This is a collaborative story with a friend while we were talking on the phone one night -the ending is purely his.I read it in my writing class, they seemed to like it :).

"A Short Story by Simpson Kirk Aug 2014

It was raining harder than I have ever seen it rain in Vegas. The streets were starting to flood and the storm drains were over flowing. We had a fight. Neither of us are screamers but it was loud. I cannot even remember what started it or what was the final straw. I stormed out of the house, swearing and telling myself I needed to get away. I had to think about where this relationship was going. I started driving with no destination in mind; I just wanted to be away, to be alone.

I decided to drive to Mt Charleston and our cabin. We had bought the cabin, a couple of years back. Not in great shape, it was a divorce settlement fast sale of assets., but a great investment for us. It was still expensive so we had to rent it for a couple of years. Then did some improvements after a disaster renter, and rented it for another year. That did not go well; another not so happy renter, and we made the decision to start using it as it was intended.- our vacation retreat. We really enjoyed going up for weekends and even brought some work up with us. We had satellite Internet connection and television. Cell phone reception was hit or miss. We are working on that. A couple rentals in high season to select clients were all we really needed to pay the taxes and maintenance. It was perfect.

 Tonight it was a safe refuge I needed in a storm of emotions. Once I had made the decision on my destination I just wanted to fly there, to drive as fast as I could and be in the cabin, surrounded by its peace. However, that was not possible I had to drive slow and take my time and not hydroplane into one of the drainage ditches. Puddles were now lakes of water that I had to breech. Mt Charleston usually took an hour and 30 minutes to drive from Vegas; I was now close to three hours on the road. The traffic and weather reports were urging everyone to stay home and off the roads. Reporting mudslides on Mt Charleston, the Highway Police were closing roads.

 As I turned onto our road to the cabin I noticed the little creek had now become a torrent and water was up to the bottom of the bridge. I rolled down all my windows and unfastened my seat belt. If this car goes off the bridge, I thought, I am getting out. I decided to go as fast as possible over the bridge; I would worry about getting back after it stopped raining. With only my headlights to show the way I pushed the gas and flew over the bridge. Safe, I rolled up the windows. Now the 2 miles up our road to the cabin, I did not look back, I kept the car steady, blessing the decision to buy a four wheel Honda CRV. I fishtailed up the final climb.

The cabin was dark. Electricity was out but the propane kitchen stove was ok. I lit a burner to defeat the darkness and got out the hurricane lamps and candles. I lit them all to dispel the gloom caused by the storm outside and inside of me. Always leaving wood in fireplace, ready to light, I started a small fire and slowly it started to take the dampness away. Then I started the wood stove that would heat the bedrooms and main house. That was one of the improvements we made after that crazy renter burned our furniture in the fireplace for heat. We had stocked the woodpile last time we were here and it was nice and dry on the porch. I went out and brought in enough wood for the night. Next I went to get some water from the bottles we kept at the cabin. The electricity was off so the well pump did not work –but I needed something hot to drink. I got the instant hot chocolate out of the freezer; it would work in an emergency and this was. Put the water in a pan on the stove to heat and looked around.

 Maybe I should go back. No the Mountain roads are dangerous in this weather and it is really late. I am fine and safe in our little cabin. I just have to relax. But I miss her and maybe I was wrong. I know the fight was over the top.

 The water boiled and I made some hot chocolate only filling the cup half way the other half with room temp water so I could drink it right away. I am feeling calmer, but lonely. I should have never stormed out with out my computer and my cell has no signal. Darn.

I must have dozed off because the fire in the fireplace was almost out but the stove was going strong and the cabin was toasty. Then I heard it, a knock at the door. ‘What the heck,  it is 3am. Are you kidding me?’ I went to the door, trying to see outside but it was so dark. I opened the door. A woman in a slicker was standing there soaked, all muddy and covered in bloody mountain brush. Her hands and chest were a mess all scraped and bleeding. The rain had mixed with her blood covering the porch.

‘The car went off the road where the bridge was supposed to be. The roads are a mess but I had to come. I am so sorry about everything. I crawled the last two miles.”

.

I looked at my wife. A piece of windshield glass was sticking out of her chest that is where all the blood was from. I knew she had no idea she was hurt so badly in the car accident. The glass may have pierced her heart.

“Oh honey, I am so sorry.” I cried, reaching out and catching her, as she collapsed..

Holding her in my arms, I kissed her one last time, as she died.

The end."

Pennywise , Pride foolish

or

Sometimes saving money on a fixed Income is just not worth it.

A 62 and 364 day old woman attempts to save money by dyeing her own hairs. Ok so it is I, I am talking about.  Saw a ‘real good deal’ in Face Book called e-salon where for an introductory low cost they would custom match your current hair to the new color you picked. The catch was you would automatically be signed up to receive the same color every 30 days. I did not think about that part or that it would cost twice the amount of the first order. I uploaded my picture and put it on my credit card.

 They did not like the type of dye I ordered and called me. ‘You need to order a permanent not a temporary dye color’, said the girl. I had thought if I did not like the color it would wash out. No, they changed that.  Now I thought ‘well maybe this is ok they seem to care about the product.’

Within a week I got a large oblong box. It included the dye, the mix solution, two pairs of plastic gloves, shampoo, conditioner, stain guard to apply to your skin around your face so the color can not get to your skin, a brush, a cape, a timer, a stain remover for your face, and instructions. Whew. I was over whelmed and put it aside for 30 days. I got another box, my credit card was automatically charged. I quickly canceled all future orders.

Two days before my birthday I decided to try it out. I had made an emergency appointment with my regular hairdresser for a cut and color –just in case. I had let my hair go natural which meant all gray and dark. I had just attended a High School reunion and saw myself captured in time in the pictures. At first, I could not find me then I shuddered, time to dye my hair. I hated the natural look.

First I read the instructions again. Gathered the old towel, and paper towels., changed into a strapless sun dress that I did not have to pull over my head. All set, I thought. Note to others –go to the bathroom before you put on the plastic gloves.  I put on the cape over the paper towels around my neck.

I applied the stain guard around my face and neck. I am now ready to take the dye and the solution bottle and mix them together. Both unscrew. But the solution bottle also has a cap? I cannot get it off. I have to get out my pliers and pull it off. Now I am still in my gloves and ready to mix them together. I mix them together, re-screw both bottles and cannot get the cap off again. I still have my gloves on and the fingers are sticky from the Stain Guard. The Pliers and extra paper towels, work.

I shake the color to mix together. It takes a long, long , long shake. I think ‘ this is to light a color, oh well, I will just use it.’ Next, I have to apply the color to my hair, but not rubbing it into my scalp. I remember my old hairdresser using a comb to comb thru my hair with the color on it. No throw away comb in the box or mentioned in the instructions,. I only have my regular comb, so I use it. That was a Big Messy Mistake. Note to others, use a throw away comb. I now have dye all over my good comb. I try to wipe it off with the paper towels, but it is a special layered comb, and I have to wash it. I ended up scrubbing it with a nailbrush, in my plastic gloves in the water.

 I work the color into my hair and set the timer for 30 minutes. But it is a stopwatch timer and so I also set my kitchen timer. Before I do this I put a shower cap over on my hair because I a touching my hair and getting it over everything. Did I mention I wear glasses? Paper towels and water again. One last thing before I take off the darn gloves put the cap back on the bottle and run my colored filled gloves over my eyebrows. 

I work on my computer and the phone rings. I have to answer on speaker, since I have now put the phone on my ears and gotten color over it. I talk a long time, hands free. The timer goes off in the kitchen. I re-read the instructions. ‘Get into the shower it is about to get messy.’ Are you kidding me? I put on the second set of gloves. It has been 59 minutes.

Turn on my shower, take off the gloves to test the temperature, put them back on, undress, get the shampoo and conditioner they sent, fill up the color bottle with water to mix with the color, shake again, notice the color NOW looks like I thought it should all along, get into the shower, start to rinse it off my hair while applying the water and color, (this seems weird). Wash off the color from my eyebrows,, now my eyes are burning, trying not to get anything on my skin, put down the color bottle, eyes closed can not see if it rinses clear but take off gloves, use the shampoo and my hair feels like straw, use the conditioner, feels better. Scrub me and finish in the shower.

I cannot see yet because I forgot to put on the fan and the mirror is fogged, but no color comes off on my towel.

Color seems ok, I guess, but not worth the mess.

My eyes still burn. Going back to the hairdresser.

When did my hair get so thin?

Writing Prompt /Slowing time

Writing Group Prompt:

Write something with the idea of slowing down or stopping time

  rl simpson                              7/18/2014

I point my phone’s camera and press the button and if I remember to hold the button a few seconds, I stop time. It is not the type of magic I want to possess. I want to have the magic to go back in time and then stop time. I want to tell my younger self all kinds of advice and wisdom and force her to learn the lessons she needs.

But the only kind of magic I possess, is something someone else invented to stop time. A picture, a snap shot, an image of that moment in time.

 My eldest niece was married on July 4^th. When she found her guy and they set the date, I asked her, "How can you get married –you are only six?" I looked back to all the moments in time that I had stopped for her and I am amazed that she kept moving forward in time to this point, getting married at 6 plus 22.

In my images, I have stopped time for lots of people. I only now realize how much I enjoy that magic. Some of the images are still on pictures, but most are taking up space on my computer in something called jay pee gee (.jpg).

Occasionally, these images pop up and delight me all over again bringing memories to the present day and I unstop time.

Heather (5) and Rachel (3)

Heather and Matt

Book Club

I am in two book clubs (three but I can not afford to buy the books for the original book club so I do not attend -unless I was able to get a Library book) Two Creative Writing groups -in which I am so blocked I can only write with a prompt or bring in this BLOG to read. Nothing is new with me. So when the Romance Book club book choice for June -left me with such a violent reaction -I perked up -ah ha -thought I -material for a rant and new Blog.

The book of the month was voted on by the nine women who signed up and the Facilitator. Nine women voted -three showed. 

The book was not Romance is was poorly written PORN.

 Reading this NY Times Best Seller listed book made me loose all credibility in this list.

 per Wikipedia:"The list is composed by the editors of the "News Surveys" department, not by The New York Times Book Review department, where it's published.^[6] It is based on weekly sales reports obtained from selected samples of independent and chain bookstores and wholesalers throughout the United States.^[6] The sales figures are widely believed to represent books that have actually been sold at retail, rather than wholesale,^[7] as the Times surveys booksellers in an attempt to better reflect what is purchased by individual buyers. ^{" '}A Stanford Business School analysis suggests that the "majority of book buyers seem to use the Times' list as a signal of what's worth reading".^[27] The study concluded that lesser-known writers get the biggest benefit from being on the list, while perennial best-selling authors such as Danielle Steel or John Grisham see no benefit of additional sales.<sup>[27]'

This book was the first 'adult' book from a young reader Author. All she had to do was dumb down the story and throw alot alot alot of sex scenes in and magic -it was a Best Seller? In our discussion, I objected so strongly I was asked what kind of Romance book did I like? My mind went blank. Then I said Regency Romance, ok so I love reading them on my Kindle.

 But I do read some para normal books with lots of sex - so why am I bothered by this? Was it the public discussion? Next months book is even worse in graphic detail but the author is better. I do not know if I will waste my time reading it. But then what else do I have to do , CLEAN? Write a NY Times Best Seller? I know the story would be better but the sex scenes? well maybe my little sister could write those. :)

 On Dublin Street by Samantha Young -maybe a Beach read / Did not like it.</sup>

A Day in the life.

          I am rewashing the same load of colors a third time –YES someone threw a tissue in with my clothes. I live alone and wash only my own clothes. I should be grateful it was not the load of dark clothes. Someone does that quite often.

          Yesterday, I had my deck power washed, my house power washed and my portable room air conditioners put in. I also had my redwood picnic table power washed. It was an old one my brother in law was getting rid of and I said I wanted it. I did a nice job sanding and repainting it a couple of years ago –then I put a varnish on it. Wrong. So when it start to peel –and peel badly –I decided it needed to be redone –power washing saved me a step. A male friend and my brother both asked me if I was going to have my new handyman paint the picnic? What kind of a question is that? I can still do some things; just not lift heavy air conditioners.

          Now, I am making a list of all my handyman jobs I need done. This man is 55 and seems very nice. He built the neighbors decks and works for them a lot. It seems the neighbor wife is very handy, the husband is not. I want all kinds of things done but I can afford only the necessary things. He also hung my new address sign. I made the tiled address sign in Mosaic class at the County Library.

           So far on my list is a new screen door and new hinges. Oh I would love to have windows boxes and a shed. Maybe by the Fall I can think of more things, that are necessary.

I recently came across a blog post that said start writing 15 min. per day. 

So I start. 

Yesterday morning I went to a writing group. I have been going for years, twice a month. Sometimes it is only the male facilitator and myself, other times one or two ,mostly women, show up. Yesterday, I had nothing to bring with me, good thing the other 10 people did. What a group! I was so happy. I think this may have been the largest group, ever. Even the first time person who had nothing to share, felt the spirit move her and shared her thoughts. I do not think I was ever that confident and can not wait to see if she comes back with her writing. I wonder if it will be poems or stories? I like stories best and occasionally even understand a poem. I thought I understood one that was read that morning. Poems are difficult for me to appreciate. I understand all poetry from my frame of reference. Yesterday's poem was very straightforward, like me, no hidden agenda,what you see is what I am. Yet, as the group discussed the poem , first without the author and last with her input and explanation, I found lines that meant one thing to me had hidden meanings to her. I still like the poem but not as much. I feel like I walked into a quicksand trap -carefully planned and hidden -beautiful but not honest.

 I really do not * appreciate poems.


*like?

Collections by A. Robin

                          3/6/2014 

Anyone that knows me knows that I love scarves and pins. Vintage costume pins and scarves from old Aunties and great Grandmother’s jewelry drawers. Given by friends and family, all find homes with me. I currently have 85 scarves; oh wait maybe closer to 100 counting winter scarves and belly dancing scarves. They are all types and colors and origins, all with stories. 

I started loving scarves in high school. I do not remember my first scarf, but I think it was a blue bandana, like the bad boys on motorcycles wore. Thankfully, I matured along with my choice of scarves. Friends in college starting giving me scarves – Paula brought me back a scarf from France –it is wild block colors on a black background. Christine gave me an orange mohair scarf from Scotland –it itched me something awful, it I loved the color and the weave. I lost that after 20 years, I still wonder where. Later, Patricia brought a scarf filled with Longaberger baskets back from a basket bee in Ohio, I think of her every time I wear it. Bonnie gave me a designer scarf (my first! ) for helping in her store one Christmas.  Chrissy, from Belly Dancing, brought us all scarves from her vacation re-enacting mid-evil times. When my English pen pal, Maureen, went to China she sent me a pure white long scarf of silk for Christmas that year. What a delightful surprise. 

I even found a scarf blowing down the street in Stone Harbor during a Nor’Easter. I stopped my car, put on the flashers and rescued it.  I often wondered what your story was, pretty olive color scarf. 

My Niece spent her junior year of college in Italy and brought me two scarves. A black, oh so fancy scarf with raised flowers on it – it is so formal I can only imagine wearing it in Rome or Paris or in some large Cathedral where covering one's hair is the custom. I have never worn it except to dance around the house. The other scarf she gave me was a very large red and white with Italian cities on it –I love it and have worn it over my shoulders or outside on my coat.  For Christmas one year both nieces, gave me a sparkly black winter scarf, I like it so much I wear in year round.

I have bought scarves for myself in Scotland –a beautiful woven blue the color of the sky over the loch’s we passed on our coach tour ,that is a winter scarf. The other Scotland scarf is burgundy in color with clan symbols scattered all around. Later, in Ireland, I finally got to see the beautiful colors from the Book of Kells at Trinity College in Dublin. Never having passed a Gift store I did not like –I purchased two scarves a blue and a green thinking to give them as gifts –I still have them.   

When I went to Alaska in 2011, we had to fly in early to Fairbanks because our county was being evacuated due to a hurricane. Our trip didn’t start for two days, so we stayed in a motel in down town Fairbanks. The weather was a beautiful autumn day and walking around we found a little thrift store boutique. I didn’t see much to interest me and was just about to leave. When I saw this trash bag with scarves sticking out, I asked about them. The owner said her partner had just bought them at an estate sale and she had to go through and price. I sat down and for the next hour went through hundreds of scarves and bought about 10. I like to think of them as my Alaskan scarves. Their story is; they are on adventure back to the lower 48. I do not remember the name of the store or the name of the previous owner. Sometime I think of her as a little old Alaskan lady that would be so pleased her scarves were in a home that cares for them. I threw them in my first wash in Denali and wore them on my trip, but sometimes I think I get a whiff of her perfume. It makes me smile.

I have gotten scarves from my Great Aunts estates –when everything has been picked over and no one wanted the scarves that still smelled of my Great Aunt’s perfume. Old black and white and color images from the 40's and 50's and 60’s, the scarves were captured around their necks in family pictures that outlived them both.  Worn by my Great Aunties in their bohemimun days, when a scarf was needed for ladies to ride in cars. Windows rolled down to serve as air conditioning scarves were needed to keep hair from complete disarray.  I love those scarves all delicate, some hand painted from the islands, all short and narrow to fit around a smaller head and tied or button holed to slip thru to the side of their chin. My favorite scarf is one from 1939 World’s Fair –so fragile –that I rarely wear it.  My Mother remembers she was nine years old and seeing the wonders of her first World’s Fair, maybe it was even a gift from my Grandmother to her sister in law? 

Knowing my aunts they had pins to fasten on the scarf after wind duty was over.  I have some of their pins, no longer sharp enough to anchor the aged fabric of the scarves. I keep trying different ways to sharpen the point of the pin, but for now they are safe with in my jewelry drawer.  

In my thrift store hunts, I am always on the lookout for two scarves. One is from my Alma mater, Penn State and the other is from Stonehenge in England. Money was tight back in college and in 2001 so I guess I thought I could not afford them.

I am thinking about mail order.

Wildflower Meadow

My Backyard is cleared but un- planted except for weeds and wildflowers -I go to local lectures on how to attract birds and hummingbirds and butterflies. I have spent hundreds of dollars on seeds -friends have given me hundreds of dead head seeds -I have even gotten Milkweed seeds from the free lectures I attend. So where are my flowers ? I know I dont have a green thumb and some of them have grown , where are the others? 

Not until I heard the wild Turkeys 15 of them come through my meadow -and stop to eat my yard -did I realize - someone down the road is reaping the benefit of my wildflowers et al. I was so angry -but then what can I do? I have decided to travel their wandering route this summer and find out where there are pooping. Come Fall -I will dead head harvest my mysterious location of missing gibbet flowers.

I just bought some Sunflower Seeds to plant -they grow quickly -even if I miss the wild bunch I will find what their scat has produced. What goes in must come out and I hope GROW !!!!!

Try New things

So ever since I retired I wanted to go to a Cape Shore Chorus Sweet Adeline's International as see what they are all about -I kept putting it off -finally tonight was the night -there were two of us newbies  and they made us get up and sing with them -SING? All I wanted to do was maybe learn percussion like Home Free ? I can not sing any more, I tried something new and they encouraged me to come back -but it was not my thing and they were all such a nice group of ladies. I promised them I would be at one of their concerts. I am sorry Rachel S I tried. Another thing is off the Bucket list !

http://www.capeshorechorus.org/index.html

Death of a Friendship

 

                 
 

 I hear a knock at my side door

I get up and look out the window

The beautiful white pristine of the snow

Is marred by your innuendo

I close my eyes and for a moment

Contemplate not answering the summons.

But I know you will not stop knocking

Until the door is open

I do not know if you will be angry

Or hurtful,

Or demanding.

I do know we are friends no longer.

I have told you to go away

To knock on my door no more

You seem to think I owe you something

But we are friends no longer

So once again I say: I can not help

And slowly close the door

I see your face as you turn away

You still think we are friends.

                                                                 

Love Thy Neighbor

Love thy Neighbor    1/27/2014

I hear a knock at my side door

I get up and look out the window

The beautiful white pristine of the snow

Surrounding my car is marred by footsteps

I follow their origin.

I close my eyes and for a moment

Contemplate not answering the summons.

But I know you will not stop knocking

Until I open the door.

I am eating my breakfast and finish chewing

I do not know if you will be angry

Or hurtful,

Or demanding.

I have not spoken, not once these last 10 times

You use to be a neighbor I shared confidences with

Over tea and cigarettes.

But that was more than 20 years ago.

I open the door and look at you

You wore a coat this time but no hat or gloves.

I cannot see your feet buried in the snow,

Not yet brushed from my steps.

You have a scab on your chin; your hair is long and tangled.

For a woman close to seventy,

You must weigh 80 pounds.

Your hand is on my locked storm door.

“I know I must not be your favorite person

But I got a phone for Christmas

And it is having trouble connecting”: you say.

I think: Seriously? You told me all this last month

When we were talking and you were drunk

I offered to drive you back to the store

And you refused

I let you call your Mother many times that day and the next and the next

You always yelled the same thing

“You have to get me a phone Mom”

Don’t you remember?

Don’t you remember when you yelled at me for not letting you into my house?

Don’t you remember coming back and saying you ‘Disrespect me “ and

‘I am the most disparaging person you have ever met”

Don’t you remember Me telling You to stop bothering Me?

I just nod my head.

Your eyes grow wide like you have hooked me once again,

On your alcoholic fishing rod of deceit and lies.

“I have to use your phone’

You say with that Entitlement in your voice.

I speak for the first time in days

“I can not help you.”

A piece of my breakfast comes out of my mouth.

I am so startled, I do not laugh; just wipe it away with my hand.

You look incredulously at me,

How could I have denied you anything?

You turn and walk down the steps.

Slowly I close the door, lock it and close my eyes.

                                                         You really think we are still friends.

2014 New Year Resolutions

New Year Resolutions by rlsimpson Jan 1, 2014

I do not make them.

I tried once upon a time, maybe, or maybe it was someone else in my other life. Don’t keep them , don’t waste my life making them.  I am just happy to wake up each morning and after my nap. I would love to keep getting healthier and maybe loose a lot more weight –but really, it is not worth making a resolution for, is it?

 I have decided to keep a positive vibe jar. It is a plastic jar with a screw top lid that started out its life as a peanut filled pretzel container. They were not that good and I tried to pour boiling water over the glued on labels –only to melt the container, so that it sags a little to the side. I am thinking contact paper. –Into this jar, I will put slips of paper in, having written on laughing out loud moments of my life. I started today, Jan 1,2014. I will read them all on Dec 31,2014.

 I already have one. Today, because we are expecting snow, I backed my front wheel drive car up my steep driveway. It took me 4 maybe 5 times to get it in the right position. By the time I was finished I was laughing out loud at my silly self. Ok so little things amuse me. I haven’t actually put the slip of paper in the container because I have to wash it out, and find the just right contact paper at the dollar store.

I also have given myself one habit to make. I will look people in the eyes when I smile at them. When I lost that ability and reverted back to my shy, unobservant self, I have no idea. But I do not like that me.

 Oh and a new Mantra from “Eat. Pray, Love”:

 “Never let anyone love you less, than you love yourself.” I really like that.

That should about do it for my 62nd-63rd year.