carrot sticks and yogurt inside, but everyone knew digging was hard work and needed cookies. He returned to his ever widening hole, content that the metal trowel had replaced Jane and Marie’s presence. Jane was so bossy for being nine. Marie could be okay, but she was little and just wanted to make mud pies. Jane squealed when Marie ate the first one. But then she got mad and dragged her up to see Mommy and Daddy after she ate the second one.

Jack lost track of time as he happily dug far enough down that a wall of dirt as tall as his hand mounded up around him. This was better than running his trucks off the stairs back home. The apartment was the only home he knew, and it was okay, but Mommy and Daddy promised he’d have this whole yard to play in once the new house was built.

“Right, right. That’s no problem. We’ve had stranger requests than that. And you think the original stonework is facing the river side of the property?”

Jack looked up, pausing his digging to watch his parents and the ‘struction men walk closer to him. He waved as his dad’s eyes met his, earning him a wide grin.

“Having fun over there? Don’t dig all the way down! We’ll never find you again.”

Jack laughed at his silly daddy, all the while wondering if he could dig far enough down to find live dinosaurs. Aunt Joan watched a movie with him about dinosaurs living underground once. He dug with more enthusiasm as his parents walked away. He shoveled and scraped until the trowel hit something so hard he dropped it. He must have found treasure! Jack looked up to make sure no one had seen it.

“-gone long before my father’s time. Frankly I’m surprised there was anything left to pass on with the property. I figured they never rebuilt because they’d gone broke.”

The adults were slowly walking away. Jack focused on the hump of dirt in the middle of his hole. His mind a whirl of pirate chests and gold doubloons, the boy fell forward and began digging out the dirt surrounding his find.

“Then you aren’t completely sure which way it was situated on the property? ‘Cause my guys aren’t finding anything over there.”

“The letter was pretty specific about finding that cornerstone, but it was written a longtime ago. Maybe she was confused?”

Jack’s fingers cleared the top of something square in the dirt. A box. A treasure chest! He spit on it twice, then wiped his hands across the surface to clear the muck away to reveal a gold ‘X’. It really was pirate treasure!

“It seems superstitious, but the will stipulated having to reuse that cornerstone if we agreed to take the property and the money to build with. They wanted that thing sealed and buried.”

Jack’s fingers worked at the box, but couldn’t get it loose. The top shifted the slightest bit, revealing a seam. Of course! Treasure chests opened from the top! In earnest he wiggled and pulled at the lid so he could finally see his treasure. Jack fell backwards, the lid in his hands and his face frozen in a mask of terror as a cloud of indigo jettisoned from the opening.

After the bodies were found the next day, no one was ever able to explain how an architect, a survey crew and a general contractor along with a family of four had all died simultaneously of internal bleeding. The children, a young boy and his younger sister, in particular left most of the locals saying an extra prayer in church the following Sunday. It would be another week before Joan Nordhaus arrived in town asking about her missing niece, an older child who hadn’t been among the dead that awful day.

By then, it was too late.

Butterscotch - B

25 more posts? Please tell me coming up with ideas is going to get easier.

Gather round, come one come all, as I discuss the finer points of cheap candy not really. Mmmm, butterscotch. Butterscotch? Yes.

Back in the day, there was hardly a grandparent's house across America without at least one candy dish. Beautiful glass or crystal (fancy!) dishes, with or without lids, containing hard candy. Dealer's choice of wrapped pieces or one large mass of congealed ribbon candy that required the use of a pickax. My dad's mother was an outlier; the only candy she kept on hand (that she admitted to or shared) were old sugar flowers my grandpa had made decades earlier. Nothing says childhood treat like a scary older woman eating decades old sugar flowers made by a dead man.

You got this Gretel!

My mom's mom on the other hand, otherwise known as Grandma, kept peach and apple hard candies at her home. I have never, ever found a store that sells them and have always been a little curious where they came from. She also kept a roll of mints in her purse at all times and God him/herself only knows how much lint I ingested in my youth from those mints.

Which is all well and good, but what does any of that have to do with butterscotch discs? When we would drive across country to visit my grandmothers (and their interesting candy choices) my dad would pick up a couple of rolls of butter rum Lifesavers and a bag of butterscotch. There were orange slices (the candy, not the nutritious fruit) and circus peanuts as well. Sort of a theme of orange tinted snacks now that I think about it. The other stuff invariably ran out first and every so often I'd unwrap a butterscotch for my dad while he drove.

Over time, road trip treats dwindled down to just the butterscotch variety. And then family road trips disappeared as my siblings and I scattered into adulthood. Fortunately for me, my husband loves driving trips. Every stop at a gas station he'll ask if I want a bag of butterscotch or a roll of butter rums. And I never would get them, but it would make me smile and remember traveling as a kid.

With my parents living with us now, my dad's wanderlust combines with ours and we've taken some road trips over the last few years. I drive instead of my dad now. I've traded circus peanuts for real almonds. I've traded orange slices for sliced apples. But when we go on a family trip, I pick up a bag of butterscotch discs. One bag lasts several trips now, and it's my dad handing me the candies.