Deep Breath

Okay, debate time. Who saw the film of the woman in the 1920's walking down the street... talking on a cell phone??

It gives me the creeps. Not one for the most obvious answers - I'm going with time traveling on this one. My sis has it all worked out - it was Charlie Chaplin's crazy mother talking to herself. What's your take? Leave a response and let me know. Meanwhile, enjoy my precious little toddler getting into the spirit of halloween.

You know I've been really hitting the books when it comes to herbs, supplements and such. I've taken it a step further and have been taking a good look at aromatherapy. I believe I'm hooked. I've got cleaning recipes, perfume recipes, massage oil recipes and room spray recipes, just to name a few. I already had a few essential oils on hand, but I've ordered quite a few more. I'll be making all of these recipes and trying them out, and let you know what I thought of them.

Here's one to get you started. I've been using vinegar and water for cleaning, but I found a recipe that steps up the disinfectant power and gives a nicer scent as well. It works really well as a cleaner.

Essential Cleaner:

2 cups vinegar
2 cups water
1/2 cup rubbing alcohol
25 drops lemon essential oil
20 drops rosemary essential oil
15 drops peppermint essential oil

or I tried tea tree and lavender instead of lemon and rosemary and they worked well too.

The only thing to keep in mind with this one is that if you are switching from vinegar water is no longer okay to let your toddler spray it multiple times into her mouth.

Enjoy! And let me know what you think about crazy time traveling woman. My sis is still eagerly trying to paint a scenario that rests safely in the non-paranormal. How boring is that?

OFF # 7 My Soul to Keep

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Keep me safe all through the night and wake me with the morning light. Amen.

The mother pressed a kiss against the soft cheek and turned out the light, leaving the room with one final glance at her drowsy toddler.

As the little one softly breathed in and out, in and out, succumbing to the need for rest, a restless stirring began in the deepest, darkest corner of the room.

Before long it emerged, ugly and dark, crouching along the floor toward the bed with nothing but sinister intent. Evil oozed from every depraved pore, leaving a sticky wake of destruction.

It reached the bed, already exulting in the pure malevolence of taking this innocent life before it reached it’s scaly hands to grab the child by the throat.

Light prevented it. The monster cried out in protest as the aura of illumination grabbed its hands and pulled it back with effortless control.

“You can’t stop me!” the monster wheezed with a triumphant laugh. “You aren’t any more powerful than I. You and me? We’re the same. You won’t stop me.”

The man made of light did not speak. Evil cursed and threw the holy warrior against the wall.
They wrestled for quite some time until suddenly there were footsteps in the hall. A mother peaked back into the room, her face unsettled. She stared around the dark space, seeing nothing, but sensing everything. Quickly she fell on her knees next to the bed, and began to pray.

Evil shrunk back, knowing its power was being sucked away with each effective word the woman spoke to the Creator. It sighed, knowing that now the angelic being of goodness was the least of its problems.

There He was again. Always showing up just when those disgusting little humans started talking that way. Never once did He neglect a sincere appeal from a member of His family. Never once had Evil gotten anywhere once his presence was in the room. In the house. In the neighborhood.

And so Evil slunk back, and shuffled away into nothingness.

The angel smiled, and went back to his post at the end of the child’s bed.

And He went to her. Knelt beside her. Comforted her. Gave her peace.

“It’s safe now. I’m here.”

With a smile, she kissed her little one once more and stood to leave.

“Thank you.” She whispered into the darkness.

And He smiled.

OFF #6 - The Fun House Mirror

Tall. Short. Wide. Thin.

She turned, her mind’s eye critically sweeping over the reflection. A wall of mirrors, and none to tell her what the true representation might be.

“That one looks most like you.” Someone pointed at a peculiar looking mirror of waves. She saw her distorted face peer skeptically at the glass.

“No, it’s this one. Come here!” The scoff came from the other side of the odd, dark room. A room of wrong dimensions, of optical illusions. Nothing was real.

And everything was real.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to stare another moment at the images that mocked her from every angle. She didn’t want to know she was that ugly. She didn’t want to see the plain features ridiculed by the proportions of this nether world.

“If only there were a truth.” She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing back the lump of hopeless grief in her throat.

“There is.”

She didn’t dare open her eyes, because the masculine voice was beauty in audible form. The tone he carried was perfection, and now the hand on her shoulder was love defined by touch.

“Open your eyes.”

She shook her head stubbornly, capturing her torso with her arms in a gesture of refusal. Even as she did, she mourned the loss she would experience when she could no longer feel his essence close to her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He answered her silent lament. “And I want you to open your eyes and look at the truth.”

She felt hot tears. “No! I’ve seen it! It’s ugly! It’s not worth looking at! Why should I trust you when I’ve seen the truth for myself?”

“You haven’t.” There was a smile in his words. She wanted to see that smile. More than anything she’d ever wanted. But she couldn’t.

“You haven’t seen the truth. And you should trust me because I love you. As you are. As you look in the mirror I will show you.”

It took several moments for his words to reach her heart and melt her unwillingness. But eventually she allowed her eyes to open slightly. She could see a mirror. And a woman in a beautiful white dress. A beautiful woman.

But it wasn’t the woman that made her open her eyes wide in wonder. Not even when she became orientated enough to realize that the woman was none but herself.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She never wanted to, ever again.

Here was truth.

OFF #5 - A Destiny No Coincidence

The forest loomed dark on the horizon that was quickly relenting to the insistence of night.

Famished and nearly spent, the two skidded to a halt and stared at the eerie shadows of trees reaching gnarled fingers toward their prey.

“I don’t want to go in there.” Julienne said, falling to the ground and pulling her arm away from his clutch. Her hands closed over her throat as if the shadow branches were grasping for her.

“I don’t, either.” Nicholas sighed, out of breath, and kneeled beside her. “But we have no choice. He’s right behind us. If we don’t go in there we have no other way of escape.”

“I’m so tired of running!” Julienne cried. She stood and paced, her arms wrapped around her dress. A beautiful crimson ballgown. Highly inefficient in the matter of keeping one warm. Nicholas also stood and put his arms around her.

“You’re cold.”

She scoffed. “Of course I’m cold. I’m also starving and I need to relieve myself. There never seems to be time for such things. The limits of this… this… succession of events we’re made to engage in… to be – It’s too hard! I can’t do it!”

“You must do it.”

They both whirled around at the sound of his voice. He stood, not a stone’s throw away, with his hands behind his back and a serene smile on his face.

Nicholas tried to hold her back, but Julienne had experienced the worst day of her life and was not to be trifled with. He stepped back in fear and respect of the well dressed gentleman standing confidently with his hands hidden behind his back.

“Why must we do it? Why must we listen to you at all? How is it that you came to be the god of this world? Already today I have watched my entire family burn to death in the untimely and orchestrated fire of our family’s estate. I lost my fiancé to a duel that he neither started nor cared to finish. Somehow this Nicholas fellow saved me from certain doom when a runaway horse and cart became separated on the bridge above where I was standing.”

She dared to take a step closer, though the man didn’t flinch, and his smile remained fixed upon his lips.

“Your horse and cart, was it not?”

“It’s all mine, my dear. Just as you are. You will never be the creator of your own destiny, because I’m the one that created you. So you will mourn your family, pick of the pieces of your heart, and gladly allow Nicholas here to put them back together. I can promise you that in the end, you will live happily ever after.”

She seethed at him as he picked a leaf from her hair. “And how can you possibly promise that?”

He smiled. “Because, my dear heart, I am the writer.”

OFF #4 Flash Nonfiction from the Mind of a Writer

She set her fingers to the keyboard. From the back of her brain only recently freed from the confines of pregnancy hormones came scenes of highest adventure, deepest mystery, purest romance…

Screaming baby.

She ran up the stairs, suddenly reminded of the fact that it had been exactly 10 days since she had last exercised. Formally.

Back to the table. Deep breath. Fingers poised on the keyboard. She checked. Left on ASDF. Right on JKL:. Thumbs ready for action on the space bar.

This took her back to high school typing class. Fun times. And for once a subject had really come in handy on a regular basis for her entire adult life. Go figure.

Toddler crying.

Pause. Will she cry again? Will Husband tend to her? She hears his footsteps. He goes into the kitchen instead.

She checks the clock. 10:32 p.m. There’s still time. She can write her fiction and still have it posted by midnight.

Husband goes silent. What is he doing in the kitchen? He better not be making a mess. I just got it cleaned up.

FOCUS!

Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat… the dog on the chair next to her shakes and barks in his sleep as he chases some imaginary cat.

Time for the story. Where shall I go? Ancient Greece? The Byzantine Empire? Victorian England? Or perhaps deep into the heart of mid-to-late nineteenth century Texas?

What was it about Westerns? It seemed like no matter who you were and no matter what skill level you possessed as a writer, if you wrote a book that was either a Western or an Amish tale, there was some rule that meant you were to be automatically published.

So why had she been told time and time again in her studies as a writer and at various workshops and conferences that you shouldn’t write westerns or Amish books because they’d never get published?

It was a conspiracy.

Enough! Time to write!

Rats. Twenty words over. Twenty-four words over. Time to quit.

OFF #3 - The Moment After Her Death

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her fingernail drumming on the side of the earthen wall sounded like the rain that fell outside the window.

The barred window.

The heavy chains of iron that encased her wrists, now swollen and irritated by the constant rubbing of the metal against her sensitive skin, served as a reminder. A reminder that life would never be the same. A reminder that she had lost everything. Her children were the hardest to lose. To know that she would never lay eyes on their precious faces again felt like a knife through her heart.

When the flames leaped up around her tomorrow morning, consuming her flesh until her spirit could no longer reside within it, she knew it would hurt less than losing her babies had wounded her.

She tried to imagine what death might be like. She had heard her entire life that death was punishment for sin. So certainly it could not be pleasant. Even if she had not committed the crimes she was dying for, she had sinned in other ways. As hard as she had always tried to be good, there were those illusive thoughts and actions that were constantly besting her in her struggle to be perfect.

She could not fathom how she had ended up in this dank cell spending her final night awake and alone. One minute she had resisted the advances of a man not her husband, and the next moment she was being dragged before the council and accused of witchcraft. The townspeople, already out of their minds, controlled by the obsession with eradicating the evil, had been easily convinced of her guilt.

No matter that there was no proof. No matter that her husband had piteously pleaded for her life. No matter that she had three small children she was responsible to care for.

She would die. For an offense she would not have thought of committing on her worst day.

And she did not know where the moment after her death might find her.

OFF with you.

I know, I know, I know, I know, I know.

I know.

I said I would write every day. It's been a few more than that.

I'M SORRY.

I had a daughter who was sick. I was sick. Laundry and dishes and housework piled up. My son decided that since he is now cutting teeth he is excused from being a happy, content baby who sleeps all night.

Life got hard. But I've been thinking about all the blog posts I didn't write. I suppose that's something.

I have a really good post about essential oil uses that will be forthcoming. It's my new favorite hobby. But before that I've decided to join the movement called "October Flash Fiction," orchestrated by fellow blogger Jared in order to get us all writing and reading. I know this is a little unbelievable, but this idea was pretty much exactly what I was thinking about a few posts ago when I said I had a dare for you, then I decided not to try it. Well, with the strength of my fellow bloggers, I invite you to join the craze, a little late like me.

I had strep.

So, if you have a blog and would like to try your hand at flash fiction, here are the details. Add your address as a comment on Jared's blog and finish out the week with us. If you don't have a blog or flash fiction (simply just fiction that is under 300 words) isn't appropriate for your blog, you can add it to mine. Just let me know and I'll post it as long as it is reasonably non-evil.

Here's the info: http://thefallingaction.blogspot.com/

Again I apologize that I have not figured out how to make my links clickable. Someday I will figure that out.

So I look forward to hearing from you. Don't be afraid. Just write. With 300 words, you don't have to have a plot or a setting or even much of a character. Just write something down.

Only five days to go.