The Dinner Chair

Seated around the heavy oak table, hearts heavier than the wood, we go through the motions of Sunday dinner. This regular weekly meal that once was a time of joy, reconnection, and renewal is today an empty routine.

Family prayer: "Dearest Father God, Please bless this food and bless this family. Thank you for each one of us at this table and especially for the one who is missing. We know you are loving him and enjoying his company as much as we did. Amen."

Family dinners will never be the same with the vacant chair at the head of the table.

Prompted by Sunday Scribblings topic #212 "dinner." Also posted for Weekend Writer's Retreat.

Subscribe in a reader

The Photograph

This piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. The topic is "photograph."

The tasteful black and white photograph rested on the fireplace mantel. Carefully preserved in a vintage frame, the photo was a focal point of the living room where she often gazed at it with a melancholy feeling.

The smiling couple in the photo was beaming, and the love in their hearts was evident in the natural way they delved into each other’s eyes. The woman, in her simple white cocktail dress, gloves, and tiara veil, and the man in his classic black suit, were the essence of happiness. The woman, a little plump, was beautiful, with thick, silky dark hair, dark eyes, and cheeks that appeared rosy though this was not a color photo. The handsome, brown-haired man was tall and thin, perhaps feeling a little awkward, but with an air of innocence about him.

They were natural, not posed, and so photogenic. She looked longingly at the wedding photo of the man and woman, missing them both. Her parents.

I wish I had the photo to post here, but I can't find where it's saved on the computer. This is a photo of the couple some 38 years later.

To visit more writers from Sunday Scribblings, click here.

I'm Queen of the World!

I’m the queen of the world! I can’t help but think of Leonardo DiCapprio’s character in the Titanic. He felt so free, exhilarated, in control.

What would it be like to feel as though we were really in charge of our own destinies? To feel like the whole world was at our feet? Awesome! See the picture of my new home?

If I were being altruistic, my first act as queen would be delivering the world from hunger, prejudice, ignorance, violence, drugs, abuse, and other evils. Do I have to select one? I can’t! How can I decide if education is more or less valuable than income? How can I decide if addiction is more or less horrifying than neglect? How can I decide if food is more or less necessary than the love of a parent or friend? Well, obviously food is more necessary for existence, but is it enough to provide a quality of life worth living? Thank goodness I am NOT queen of the world!

As a selfish queen, my first act would be to quit my regular job. I’m free!!! After that, I think that I would like to sleep uninterrupted for at least eight hours. I would like to be surrounded by the people that I love doing the things we all love to do, except when I feel like being alone. Tee-hee! Maybe I would make a World Day of Scrapbooking. Oh! Something like that probably already exists. Perhaps I would make it a month. Heck! Let’s make it the national hobby. I would most definitely move into a castle with mysterious, daunting towers and an alligator-filled moat. While I’m queen, I would like to induct someone into knighthood. “I dub thee Sir Knight,” I would say as I touched each of his (or her?) shoulders with a sharp, shiny sword. I’d have to be careful not to cut an ear off! Perhaps, being selfish, I would have some plastic surgery and liposuction (ewww – I don’t know about that). Better yet, I could hire a nutritionist to plan my meals, a chef to prepare them, and a personal trainer who would help me discipline myself to look my best, without sweating too much, of course. Best of all, as queen, everyone would have to follow my rules or OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! Oh, to be queen. A girl can dream!

Check out Sunday Scribblings and see what other writers are saying:

http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

That Sinking Feeling (for Sunday Scribblings)

I hate that sinking feeling I get when I realize something important that I have forgotten, usually accompanied by the words, “Oh my gosh!” I know that I’ve let someone down.

There was something I was supposed to do, and I didn’t write it down because I knew I absolutely would not forget it, but I did. It feels as if my heart is on the downside of a ginormous roller coaster ride, as though my heart has dropped to my lower extremities. There are actual pangs and aches in my chest when I realize the disappointment I’ve caused. An elephant may as well have stepped on my heart

Tears come to my eyes. And I am helpless because there is nothing I can do to relieve that sinking feeling.

Decisions, Decisions!

My first instinct, in response to the topic of "Decisions" on Sunday Scribblings, is that I don't like to make decisions. But that is ironic because I like to be in charge. I guess it really depends on the situation.

For example, a big decision such as whether or not I am going to buy a new car is usually pretty simple, likely because big decisions such as that do not happen every day. It's the little decisions that are sometimes difficult for me. What am I going to wear today? What movie do I want to see? At what restaurant shall we dine tonight?

Shopping! Clothes shopping, in particular, is difficult. Do I really want to pay $50 for this item? Do I really want this shirt, or am I just buying it because it's a really great sale? Do these pants make me look fatter? (On an aside, of course they do! If you have to ask, put them back!)

I make decisions for others much more easily than I make them for myself. I decide what I will allow my children to eat, what they can watch on TV, whether or not they can have friends over at a certain time, and so on. I guess it is easier to dictate to others than it is to decide for myself. I make decisions in my job every day, most of them quite simple choices.

Why is it so hard to decide things for myself? Is it laziness? Is it fear of rejection of some sort? Is it worry that I will do something wrong or make a bad decision? I can't decide!

"Wicked!" (for Sunday Scribblings)

From the outside, the house was silhouetted by eerie, yellow moonlight. The gold-plated letter “A” was burnished on the crown of the arched entryway. A row of ornately sculpted columns adorned the veranda. The dormer windows on the second floor reminded me of eyes, evil intent, beckoning me to dare cross the threshold. The rose window caught my attention momentarily, its beauty in contrast to the general atmosphere surrounding the structure. Lightning blazed across the sky sending a spectral glow over the entire home, particularly the widow’s walk at the top of the building.

I could hardly believe it. I had found it! This ancestral home, which I thought only existed in my head, had haunted my worst nightmares for years, and I had never stepped foot inside it. But tonight… tonight, I would. I would dare this house to repeat my dreams to me.

I approached cautiously and tried the knob. The door was unlocked as if the house had actually invited me to enter. The corridors trembled as if heaving a heavy sigh as I entered. I kept reminding myself, “It’s only a house. It’s only a dream.” That was my mantra. My boots echoed dreadfully through the vast hallway as I headed for the stairs. “It’s only a house. It’s only a dream.”

Suddenly, I was jerked backward by an unseen force. Back, back, and back down the hallway I took from the entry. I turned to run, but the door was sealed with a deadbolt locked from within. There was no key in the door. I ran forward down the hall again trying to reach the staircase, but I froze in fear. The walls in the hallway were closing in on me. “I am going to suffocate!” I thought aloud. I pushed on a wall with all my strength trying to keep it from crushing me, as I continued to scoot my way forward. At length, I was free. I was at the stairway, the hallway left behind. I climbed the stairs hurriedly looking for the source of my nightmare. It was something on the second floor, that I was sure of, but I didn’t know what I was looking for. I believed I would know it when I saw it.

When I reached the landing, there was water leaking from the sides of the walls gushing to the floor pooling around my ankles. There were too many leaks to attempt plugging them, so I continued forward to the room straight ahead. There was the soft glow of lamp light emanating from the room, and it drew me near. In my dream, this was the end. I would wake up in a cold sweat having endured the suffocating hallway and the water creating a small river at my feet.

I couldn’t let it end here now. “It’s only a house. It’s only a dream,” I repeated. The door was ajar on the lamp-lit room, and I slowly pushed it further open. It creaked in resistance. There was an oil lamp radiating on a circular table set next to a chair covered in gold brocade. On the right side of the room was an ancient bureau adorned with cologne bottles, a silver brush, and a silver mirror. “Those aren’t what I’m looking for,” I told myself, though how I knew that is a mystery. To the left was an armoire. I would have to open that to see what was inside. Then I realized that the oil lamp was my beacon. Next to it, sitting lonely on the table, I see it! An amulet. This was what would set me free from my nightmares. I grabbed it from the table and jammed it in the pocket of my jeans. My heart sank when I realized I had to find a way out of there.

The hall from which I came was completely flooded with foul-smelling water. Besides, it would lead to the hallway that I care not to enter ever again. There must be another way. I searched the room I was in for clues. There HAD to be some other passage. All of a sudden, the thunder cracked outside the room. A gust of wind blew out the flame of the oil lamp. My heart thudded in my chest, and my palms grew sweatier. Beads of perspiration were forming on my lip. Lightning lit the room every minute or so, and I was able to find my way to a wall and search for some sort of door or entryway to lead me to safety. After about five minutes, I felt a change in the pattern of the wallpaper. It seemed more like paneling, cold and smooth. I groped in darkness waiting for lightning so I could catch a glimpse of what the change meant. Crack! A knob! I turned the knob, and it felt as if someone pushed me through the opening, and I freefell into a dark tunnel of nothingness. My head hit something hard, and I was knocked unconscious.

Two days later, I awoke in my own bedroom just as my friend was walking into the room with a tray. On the tray were tea, biscuits, strawberry jam, and… the amulet! “Where did you get this?” I managed to squeak.

She responded, “We found it in your jeans pocket when we found you lying on the side of the road out near the Interstate. How in the world did you get there? Do you remember anything?”

Oh, I remembered being in the house and finding the amulet, but I didn’t remember a thing after hitting my head. The doctor said I was a lucky lady with only a mild concussion and a few scrapes and scratches. I believe I am a lot more than that.

I believe with all my heart that the amulet saved my life that night. I believe with all my heart that the amulet prevents my nightmare from reoccurring. And I know I shall never part with it, nor will I ever return to that wicked, wicked house.

Stuck in the Middle

I grew up in a small town about 30 minutes north of Houston.

Now I live in a suburb just south of Houston (this is a picture of Houston, not the suburb). The "small" towns around this metropolitan area are a thing of the past.

We've pretty much been sucked up by Houston. But, I maintain my existence just outside Houston, in the 'burbs because I am stuck between wanting to be a city mouse and wanting to be a country mouse.

The advantages to the "suburb mouse" lifestyle where I am, in particular, include access to great restaurants, fabulous shopping, and conveniences that are close to home such as movies, groceries, golf courses, parks, and amusements. But it also means not being able to hear my neighbor taking a shower, and not having to deal with the inner-city crime of our area. Oh, yeah, we have crime, but not the daily muggings, prostitutes on street corners, homeless panhandling, and things that I see whenever I am in the city of Houston.

We are very near the Kemah Boardwalk with all of its attractions (pictured left). In addition, we are near Seabrook, Texas with its laid-back charm (pictured right). We have access to beautiful lakes, and the beaches of Galveston (and Schlitterbahn waterpark) are less than an hour away.

So, I'm stuck in the middle. I don't enjoy the hustle and bustle of a city, but I am glad there is one close so that we have access to cultural arts, museums, sports venues, and so on. On the other hand, the peace of the country cannot be matched. Crickets, birds, deer, clear skies, and a no-worry attitude are my favorite aspects of the country. In fact, my dear husband and I are planning a get-away to the hill country of Texas next weekend where we will have our own private cottage, jacuzzi, and access to the river as well as antique shopping and sight-seeing if we choose. No phones, no kids, no deadlines, no worries. Peace and tranquility!

I must admit, that would get boring for me. I need to be where I have access to the conveniences of a city, even if I don't venture into the city that often. At least it is an option. We are also located in a diverse, mostly affluent area due to the Johnson Space Center (NASA) being only minutes away. I guess I am pretty happy being stuck in the middle! I can have it both ways.