Friday, December 9, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
CREDITS
Dr. Charles E. Murphy
CREATIVE WRITING AWARD
Presented To: DENISE HICKEY
Palmer Memorial School - 1974
Grade 6
With thanks and gratitude to my Sixth Grade Teacher, Mr. Wiberg, for staying after school with me so that I could finish writing my story. (-- D.H.)
Friday, July 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
THE SECRET OF CHERRYGROVE MANOR
A slight breeze was blowing as Warren jumped down from the big cherry tree that sheltered part of the Lawrences' back yard. One of the cherries came loose and hit Warren's 11-year-old sister Julie. She had long blond hair and blue eyes. Their younger brother Eddie who was nine had brown hair and brown eyes like Warren. Just then she leaped up and hit Warren on the back.
"What was that for?" he demanded crossly.
"I'm sick of you always throwing cherries at me while I'm reading!" Julie answered just as crossly.
"I did not," Warren said. "One must've came loose when I jumped down."
"I wish there was something to do besides listening to you two fighting all the time," complained their younger brother Eddie.
"We could go to the ghost town," suggested Warren helpfully. The "ghost town" was really just an old deserted farmyard but it looked like an old small twon or neighborhood. The family that used to inhabit it owned alot of cherry groves. There weren't too many old citizens of the town so nobody knew much about it.
"Yeah and see if we haven't discovered something there," Julie added.
"Alright," Eddie said. "Let's go but first I want a cold drink."
"I'm with you," agreed Warren.
"That sun's a devil," Julie said. "I think I'll have a drink too."
After the drinks the kids raced each other on their bikes, down to the "ghost town." There was a dirt road in back of their neighbor's house that they always used for a short cut. Itwas old and had alot of sharp rocks and bumps in it. In some places it was overgrown with bushes and briars. Where it looked like the end of it it wasn't and there were alot of curves in it which made it hard to follow. At the end of the road there was an old driveway that led up to the farm. Here the three got off their bikes and sat down on the grass to catch their breaths. Then right ahead of them loomed the old farm house connected to the barn. It stood against a hill that seemed more like a mountain. On the other side were the cherry groves.
"I'm going in the hayloft," Warren decided. "Wanna come with me?"
"O.K." the two agreed.
Warren reached the barn first and was about to climb up when he saw some fresh human tracks that made him step back in horror. At that moment Julie and Eddie reached him.
"Sh," said Warren as low as he could. He motioned them away from the barn and told them what he saw.
"Let's hide behind the barn or on the side until he comes out," Julie suggested.
"Good idea. We can get a good look at him that way," agreed Warren.
After they waited for 5 minutes the man came out. He was red-faced and tall and old and gray-haired. As the kids watched, a yellowed paper fell out of his pocket. He didn't seem to notice so when he was wellout of sight, they all ran up and Eddie got the paper first.
"Read it, somebody," he begged.
"Let me," said Julie. But when she looked at it she was disappointed. "It must be in code," she said.
That night Warren found it hard to sleep so he tried to find a way to decode the message. He tried pig latin and then tried to arrange the letters in different ways but he couldn't figure it out.
Next mroning he told his parents.
"Hey, this is easy. We used to write messages like this when we were kids," he replied. "It's just backwards. You read the message, starting at the bottom."
When he figured it out, it said: Go to town called Cherrygrove. Go down a road called Cherrygrove Lane. Off at that road is a cutoff. Keep following it until you've come to a boulder. It is really a cave. At the end is buried all the Cherrygrove family's most prized possessions and riches.
The kids gasped.
"Let's get the police for this. We don't know if its true so I'll just get my brother Hal for this. He knows the town well. When they got him he said that the old driveway used to be Cherrygrove Lane. They looked a long time and then Hal discovered a cutoff that nobody had seen before because trees and a pile of junk blocked the way. Then they all walked down the cutoff looking for the cave. They walked about half a mile before they found it and then started digging at the end of the cave. They couldn't do it alone so one of them got some other people to help. Then one of the shovels hit a hard surface but it was a rock. At about lunchtime the Lawrences' father reach a board. Immediately, everyone started digging there until someone could pick it up. Then everyone crowded around while Hal opened it with a knife.
"I can't," he said just as it flew open.
Piles of silver coins and jewelry gave off a bright glow.
"Wow!" someone said. Then they heard a truck drive up. An old man got out. The kids blinked.
"It was the one who dropped the message!"
"What're you doing here?" demanded the sheriff.
The man said that he came looking for a code he dropped. He found it in his attic and after awhile he decoded it. Then he came looking for the treasure and figured it was his because the Cherrygroves were his ancestors. He said he needed the money for a heart operation for his son or he'd die.
So the kids decided it was best for him to have it and he let them keep a third of it.
April 10, 1974 by Denise Hickey
Dr. Charles E. Murphy Creative Writing Award
Palmer Memorial School
Maple Avenue, Uncasville, CT
"What was that for?" he demanded crossly.
"I'm sick of you always throwing cherries at me while I'm reading!" Julie answered just as crossly.
"I did not," Warren said. "One must've came loose when I jumped down."
"I wish there was something to do besides listening to you two fighting all the time," complained their younger brother Eddie.
"We could go to the ghost town," suggested Warren helpfully. The "ghost town" was really just an old deserted farmyard but it looked like an old small twon or neighborhood. The family that used to inhabit it owned alot of cherry groves. There weren't too many old citizens of the town so nobody knew much about it.
"Yeah and see if we haven't discovered something there," Julie added.
"Alright," Eddie said. "Let's go but first I want a cold drink."
"I'm with you," agreed Warren.
"That sun's a devil," Julie said. "I think I'll have a drink too."
After the drinks the kids raced each other on their bikes, down to the "ghost town." There was a dirt road in back of their neighbor's house that they always used for a short cut. Itwas old and had alot of sharp rocks and bumps in it. In some places it was overgrown with bushes and briars. Where it looked like the end of it it wasn't and there were alot of curves in it which made it hard to follow. At the end of the road there was an old driveway that led up to the farm. Here the three got off their bikes and sat down on the grass to catch their breaths. Then right ahead of them loomed the old farm house connected to the barn. It stood against a hill that seemed more like a mountain. On the other side were the cherry groves.
"I'm going in the hayloft," Warren decided. "Wanna come with me?"
"O.K." the two agreed.
Warren reached the barn first and was about to climb up when he saw some fresh human tracks that made him step back in horror. At that moment Julie and Eddie reached him.
"Sh," said Warren as low as he could. He motioned them away from the barn and told them what he saw.
"Let's hide behind the barn or on the side until he comes out," Julie suggested.
"Good idea. We can get a good look at him that way," agreed Warren.
After they waited for 5 minutes the man came out. He was red-faced and tall and old and gray-haired. As the kids watched, a yellowed paper fell out of his pocket. He didn't seem to notice so when he was wellout of sight, they all ran up and Eddie got the paper first.
"Read it, somebody," he begged.
"Let me," said Julie. But when she looked at it she was disappointed. "It must be in code," she said.
That night Warren found it hard to sleep so he tried to find a way to decode the message. He tried pig latin and then tried to arrange the letters in different ways but he couldn't figure it out.
Next mroning he told his parents.
"Hey, this is easy. We used to write messages like this when we were kids," he replied. "It's just backwards. You read the message, starting at the bottom."
When he figured it out, it said: Go to town called Cherrygrove. Go down a road called Cherrygrove Lane. Off at that road is a cutoff. Keep following it until you've come to a boulder. It is really a cave. At the end is buried all the Cherrygrove family's most prized possessions and riches.
The kids gasped.
"Let's get the police for this. We don't know if its true so I'll just get my brother Hal for this. He knows the town well. When they got him he said that the old driveway used to be Cherrygrove Lane. They looked a long time and then Hal discovered a cutoff that nobody had seen before because trees and a pile of junk blocked the way. Then they all walked down the cutoff looking for the cave. They walked about half a mile before they found it and then started digging at the end of the cave. They couldn't do it alone so one of them got some other people to help. Then one of the shovels hit a hard surface but it was a rock. At about lunchtime the Lawrences' father reach a board. Immediately, everyone started digging there until someone could pick it up. Then everyone crowded around while Hal opened it with a knife.
"I can't," he said just as it flew open.
Piles of silver coins and jewelry gave off a bright glow.
"Wow!" someone said. Then they heard a truck drive up. An old man got out. The kids blinked.
"It was the one who dropped the message!"
"What're you doing here?" demanded the sheriff.
The man said that he came looking for a code he dropped. He found it in his attic and after awhile he decoded it. Then he came looking for the treasure and figured it was his because the Cherrygroves were his ancestors. He said he needed the money for a heart operation for his son or he'd die.
So the kids decided it was best for him to have it and he let them keep a third of it.
April 10, 1974 by Denise Hickey
Dr. Charles E. Murphy Creative Writing Award
Palmer Memorial School
Maple Avenue, Uncasville, CT
Monday, July 18, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
UP NEXT
UP NEXT...I would like to take you back further along in the time machine as we travel along my life's journey to....PRIZE WINNING FICTION. Well...Did you expect anything less?
UP NEXT, you will read...for the first time..."The Secret of Cherrygrove Manor," first written on April 10, 1974 and never....before....published!
Dr. Charles E. Murphy CREATIVE WRITING AWARD
Presented To:
DENISE HICKEY
Palmer Memorial School
Grade 6, 1974
UP NEXT, you will read...for the first time..."The Secret of Cherrygrove Manor," first written on April 10, 1974 and never....before....published!
Dr. Charles E. Murphy CREATIVE WRITING AWARD
Presented To:
DENISE HICKEY
Palmer Memorial School
Grade 6, 1974
In Conclusion
This concludes the CREATIVE WRITING / POETRY from Fall 1984 with instructor Alexander Taylor, at Eastern Connecticut State University in Willimantic, Connecticut! I hope you all enjoyed this step back through the time machine to ah, De-nise, ah, Debbie's college days.
OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
OUTSIDE AT NIGHT IMAGE / SOCIAL PROTEST
by Denise Hickey Winter 85
I remember walking through
the quiet wilderness
when it was my new home.
A fruit-filled scent
wafted to our noses
before we could see where we were.
I could vaguely detect
apple boughs
dozens of them
interlacing in the quiet darkness.
Who was to know
we walked here now?
Who would know
long after the scent of apple air
disappeared?
"good"
by Denise Hickey Winter 85
I remember walking through
the quiet wilderness
when it was my new home.
A fruit-filled scent
wafted to our noses
before we could see where we were.
I could vaguely detect
apple boughs
dozens of them
interlacing in the quiet darkness.
Who was to know
we walked here now?
Who would know
long after the scent of apple air
disappeared?
"good"
FROST
FROST a sound poem by DH Winter 84-5
Eighteen cold degrees.
Stark landscape against bare trees.
Five miles go between us now --
Five miles filled
with anger and misunderstanding.
Why is it
that you would rather be reading
than rather be reading with me?
Your friends and I
did not say much
joking at the campus newspaper that night
Just enough, I guess
to get back to you.
Eighteen cold degrees.
Stark landscape against bare trees.
Five miles go between us now --
Five miles filled
with anger and misunderstanding.
Why is it
that you would rather be reading
than rather be reading with me?
Your friends and I
did not say much
joking at the campus newspaper that night
Just enough, I guess
to get back to you.
INTERROGATION
INTERROGATION DH Winter 85
He's not my type.
Bashfully, I admit to you.
What is your type?
Bluntly, you ask.
Oh, I don't know.
I gaze evasively,
at the ceiling, at nothing.
I don't tell you
what it is that I want:
Someone to walk with me on a snowy day --
we can break icicles off
the neighbor's front porch
and point to the pond
just down the road
winter-frozen.
We can use them as cold pens
for writing in the snow.
I would outline your rosy red cheeks
with my cold pen
I would write our names in the snow.
"good"
He's not my type.
Bashfully, I admit to you.
What is your type?
Bluntly, you ask.
Oh, I don't know.
I gaze evasively,
at the ceiling, at nothing.
I don't tell you
what it is that I want:
Someone to walk with me on a snowy day --
we can break icicles off
the neighbor's front porch
and point to the pond
just down the road
winter-frozen.
We can use them as cold pens
for writing in the snow.
I would outline your rosy red cheeks
with my cold pen
I would write our names in the snow.
"good"
YOU
Out of your high
attic apartment I stepped
I should not have come back
after I had left
For good.
I stood watching
you through the doorway as
you and your roomie sat
eating peanut butter for lunch
(which I had not yet had).
He, like a boy with a baseball,
clutched a tempting orange.
You were hiding behind a smirk
your inconsiderate remarks.
Why is it that I
crave your rudeness
yearn to yell back
and always come back
for more?
Yesterday I lightly stepped
out of your high
attic apartment
not saying goodbye.
attic apartment I stepped
I should not have come back
after I had left
For good.
I stood watching
you through the doorway as
you and your roomie sat
eating peanut butter for lunch
(which I had not yet had).
He, like a boy with a baseball,
clutched a tempting orange.
You were hiding behind a smirk
your inconsiderate remarks.
Why is it that I
crave your rudeness
yearn to yell back
and always come back
for more?
Yesterday I lightly stepped
out of your high
attic apartment
not saying goodbye.
ANGER
Funny, I
didn't even see it coming.
There you were, sitting over morning cereal
at the head of the table.
Your place.
Lecturing me, you
Scolded about the importance of motor oil.
Check it.
Keep charts.
Keep track of the dates
when you put it in.
Yeah, yeah, Dad,
I KNOW, I insisted,
searching papers for a phone number.
Rage bolted across the kitchen
in a second. Lightening-quick.
I reached the living room, trying to hide.
Your wounding insults,
seething with offended pride
hurt me inside.
I hid.
didn't even see it coming.
There you were, sitting over morning cereal
at the head of the table.
Your place.
Lecturing me, you
Scolded about the importance of motor oil.
Check it.
Keep charts.
Keep track of the dates
when you put it in.
Yeah, yeah, Dad,
I KNOW, I insisted,
searching papers for a phone number.
Rage bolted across the kitchen
in a second. Lightening-quick.
I reached the living room, trying to hide.
Your wounding insults,
seething with offended pride
hurt me inside.
I hid.
MY APARTMENT
MY APARTMENT DENISE HICKEY 84
My apartment
on a sunny day
I spend time gazing
through huge windows
at the rural picture below.
my apartment
the stereo singing out
a beautiful John Lennon song
as I whiz through each room
my apartment
at night
empty
alone.
My apartment
on a sunny day
I spend time gazing
through huge windows
at the rural picture below.
my apartment
the stereo singing out
a beautiful John Lennon song
as I whiz through each room
my apartment
at night
empty
alone.
CHRISTMAS TREE
CHRISTMAS TREE DH 84
Heavy branches hang
laden with jelley-bean lights
barely moving
in wind's slight breath.
No lights cling
to its topmost peak
invisible,
against a black sky
IMAGERY
Heavy branches hang
laden with jelley-bean lights
barely moving
in wind's slight breath.
No lights cling
to its topmost peak
invisible,
against a black sky
IMAGERY
HATS
HATS DH WINTER 84
Last year,
you were so
temptingly out of my reach
you and your yankee doodle hats
a different color for every outfit
that you wore.
Then you left.
Transferred in the middle of the year
to another school.
I was shocked.
I didn't see you until months later
When we hugged and we danced and we
walked outside
I've seen you several times since then
It's different than it was last year
when you were
out of my reach...
You and your
felt hats...
Last year,
you were so
temptingly out of my reach
you and your yankee doodle hats
a different color for every outfit
that you wore.
Then you left.
Transferred in the middle of the year
to another school.
I was shocked.
I didn't see you until months later
When we hugged and we danced and we
walked outside
I've seen you several times since then
It's different than it was last year
when you were
out of my reach...
You and your
felt hats...
The Last Thing I Want to Do
The last thing that I want to do
when I get home from work
is to write a poem about it
Beneath the buzz of the cash register
a million thoughts dart through my mind
I am not really here
among eighteen beeping check-outs;
amidst the scraping of a thousand
bottles and jars across the beams
Eyes glaze over:
I am at last night's party,
the drink still fizzling in my mouth,
amiably chatting and joking with friends.
The beat of the music
continues in my head
as a customer receives his change.
Once at home,
I dream of snow peas and cucumbers
61 item code -- 99 produce -- grocery total
my arm reaches for a heavy
carton of milk and lowering it
into the bag
I realize;
I have left work
but it has not left me...
FREE VERSE DH
when I get home from work
is to write a poem about it
Beneath the buzz of the cash register
a million thoughts dart through my mind
I am not really here
among eighteen beeping check-outs;
amidst the scraping of a thousand
bottles and jars across the beams
Eyes glaze over:
I am at last night's party,
the drink still fizzling in my mouth,
amiably chatting and joking with friends.
The beat of the music
continues in my head
as a customer receives his change.
Once at home,
I dream of snow peas and cucumbers
61 item code -- 99 produce -- grocery total
my arm reaches for a heavy
carton of milk and lowering it
into the bag
I realize;
I have left work
but it has not left me...
FREE VERSE DH
a dramatic monologue to Tim
You looked innocent enough:
pupply-like brown eyes
beneath that curly dark hair.
You seemed innocent enough
with your self-conscious way of
quickly turning your head the other way,
seldom showing your pretty white teeth
in a smile.
I still remember how you looked
that day when
stopping to visit, I
surprised you and that girl
sitting over shared spaghetti
that you'd made.
I still remember how I felt as I
went back out to the car
smelling like spaghetti and feeling like I
just didn't know what to do
You burned me
more than anyone could ever imagine
more than anyone could ever burn
spaghetti
pupply-like brown eyes
beneath that curly dark hair.
You seemed innocent enough
with your self-conscious way of
quickly turning your head the other way,
seldom showing your pretty white teeth
in a smile.
I still remember how you looked
that day when
stopping to visit, I
surprised you and that girl
sitting over shared spaghetti
that you'd made.
I still remember how I felt as I
went back out to the car
smelling like spaghetti and feeling like I
just didn't know what to do
You burned me
more than anyone could ever imagine
more than anyone could ever burn
spaghetti
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE POEM DH FALL 84
Morning Swim Class
One, by one, we jump
Orange life-jacketed, like parachuters
Sinking into a fluid sky
to pop back up again
to the surface of the pool.
In the racing of arms and legs
and kicking feet,
we become frogs, butterflies, and fish
as we struggle to reach the ropes.
And there we gather, perching
like birds on a telephone wire
bobbing up and down
until we are called to come back.
Dipping down like ducks
we dive to the bottom of the pool.
The teacher, mermaid-like,
swoops down
showing us the perfect dive.
One, by one, we jump
Orange life-jacketed, like parachuters
Sinking into a fluid sky
to pop back up again
to the surface of the pool.
In the racing of arms and legs
and kicking feet,
we become frogs, butterflies, and fish
as we struggle to reach the ropes.
And there we gather, perching
like birds on a telephone wire
bobbing up and down
until we are called to come back.
Dipping down like ducks
we dive to the bottom of the pool.
The teacher, mermaid-like,
swoops down
showing us the perfect dive.
STRESS POEM: Anger DH FALL 84
Revenge Would Be Sweet
If I ever again see
the witch who told on me
I will punch her out
And shove her against a tree.
I can hardly believe that
she would do such a thing:
I did not mark her stop-and-shop card
when her groceries I did ring.
Being a cashier is boring,
the worst job in the store,
I just dare her to come back
So I can bash her head some more.
If I ever again see
the witch who told on me
I will punch her out
And shove her against a tree.
I can hardly believe that
she would do such a thing:
I did not mark her stop-and-shop card
when her groceries I did ring.
Being a cashier is boring,
the worst job in the store,
I just dare her to come back
So I can bash her head some more.
SOUND /STRESS POEM: Soft DENISE HICKEY
Winter Season
Snow-bright winter
glimpsed through my window
sleigh bells tinkle
and everywhere tinsel.
Coasting silently
Down mounds of snow
Hear the scuffling and shouting
at the bottom of the hill.
Snow is falling noiselessly
as lights blink brightly.
All around the Christmas tree
are carolers singing merrily.
Snow-bright winter
glimpsed through my window
sleigh bells tinkle
and everywhere tinsel.
Coasting silently
Down mounds of snow
Hear the scuffling and shouting
at the bottom of the hill.
Snow is falling noiselessly
as lights blink brightly.
All around the Christmas tree
are carolers singing merrily.
SOUND POEM: Cold
SOUND POEM DH FALL 84
COLD
The sharp blade of a skate
Grated and scraped
And slipped, twisting
on the ice,
as the kid whizzed by
Swirling in circles and figures of eight
He thought that it was great
Till he slipped and fell
and slid on solid ice.
Cold...Hmmm....sounds like a good way to describe my family.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
POETRY OF ECSU: A Day at Block Island
IMAGISTIC POEM DENISE HICKEY SEPT. 84
A Day at Block Island
All around us, islands drifted past
Vaguely light blue in the distance
Solitary chunks of land
Silhouetted against blue ocean.
Bright sun in our faces
Red noses and cheeks
The salty taste of fish for lunch
and lemonade sipped through a straw.
Streamers, yellow, pink, and blue
Reached out over the deck
Waving and pointing in the breeze.
And somewhere an iron bell clanged
Faintly above the murmur of the waves...
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Uuuuup Next!
UP NEXT, we will have for you:
A step back through the time machine to the early 1980s...in Willimantic, Connecticut! Home of Eastern Connecticut State University (and not much else)! Step back in time and experience Debbie's college days (BNYC). With a step back to the past, we will experience...
CREATIVE WRITING/ POETRY, FALL 1984, ALEXANDER TAYLOR....
"The new poems are especially good, Denise...ah, Debbie!"
A
A step back through the time machine to the early 1980s...in Willimantic, Connecticut! Home of Eastern Connecticut State University (and not much else)! Step back in time and experience Debbie's college days (BNYC). With a step back to the past, we will experience...
CREATIVE WRITING/ POETRY, FALL 1984, ALEXANDER TAYLOR....
"The new poems are especially good, Denise...ah, Debbie!"
A
And finally...LOVE IN THE ZEROX ROOM
LOVE IN THE ZEROX ROOM
I thought I found love in the zerox room
But I was wrong.
By the time you apologize for all your lies
I will be long gone.
Saying "I love you" is so humane
When you tell others the exact same thing!
An emotional roller coaster ride sounds pretty groovy -
Almost like the plot of some sad movie.
You're lacking in at least one social grace:
Asking another girl out right in front of my face!
Like twisting my arm 'till I can't stand the pain
Stop! I want to scream
But what is there to gain?
I thought I found love
But I was wrong
By the time you apologize for all your lies
I will be long gone.
Denise Hickey
5/15/89
POEM: "End of the Line"
CFT is the place to be
I wish the phone would ring for me.
At the end of the line, someone I can't see
Is waiting just to talk to me.
The phone keeps ringing for all to see
How I wish it would be for me.
0585D
(That's the WANG Word Processor floppy diskette, 8 x 5, number. Circa 1989?)
Are we there yet???...* * * :)
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 22 Years Later!)
POEM: "All Stressed Out"
ALL STRESSED OUT
I'm all stressed out
I don't know what anyone is talking about
I feel so alone
Sitting here by the phone
I'm all stressed out
And I just want to go home!
DH/ 0684D
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
UP NEXT
UP NEXT..."All Stressed Out" (of course? of course!)...."The end of the line"...and finally.....LOVE IN THE ZEROX ROOM.
HOT COMMODITY
HOT COMMODITY
Commodity Future Traders is the place to be!
Someone stole my copy key!
Copying all those travel N 'xpense reports
At the copyroom all day 'nough to give my hands warts.
Dinner for two at the Four Seasons:
Strictly business sounds pretty pleasin' !
Why oh why did they have to choose me
To be seven pushy people's se-cre-ta-ry ?
Copying ev'ryone's travel N 'xpense reports
At the copyroom all day 'nough to give my poor hands warts.
Standing at the zerox machine for hours and hours -
On Secretaries' Day, they even forgot to send me flowers !
What will they all say when I phone from home
And tell them all to "Answer your own phone!"
Commodity Future Traders - it's the place to be !
I still can't find my copy key.
Copying all those travel N 'xpense reports
At the copyroom all day 'nough to give my poor hands warts.
DH
# 0590D
THE CORPORATE BLUES
THE CORPORATE BLUES
I've got the Corporate Blues
I've gotta pay my dues
No more back to school
Or partying hardy or being cool.
A multi-national corporation
Is a different kind of life:
You sit around, answering phones
And it's only some executive's wife.
I've got the Corporate Blues
I've gotta pay my dues
No more back to school
Or partying hardy or being cool.
The chief executive's office
Is a snazzy place to be:
Corporate clones answering phones
Are everywhere to see.
All those years spent paging
Through infinite school books
Haven't given me a clue as to what to do
To get down pat that Corporate Look.
Studying Plato
Or learning of Columbus' ships
Has now given way
To inter-office memoranda and paper clips.
I've got the Corporate Blues
I don't know what to do
I'm wearing one wrong shoe
I think I'd rather be back in school.
Summer 1987
DH
Congrats!
COMMODITY FUTURE TRADERS STOCKS & BONDS OPTIONS
McGrath & O'Connor Financial Services Company
1213 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10021
DTS
Director of Marketing
North and South
Debbie,
I would like to congratulate you on your outstanding effort in the 1989 Blood Drive. I realize that the task was not easy. How do you make getting stuck with a needle sound inviting? That's what I call a tough sell. Somehow or other, you were able to make it inviting enough to attract eight people.
Congratulations on a fine job!!
McGrath & O'Connor Financial Services Company
1213 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10021
DTS
Director of Marketing
North and South
Debbie,
I would like to congratulate you on your outstanding effort in the 1989 Blood Drive. I realize that the task was not easy. How do you make getting stuck with a needle sound inviting? That's what I call a tough sell. Somehow or other, you were able to make it inviting enough to attract eight people.
Congratulations on a fine job!!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
UP NEXT
It is time to say goodbye to the rams -- and lambs! (lots of them) for today. Parting is such sweet sorrow...UP NEXT, "The Corporate Blues" and other poems from Corporate HQ in Midtowwwn Maaannnahttannnn!
After that, we will jump back into the Time Machine and head back to the campus of Eastern Connecticut State U in Willimantic, CT in the early 80s for some more...slamming POETRY! Finally, we will all step back further through time, to Palmer Memorial School in Uncasville, CT, where I will introduce you to "Prize Winning Fiction" with The Secret of Cherrygrove Manor." (circa April 10, 1974).
See ya here next week. Same time, same place. Try 1X a week in order to enjoy....THINK SUNSHINE and honeeey, see you at the beeeaaaach!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011.
After that, we will jump back into the Time Machine and head back to the campus of Eastern Connecticut State U in Willimantic, CT in the early 80s for some more...slamming POETRY! Finally, we will all step back further through time, to Palmer Memorial School in Uncasville, CT, where I will introduce you to "Prize Winning Fiction" with The Secret of Cherrygrove Manor." (circa April 10, 1974).
See ya here next week. Same time, same place. Try 1X a week in order to enjoy....THINK SUNSHINE and honeeey, see you at the beeeaaaach!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011.
Did Ya Get the Memo?
If you haven't figured out where Debbie's talents lie by now; well, then, I guess you will never know.
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 22 Years Later!
Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 22 Years Later!
Blood Drive 1989 RESULTS
The results are in!
COMMODITY FUTURE TRADERS STOCKS & BONDS OPTIONS
McGrath & O'Connor Financial Services Company
1213 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10021
Telephon(y)
BLOOD DRIVE 1989
RESULTS
As Coordinator of McGrath & O'Connor's 1989 Blood Drive for Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options, I personally asked approximately 30 people to give blood. As it was difficult to spend too much time away from my desk, I called on TD to help recruit donors in the Circulation Department where he works. I also asked the other two secretaries, CPR and AP to speak to their staff and send prospective donors to me.
I recruited 8 donors.
Some donors were recruited instantly; others had to be prodded with pamphlets and reminders of date, time and place. One reluctant donor was finally persuaded with T's help: "It was the picture" on the pamphlet, is what persuaded PYT, a first-time donor. Others were quick to respond. Once they received the form, they merely filled it out and rolled up their sleeves.
Every donor is different. Some need visual aids, brochures, photos, and films. Other potential donors just need to be informed of time and place. Still others need to be reminded verbally. And some just need a form to fill out and send away.
Also, to help promote the Blood Drive, the bulletin board was adorned with the color brochures, interoffice memos, news articles, and even, red book markers. I donned the heart-emblazoned badge, "Blood Donors Make Happy Endings" as a subliminal reminder.
Overall, recruitees need to be INFORMED. Questions must be answered verbally or with promotional literature, in a relaxed, non-aggressive manner. I personally took the liberty of writing a brief, persuasive memo to each person in the department.
You can lead a person to the Blood Drive but you can't force him to roll up his sleeve.
DH/ 0556D
May 11, 1989
COMMODITY FUTURE TRADERS STOCKS & BONDS OPTIONS
McGrath & O'Connor Financial Services Company
1213 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10021
Telephon(y)
BLOOD DRIVE 1989
RESULTS
As Coordinator of McGrath & O'Connor's 1989 Blood Drive for Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options, I personally asked approximately 30 people to give blood. As it was difficult to spend too much time away from my desk, I called on TD to help recruit donors in the Circulation Department where he works. I also asked the other two secretaries, CPR and AP to speak to their staff and send prospective donors to me.
I recruited 8 donors.
Some donors were recruited instantly; others had to be prodded with pamphlets and reminders of date, time and place. One reluctant donor was finally persuaded with T's help: "It was the picture" on the pamphlet, is what persuaded PYT, a first-time donor. Others were quick to respond. Once they received the form, they merely filled it out and rolled up their sleeves.
Every donor is different. Some need visual aids, brochures, photos, and films. Other potential donors just need to be informed of time and place. Still others need to be reminded verbally. And some just need a form to fill out and send away.
Also, to help promote the Blood Drive, the bulletin board was adorned with the color brochures, interoffice memos, news articles, and even, red book markers. I donned the heart-emblazoned badge, "Blood Donors Make Happy Endings" as a subliminal reminder.
Overall, recruitees need to be INFORMED. Questions must be answered verbally or with promotional literature, in a relaxed, non-aggressive manner. I personally took the liberty of writing a brief, persuasive memo to each person in the department.
You can lead a person to the Blood Drive but you can't force him to roll up his sleeve.
DH/ 0556D
May 11, 1989
Monday, June 13, 2011
UP NEXT
It doesn't take a Rorsacht (inkblot) test to see where Debbie's talents lie. Not in profit making? For more information, check out her results in "BLOOD DRIVE 1989 RESULTS!"
Up Next on "Fool's Gold!" Same time, same place. Next week. See ya all from the Groton Library, home of the Peacable Kingdom, the rams (and lambs! a couple of black lambs and one black and white little lamb -- over by the red barn. Produce, eggs, honey and jam for sale!....On the honor system. Burrows Family Farm, Fort Hill Road, Groton, CT.
Until next week,
Denise
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 22 Years Later!!!...* * * :)
Up Next on "Fool's Gold!" Same time, same place. Next week. See ya all from the Groton Library, home of the Peacable Kingdom, the rams (and lambs! a couple of black lambs and one black and white little lamb -- over by the red barn. Produce, eggs, honey and jam for sale!....On the honor system. Burrows Family Farm, Fort Hill Road, Groton, CT.
Until next week,
Denise
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011 -- 22 Years Later!!!...* * * :)
The Memo: 1989 Blood Drive
INTER-OFFICE MEMORANDUM
To: Distribution FROM: Debbie O'Donnell
Company: Commodity Future Traders DATE: April 7, 1989
Stocks & Bonds Options
Floor: 43
Subject: 1989 Blood Drive
"Help Create Happy Endings." That's the theme of McGrath & O'Connor's annual Blood Drive, which will be held on Monday, May 8, from 8-12.
This year's goal: 700 pints of blood.
You may recall the promotion which featured a white rabbit to help "Multiply the Blood Supply." You may remember a more poignant advertisement. Rusty, the family dog waits patiently by the bus stop for his owner, a small boy who is in the hospital because he needs blood. With your participation, let's help create happy endings for everyone's story about the need for blood.
Your unfounded fears may be keeping you from helping to create a happy ending for just another statistic. Just one pint of blood will do it.
For more details, please contact me at extension 4047.
Thank you for your participation.
DH/0494D
To: Distribution FROM: Debbie O'Donnell
Company: Commodity Future Traders DATE: April 7, 1989
Stocks & Bonds Options
Floor: 43
Subject: 1989 Blood Drive
"Help Create Happy Endings." That's the theme of McGrath & O'Connor's annual Blood Drive, which will be held on Monday, May 8, from 8-12.
This year's goal: 700 pints of blood.
You may recall the promotion which featured a white rabbit to help "Multiply the Blood Supply." You may remember a more poignant advertisement. Rusty, the family dog waits patiently by the bus stop for his owner, a small boy who is in the hospital because he needs blood. With your participation, let's help create happy endings for everyone's story about the need for blood.
Your unfounded fears may be keeping you from helping to create a happy ending for just another statistic. Just one pint of blood will do it.
For more details, please contact me at extension 4047.
Thank you for your participation.
DH/0494D
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
How Much Does It Cost?
A human life.
Customers for Electronic Pratt's OilGuard News pay $1,750 a year -- about $300 more than the print version -- plus phone charges. In cases where central mainframe computers of large companies forward the transmission to individual readers, "we save on distribution costs by reaching many users with a single transmission," says Mr. McFadden.
The service is being promoted by direct mail, telephone marketing, telex, fax and personal sales calls. "We hope to regain subscribers who gave up OilGuard News because of late delivery," says Mary Levi, sales manager for Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options. Marketing campaigns are targeted to areas of unreliable postal service, such as South America, the Middle East and Far East.
"But we're also going after customers who never subscribed before," she adds. "There's a new generation of oil company managers who are used to getting their information on computer screens rather than in print." Electronic OilGuard News has been demonstrated at several industry trade shows, including the National Petroleum Refiners Association convention in San Antonio.
Exxon has already signed up and other clients have "expressed a strong interest," says Ms. Levi.
Electronic Pratt's OilGuard News is not designed as a total replacement for the print version. "We still have a sizable number of customers who want the newsletter in print," states Ms. Levi. "They feel comfortable with that format. It's easy to take with them when travelling, and they can store it in their libraries for future reference."
Customers for Electronic Pratt's OilGuard News pay $1,750 a year -- about $300 more than the print version -- plus phone charges. In cases where central mainframe computers of large companies forward the transmission to individual readers, "we save on distribution costs by reaching many users with a single transmission," says Mr. McFadden.
The service is being promoted by direct mail, telephone marketing, telex, fax and personal sales calls. "We hope to regain subscribers who gave up OilGuard News because of late delivery," says Mary Levi, sales manager for Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options. Marketing campaigns are targeted to areas of unreliable postal service, such as South America, the Middle East and Far East.
"But we're also going after customers who never subscribed before," she adds. "There's a new generation of oil company managers who are used to getting their information on computer screens rather than in print." Electronic OilGuard News has been demonstrated at several industry trade shows, including the National Petroleum Refiners Association convention in San Antonio.
Exxon has already signed up and other clients have "expressed a strong interest," says Ms. Levi.
Electronic Pratt's OilGuard News is not designed as a total replacement for the print version. "We still have a sizable number of customers who want the newsletter in print," states Ms. Levi. "They feel comfortable with that format. It's easy to take with them when travelling, and they can store it in their libraries for future reference."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
UP NEXT: How much does it cost?
For some odd reason, all 45 of you readers on Wednesday, June 1st, my blog-o-sphere (My Voice?) has been acting up. By accident, "How Much Does It Cost?" got posted on "Denise Dances" instead!
(By accident? or Design? there are no accidents!!!...* * * :)
See you all here next week, live from the Groton Library, home of the raaaaaams!
Until next week,
Denise
(By accident? or Design? there are no accidents!!!...* * * :)
See you all here next week, live from the Groton Library, home of the raaaaaams!
Until next week,
Denise
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
How Much Does It Cost?
Whoops! Check out my latest post to Fool's Gold on...http://dancingdeniseshorelineswing.blogspot.com
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
UP NEXT: Part II: How much does it COST?
UP NEXT: Customers for electronic Pratt's OilGuard News pay.........I'm sorry, but you will just have to wait. (All good things come to those who wait...and don't talk. :)
PRESS RELEASE!
How Oilguard Gives Readers a Head Start MCGRATH & O'CONNOR WORLD May 17, 1990. New York, NEW YORK. Want tomorrow's news tonight? That's what readers of Pratt's Oilguard News can now get through the newsletter's on-line edition. It gives them full text of each day's printed issue on-line, the night before -- at about 7 P.M. New York time -- when Pratt's editors close for the following day. This is the first Pratt's Energy Services newsletter to go online with complete text. Created with in-house technology, the new service is designed to solve problems to customers caused by late mail delivery.
The newsletter has been considered essential reading for oil company executives and government energy officials since 1934. Oilguard News "Is meant to be the first thing they pick up with their morning cup of coffee," says editor in chief Omar Martian. "It is supposed to be delivered overnight, but in many cases, we were experiencing delays of up to five days in the U.S. and up to 15 days in certain overseas locations. Our information was history by the time it reached subscribers."
Alternative delivery methods such as telex and fax were considered, but the most practical approach was online. "Not only is the information timely," says Scott McFadden, directory of Technology for the Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options Group, "but customers wanted an electronic format so they could manipulate the Oilguard News data easily, and download it into their existing computer systems." In addition, going online meant the newsletter could tap into an exisiting McGrath and O'Connor distribution engine: the Electronic Markets System. This online energy information service, based at McGrath & O'Connor's computer center in New Jersey reaches subscribers worldwide by dedicated phone lines. "All we had to do was create an electronic image file, a system that displays OilGuard News on a computer screen in roughly the same way it looks in print," says Mr. McFadden.
Because most computer screens can fit only 80 characters to a line, the electronic image file, developed by systems administrator Ruby Sowders, converts the newsletter's two-column format into one column. Headlines and text appear almost the same as they do in print, but column rules are missing. "It's a very readable format," says Ms. Sowders.
Each electronic issue is first relayed by a phone line from New York to the database in New Jersey. Subscribers all over the world can then dial up the service using local phone numbers. After viewing a preview of the next day's headlines, users can call up a specific story, such as new OPEC oil quotas, choose a category of information, such as North American or international news, or print out the entire six-page issue. Users can also retrieve historical data from previous issues.
Subscribers to both the electronic and print version will benefit from later deadlines. "At the same time that we're introducing the electronic newsletter, we're also converting OilGuard News to desktop publishing," says Mr. Martian. "We'll be able to roll back our deadlines each day about a half-hour, to accommodate late-breaking stories."
UP NEXT: HOW MUCH DOES IT COST? (I know you all care about that so....See you all next week. Same time, same place. Until then, take care, stay safe and have a happy Memorial Day Weekend! REMEMBER: No talking, no texting, no sex-ting on your cell phone while driving -- even hands free. It's just as distracting and has caused many unnecessary fatalities. Wake up and smell the coffee...before it's too late.
Denise
The newsletter has been considered essential reading for oil company executives and government energy officials since 1934. Oilguard News "Is meant to be the first thing they pick up with their morning cup of coffee," says editor in chief Omar Martian. "It is supposed to be delivered overnight, but in many cases, we were experiencing delays of up to five days in the U.S. and up to 15 days in certain overseas locations. Our information was history by the time it reached subscribers."
Alternative delivery methods such as telex and fax were considered, but the most practical approach was online. "Not only is the information timely," says Scott McFadden, directory of Technology for the Commodity Future Traders Stocks & Bonds Options Group, "but customers wanted an electronic format so they could manipulate the Oilguard News data easily, and download it into their existing computer systems." In addition, going online meant the newsletter could tap into an exisiting McGrath and O'Connor distribution engine: the Electronic Markets System. This online energy information service, based at McGrath & O'Connor's computer center in New Jersey reaches subscribers worldwide by dedicated phone lines. "All we had to do was create an electronic image file, a system that displays OilGuard News on a computer screen in roughly the same way it looks in print," says Mr. McFadden.
Because most computer screens can fit only 80 characters to a line, the electronic image file, developed by systems administrator Ruby Sowders, converts the newsletter's two-column format into one column. Headlines and text appear almost the same as they do in print, but column rules are missing. "It's a very readable format," says Ms. Sowders.
Each electronic issue is first relayed by a phone line from New York to the database in New Jersey. Subscribers all over the world can then dial up the service using local phone numbers. After viewing a preview of the next day's headlines, users can call up a specific story, such as new OPEC oil quotas, choose a category of information, such as North American or international news, or print out the entire six-page issue. Users can also retrieve historical data from previous issues.
Subscribers to both the electronic and print version will benefit from later deadlines. "At the same time that we're introducing the electronic newsletter, we're also converting OilGuard News to desktop publishing," says Mr. Martian. "We'll be able to roll back our deadlines each day about a half-hour, to accommodate late-breaking stories."
UP NEXT: HOW MUCH DOES IT COST? (I know you all care about that so....See you all next week. Same time, same place. Until then, take care, stay safe and have a happy Memorial Day Weekend! REMEMBER: No talking, no texting, no sex-ting on your cell phone while driving -- even hands free. It's just as distracting and has caused many unnecessary fatalities. Wake up and smell the coffee...before it's too late.
Denise
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Up Next: Press Release
....the latest in oil and gas price reporting from McGrath-O'Connor Publishing Co. in late 1980s midtowwwwn Maaaaanhattannn!
(Yes, I did consider radio and TV broadcasting at one time and signed up for a class on VOICEOVERS, on two separate occasions at New London Adult Education. (September 2009 and some years before that.) THEIR ADVICE: Public Service Announcements as my voice sounds genuine, they said...and Children's Audiobooks! Of course.)
Denise...Denise Dances...2011
(Not just Baby Talk!)
(Yes, I did consider radio and TV broadcasting at one time and signed up for a class on VOICEOVERS, on two separate occasions at New London Adult Education. (September 2009 and some years before that.) THEIR ADVICE: Public Service Announcements as my voice sounds genuine, they said...and Children's Audiobooks! Of course.)
Denise...Denise Dances...2011
(Not just Baby Talk!)
Paranoiac Boss
Just because a boss is a few notches above you, don't assume he or she feels comfortable there. A lot of secretly (and not so secretly) insecure people become supervisors and a kind of paranoia seeps in. There's a constant fear that a real shiner on their staff is going to outsparkle them. The most likely candidates for insecurity are first-time bosses, especially those who have to manage former colleagues who may have been up for the same job. "If a former peer becomes your boss, move quickly and tell them you feel awkward, but you're willing to support them," says Yeager. "You'll probably be able to tell if they want you to come along with them or if they want to grind you in the dust." If you see the situation is not going to be a bingo party, you may be able to get them to help you make a lateral move in the company.
If you do find that the person in the corner office of your life is a bundle of insecurity, you've got to make every attempt to give her positive feedback and prove you aren't after her job (even if you are). Though it may make your stomach queasy, constantly reassure the poor devil of her authority. All this you must do so that your career won't be stunted by a weak person who can only deal with strength by shutting it out.
And you must do it until you can get a transfer to another boss who will gladly let you fly.
After researching this piece, I've surmised that my nightmare boss fell into the last category, which would have been helpful to know back then. I realize that she was insecure about her own abilities -- and so she took out her insecurities on me. I suppose she needed to prove she really did deserve to be where she was. You know, I can almost feel sorry for her. Almost. (-- Not! DH)
By Jeannie Ralston, New York City. FROM: Mademoiselle magazine, March 1991.
If you do find that the person in the corner office of your life is a bundle of insecurity, you've got to make every attempt to give her positive feedback and prove you aren't after her job (even if you are). Though it may make your stomach queasy, constantly reassure the poor devil of her authority. All this you must do so that your career won't be stunted by a weak person who can only deal with strength by shutting it out.
And you must do it until you can get a transfer to another boss who will gladly let you fly.
After researching this piece, I've surmised that my nightmare boss fell into the last category, which would have been helpful to know back then. I realize that she was insecure about her own abilities -- and so she took out her insecurities on me. I suppose she needed to prove she really did deserve to be where she was. You know, I can almost feel sorry for her. Almost. (-- Not! DH)
By Jeannie Ralston, New York City. FROM: Mademoiselle magazine, March 1991.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
UP NEXT: Paranoiac Boss
UP NEXT: New York Re-examined? "Paranoiac Boss."
UP UP NEXT: Press Release!
May 17, 1990:
"How Oilgram gives readers a head start." Staffers who helped launch online Oilgram News.
UP UP NEXT: Press Release!
May 17, 1990:
"How Oilgram gives readers a head start." Staffers who helped launch online Oilgram News.
NEW YORK REVISITED, Part II
I knew it s soon as I walked into Penn Station. Up the escalator. Slowly, slowly, drop the suitcase, step quickly up.
A line of people waited on both sides. I decided not to walk through it, but edged my suitcase into the sidelines. There it was -- that quick pace, that upbeat, look alive, everyone's-got-character type of place. People, lookingat their watches, always moving, never still, not looking at you, plain clothes, travelers, maybe some students. A woman, casually dressed, hesitated before the escalator to the street.
"Go ahead," I said.
She laughed, then replied, "Never hesitate."
"Not in New York!" I said cheerily.
What a city!
People walking and jogging, eating and reading the paper, bicycling, and skating, and walking their dogs.
Let's go get our nails done. Let's get some ice cream. At Ben & Jerry's. So ornate. Black & white cows on a green backdrop. Wooden windows, part of the wall. Chocolate cookie mint.
A face on a building. Gargoyles and black dragons on wrought iron gates. The Fountain at Christopher Colombus Circle, gracefully spraying water. The statuesque fountain outside the Plaza Hotel. Yellow wrought iron gate before Essa-Bagel on East 18th Street.
White, long tee shirts pulled over black knee-length leggings. Walkin' real fast.
New York: the city that tolerates all anomalies.
Boston: It's like taking New York and placing it on the winding roads and hills of Connecticut. Dizzying. Nauseating.
"That dress looks terrific on you, Young Lady."
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011) -- 20 Years Later!
A line of people waited on both sides. I decided not to walk through it, but edged my suitcase into the sidelines. There it was -- that quick pace, that upbeat, look alive, everyone's-got-character type of place. People, lookingat their watches, always moving, never still, not looking at you, plain clothes, travelers, maybe some students. A woman, casually dressed, hesitated before the escalator to the street.
"Go ahead," I said.
She laughed, then replied, "Never hesitate."
"Not in New York!" I said cheerily.
What a city!
People walking and jogging, eating and reading the paper, bicycling, and skating, and walking their dogs.
Let's go get our nails done. Let's get some ice cream. At Ben & Jerry's. So ornate. Black & white cows on a green backdrop. Wooden windows, part of the wall. Chocolate cookie mint.
A face on a building. Gargoyles and black dragons on wrought iron gates. The Fountain at Christopher Colombus Circle, gracefully spraying water. The statuesque fountain outside the Plaza Hotel. Yellow wrought iron gate before Essa-Bagel on East 18th Street.
White, long tee shirts pulled over black knee-length leggings. Walkin' real fast.
New York: the city that tolerates all anomalies.
Boston: It's like taking New York and placing it on the winding roads and hills of Connecticut. Dizzying. Nauseating.
"That dress looks terrific on you, Young Lady."
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011) -- 20 Years Later!
Motorcycles!
10/4/91
Motorcycles!
A broken nail dryer, humming, sounded like a motorcycle to my friend, Nicole.
"It's my heritage," I said.
"Motorcycles are in your blood," she said.
Is this a sign? I wondered as I walked up the street. I eyed a big Harley Davidson with black leather fringe, parked on the side of the street.
We both admired my new nails, polished fire engine red for tomorrow's wedding.
More Motorcycles 10/7
The cab made its way around Colombus Circle and as I turned to look at The Fountain, I saw something else. Rows of motorcycles stood parked on the pavement, slanting in the sun.
Another sign? I thought. I turned my head to look out the window on Seventh Avenue. A man was riding a small motorcycle, gliding between the taxis and trucks, cars and limosines.
Back in Brookline 10/8
I walked down the small familiar sidewalk, striding past the slower inhabitants, my sunglasses a shield between me and them. On the cement before me, lay an elastic, looped into a heart.
Motorcycles!
A broken nail dryer, humming, sounded like a motorcycle to my friend, Nicole.
"It's my heritage," I said.
"Motorcycles are in your blood," she said.
Is this a sign? I wondered as I walked up the street. I eyed a big Harley Davidson with black leather fringe, parked on the side of the street.
We both admired my new nails, polished fire engine red for tomorrow's wedding.
More Motorcycles 10/7
The cab made its way around Colombus Circle and as I turned to look at The Fountain, I saw something else. Rows of motorcycles stood parked on the pavement, slanting in the sun.
Another sign? I thought. I turned my head to look out the window on Seventh Avenue. A man was riding a small motorcycle, gliding between the taxis and trucks, cars and limosines.
Back in Brookline 10/8
I walked down the small familiar sidewalk, striding past the slower inhabitants, my sunglasses a shield between me and them. On the cement before me, lay an elastic, looped into a heart.
Monday, May 9, 2011
UP NEXT
Summer is coming and I would like to wrap up this, my one year Book Blog! I am happy to announce that I plan to join SECAPA as a member in August 2011: Southeastern Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association, in order to recognize my goals and dreams. For the good of humanity, of course!
Stay tuned for Motorcyles Everywhere and Paranoiac Boss. There will be a press release, a memo; poetry from Corporate HQ and my Willimantic college days, as well. Finally: prize-winning fiction.
Until, um, Wednesday? (No, that's a good beach day. How 'bout Thursday?)
Denise
Stay tuned for Motorcyles Everywhere and Paranoiac Boss. There will be a press release, a memo; poetry from Corporate HQ and my Willimantic college days, as well. Finally: prize-winning fiction.
Until, um, Wednesday? (No, that's a good beach day. How 'bout Thursday?)
Denise
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
UP NEXT
UP NEXT, NYC REVISITED: Motorcycles! Closely following the blast from Debbie's past, we will have "Paranoiac Boss."
New York Revisited
10/4/91
That same hot, metallic smell that holds conflicting memories for me: midtown, where I first lived, my mean roomates from college, and the office where I worked, and;
the Village, where I lived for two summers.
The hollow sound of a car's horn, echoing against the bare buildings, and bouncing up, having nowhere to go.
The hurt I felt when I first walked out on my job of three-and-a-half years. The uncompromising gray buildings rose all around me. Cars screeching by on every avenue and side street, criss-crossing the entire city.
That hurt little girl, so long ago, in the navy blue skirt, harmed by an aggressive blond woman in a business suit. Wandering among the vertical gray jungle of New York, as a car screeched through Manhattan and disappeared.
THE SOUND OF MUSIC
Opera is everywhere.
The taxi driver's radio serenaded me throughout the city, as we made our way from Penn Station, up Eighth Avenue, through Times Square, past the McGrath-O'Connor buidling where I used to work - did I dare look? - only for a minute - by 306 West Fifty First Street, where I first lived in New York City, the hot metallic smell greeting my memory; around Columbus Circle and its ever graceful fountains, water spraying out of Cupid's mouth; up Central Park West to my former roomate's apartment.
A uniformed man approached the taxi. I reached for the lock. He pulled at the car door. I pulled at the lock. "Sorry," I said.
I walked through the revolving door. My suitcases were waiting with the uniformed doorman. I mentioned my name. "Send her right up," the concierge at the front desk said. The doorman lifted my suitcases and carried them to the elevator door.
A, B, C, D, E...H, I, J, K..L, O, MEN, O, PEE...Apartment 15K...H though P to the left. I walked down the green carpeted corridor, turned, and rang the doorbell expectantly.
"Who is it?" a familiar voice said, and once again, I entered the world of opera. A sturdy white bulldog greeted me. Flowers festooned the cozy room, big Laura Ashley flower prints on the two couches, delicate silk mums on the glass coffee table, flowers on the fluffy throw pillows, on the draperies over the big picture window which overlooked the castle-like dwellings of the Upper West Side. Four aqua turrets decorated a distant rooftop. The famous Dakota sprawled its somber haunted castle appearance past the courtyard to the sidestreet below. Various townhouses, all in a row, mimicked the Italy of the operetta song projecting outdoors into the balmy fall afternoon.
A small awning ruffled in the breeze, high, high above the street. Faintly in the wind, the tinkling of chimes dangling from a high window across the street.
"Do you mind listening to opera?" Nicole said.
That same hot, metallic smell that holds conflicting memories for me: midtown, where I first lived, my mean roomates from college, and the office where I worked, and;
the Village, where I lived for two summers.
The hollow sound of a car's horn, echoing against the bare buildings, and bouncing up, having nowhere to go.
The hurt I felt when I first walked out on my job of three-and-a-half years. The uncompromising gray buildings rose all around me. Cars screeching by on every avenue and side street, criss-crossing the entire city.
That hurt little girl, so long ago, in the navy blue skirt, harmed by an aggressive blond woman in a business suit. Wandering among the vertical gray jungle of New York, as a car screeched through Manhattan and disappeared.
THE SOUND OF MUSIC
Opera is everywhere.
The taxi driver's radio serenaded me throughout the city, as we made our way from Penn Station, up Eighth Avenue, through Times Square, past the McGrath-O'Connor buidling where I used to work - did I dare look? - only for a minute - by 306 West Fifty First Street, where I first lived in New York City, the hot metallic smell greeting my memory; around Columbus Circle and its ever graceful fountains, water spraying out of Cupid's mouth; up Central Park West to my former roomate's apartment.
A uniformed man approached the taxi. I reached for the lock. He pulled at the car door. I pulled at the lock. "Sorry," I said.
I walked through the revolving door. My suitcases were waiting with the uniformed doorman. I mentioned my name. "Send her right up," the concierge at the front desk said. The doorman lifted my suitcases and carried them to the elevator door.
A, B, C, D, E...H, I, J, K..L, O, MEN, O, PEE...Apartment 15K...H though P to the left. I walked down the green carpeted corridor, turned, and rang the doorbell expectantly.
"Who is it?" a familiar voice said, and once again, I entered the world of opera. A sturdy white bulldog greeted me. Flowers festooned the cozy room, big Laura Ashley flower prints on the two couches, delicate silk mums on the glass coffee table, flowers on the fluffy throw pillows, on the draperies over the big picture window which overlooked the castle-like dwellings of the Upper West Side. Four aqua turrets decorated a distant rooftop. The famous Dakota sprawled its somber haunted castle appearance past the courtyard to the sidestreet below. Various townhouses, all in a row, mimicked the Italy of the operetta song projecting outdoors into the balmy fall afternoon.
A small awning ruffled in the breeze, high, high above the street. Faintly in the wind, the tinkling of chimes dangling from a high window across the street.
"Do you mind listening to opera?" Nicole said.
Monday, April 25, 2011
UP NEXT: New York Revisited
Back to New York? So soon? Will Debbie stay? Or will this be one of many trips she will take in her future? And when, oh when, will Debbie ever make it big? And, um, find that other thing called love?
CONCLUSION: Single Mom of Cactus County
On her last day in Arizona, Debbie and Carlotta stopped by Toni's house. On the way out, Charlene said,"Bye, Debbie, I love you. See you tomorrow."
At the airport, Carolotta and Debbie hugged.
Black clouds came into view as the airplane nose dived into Logan Airport.
"The most beautiful sight I've ever seen," Debbie confessed to the girl sitting next to her.
"Not me!" the girl laughed. "I want to go back to Arizona." She wanted to start her own business in massage therapy.
"I missed the ocean so much," Debbie said.
"What sign are you?"
"Pisces."
"Of course. That's a water sign."
HOME SWEET HOME
"Did you go to the beach?" her sister Nicole asked her, sitting at the kitchen table.
"No, there's no beach!" Debbie laughed.
"Well, are there lakes?" Nicole asked.
"No! That's just it! You can't go to the beach. There are no oceans. No lakes. All the rivers are dried up."
Nicole looked at the table and frowned.
"There are palm trees," Debbie said. "They remind you of the beach, but there isn't any beach!"
"It's like a teaser," Nicole nodded in understanding.
"She'll be back," her father had told her mother. "There's no ocean."
At the airport, Carolotta and Debbie hugged.
Black clouds came into view as the airplane nose dived into Logan Airport.
"The most beautiful sight I've ever seen," Debbie confessed to the girl sitting next to her.
"Not me!" the girl laughed. "I want to go back to Arizona." She wanted to start her own business in massage therapy.
"I missed the ocean so much," Debbie said.
"What sign are you?"
"Pisces."
"Of course. That's a water sign."
HOME SWEET HOME
"Did you go to the beach?" her sister Nicole asked her, sitting at the kitchen table.
"No, there's no beach!" Debbie laughed.
"Well, are there lakes?" Nicole asked.
"No! That's just it! You can't go to the beach. There are no oceans. No lakes. All the rivers are dried up."
Nicole looked at the table and frowned.
"There are palm trees," Debbie said. "They remind you of the beach, but there isn't any beach!"
"It's like a teaser," Nicole nodded in understanding.
"She'll be back," her father had told her mother. "There's no ocean."
Thursday, April 21, 2011
UP NEXT WEEK
See you all here next Monday or Tuesday, after the Easter holiday. UP NEXT: The dramatic conclusion to THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY. UP UP NEXT: New York Revisited. UP UP UP NEXT: More from Corporate Headquarters: "McGrath & O'Connor," New York, NY...from late 1980s midtown Manhattan.
Until next week,
Debbie, ah....
Denise(...Dances...2011)...21 years later!
Until next week,
Debbie, ah....
Denise(...Dances...2011)...21 years later!
Monday, April 11, 2011
UP NEXT: Back East
UP NEXT: The dramatic conclusion to THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY, here on the Fool's Gold book blog! I hope you've enjoyed reliving Debbie's travails in the Desert Southwest as much as I have. I'm going to miss it, aren't you? And when, oh when, are we going to get some nice weather "back east?" This weather is enough to make anyone want to pack up and leave. Sarasota, FL, anyone?
See ya here. Same time, same place. Next week. Y'all come back now, y'hear?
Until next time,
Denise
See ya here. Same time, same place. Next week. Y'all come back now, y'hear?
Until next time,
Denise
MEET...THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY!
"We don't want you to leave. We want you to stay," Toni insisted. Debbie sighed. Carlotta had introduced Debbie to Toni and her three kids. Toni loved to go out. One night, they had all met at a Mexican Restaurant for happy hour. Carlotta grimaced teasingly at Mindy and Charlene as Bruce fell asleep on his mother's lap.
The next day, Toni drove Debbie and the kids to Cave Creek. Desert plains and olive green cacti surrounded them for miles. This was not the leafy green lush existence of New England. The desert Spring had already passed when cactus flower graced the now barren landscape.
"A filming crew was out here one day," Toni told her. "They were filming Real Life Adventures."
Upstairs in the Treehouse Restaurant, aptly named, Toni, Debbie, Bruce, and the girls had lunch. In the back seat of the car, the kids dozed in the heat. Bottles of juice and koolaid, half finished, lay on the back seat. Toni drove into a greenhouse parking lot. She knew the people who owned it. The man gave Debbie a small potted cactus to take home.
MEET THE SINGLE MOM
Toni wanted to have a child.
"You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want," she had told the prospective father.
Driving her pizza delivery car gave way to her own at-home daycare business. "I don't much believe in babysitters," Toni told Debbie, and then, "Get away from the windows!"
Five tots scrambled off the old couch and sat sedately on the rug in front of the television set. A striped cat lay under the end table. Mindy smiled at Debbie, at once shy and sly. Charlene asked Debbie what colors she liked. She colored a blue gown onto Cinderella.
"Elizabeth is a beautiful child. She and Bruce could read books all day. Todd likes to climb trees, get dirty." The girls eyed a lovely long-haired slender girl. At age seven, Elizabeth was the oldest of the daycare kids. She reclined against the edge of the couch, sitting on the floor next to Bruce.
"I tried leaving him with a sitter when I delivered pizza. He cried all day," Toni said. Bruce read silently, his white-blond hair neatly framing blue, long lashed eyes, his mother's eyes.
"Their mother calls every Easter and Christmas to talk to the girls." Toni nodded toward Mindy and Charlene.
"But you won't let her, right?"
"No. People ask me why I get involved with other people's children."
"At least, they have somebody." Debbie eyed Mindy and Charlene, sandy-haired; watching cartoons quietly. Their mother had left them at Toni's at home daycare center one day and had never returned. The adoption papers were complete and Bruce, Mindy and Charlene had formed a natural stairstep trio at ages three, four and five. "I didn't tell Terry I have three children under six. Think that would scare him away? Get away from the windows!"
The toddlers had flocked to the couch again and had become entranced with a sewer truck outdoors. A tree grew out of the dirt front yard. There were no lawns here, just yards. An arrangement of cacti twisted out of the sand in the front yard across the street. It was a yard; there were no lawns here. Well, Carlotta did have a lawn over at the apartment complex. Holes had been bored into the curving sidewalks on the grounds so that pink petunias could be planted at Carlotta's apartment complex.
Debbie needed to use the bathroom. She closed the door. The knob turned from the outside. Mindy peeked in. "No!" Debbie said. It was a dilemma she was to deal with for the rest of the day. The bathroom door didn't have a lock on it andthe girls were accustomed to opening the door at their convenience.
Debbie imitated a cat, fingers for ears, and went through the kitchen after the two girls. They howled with delight, their blue eyes round with fright. Debbie was inspired by the tabby cat wearing a coat of unusual, distinct markings, hiding under an end table in the living room.
The heat was stifling. Mindy and Charlene kept coming over to sit close to Debbie on the couch.
"She doesn't want you around her! Go watch TV!" Toni commanded.
Debbie looked up from Charlene's colored picture she had given her. Elizabeth was inside the screen door, her eyes swollen, trembling with tears. The tears kept flowing out of her already puffy eyes. "Bruce and Todd are making fun of me." She sobbed in disbelief.
"Bruce! Todd! Get over here now! Look at her! How does that make you feel?"
Both boys stared at their shoes and squirmed.
"Well? It should make you feel pretty yucky. What are you going to say to her now?" Toni demanded.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Bruce said politely.
Todd hesitated. "Sorry, Lizzy."
At four o'clock, Debbie glimpsed Carlotta through the screened window.
"Doesn't Toni make it look easy? How does she do it?" Carlotta wondered.
Debbie agreed. "One, maybe two kids. Definitely not three or four."
UP NEXT: BACK EAST.
The next day, Toni drove Debbie and the kids to Cave Creek. Desert plains and olive green cacti surrounded them for miles. This was not the leafy green lush existence of New England. The desert Spring had already passed when cactus flower graced the now barren landscape.
"A filming crew was out here one day," Toni told her. "They were filming Real Life Adventures."
Upstairs in the Treehouse Restaurant, aptly named, Toni, Debbie, Bruce, and the girls had lunch. In the back seat of the car, the kids dozed in the heat. Bottles of juice and koolaid, half finished, lay on the back seat. Toni drove into a greenhouse parking lot. She knew the people who owned it. The man gave Debbie a small potted cactus to take home.
MEET THE SINGLE MOM
Toni wanted to have a child.
"You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want," she had told the prospective father.
Driving her pizza delivery car gave way to her own at-home daycare business. "I don't much believe in babysitters," Toni told Debbie, and then, "Get away from the windows!"
Five tots scrambled off the old couch and sat sedately on the rug in front of the television set. A striped cat lay under the end table. Mindy smiled at Debbie, at once shy and sly. Charlene asked Debbie what colors she liked. She colored a blue gown onto Cinderella.
"Elizabeth is a beautiful child. She and Bruce could read books all day. Todd likes to climb trees, get dirty." The girls eyed a lovely long-haired slender girl. At age seven, Elizabeth was the oldest of the daycare kids. She reclined against the edge of the couch, sitting on the floor next to Bruce.
"I tried leaving him with a sitter when I delivered pizza. He cried all day," Toni said. Bruce read silently, his white-blond hair neatly framing blue, long lashed eyes, his mother's eyes.
"Their mother calls every Easter and Christmas to talk to the girls." Toni nodded toward Mindy and Charlene.
"But you won't let her, right?"
"No. People ask me why I get involved with other people's children."
"At least, they have somebody." Debbie eyed Mindy and Charlene, sandy-haired; watching cartoons quietly. Their mother had left them at Toni's at home daycare center one day and had never returned. The adoption papers were complete and Bruce, Mindy and Charlene had formed a natural stairstep trio at ages three, four and five. "I didn't tell Terry I have three children under six. Think that would scare him away? Get away from the windows!"
The toddlers had flocked to the couch again and had become entranced with a sewer truck outdoors. A tree grew out of the dirt front yard. There were no lawns here, just yards. An arrangement of cacti twisted out of the sand in the front yard across the street. It was a yard; there were no lawns here. Well, Carlotta did have a lawn over at the apartment complex. Holes had been bored into the curving sidewalks on the grounds so that pink petunias could be planted at Carlotta's apartment complex.
Debbie needed to use the bathroom. She closed the door. The knob turned from the outside. Mindy peeked in. "No!" Debbie said. It was a dilemma she was to deal with for the rest of the day. The bathroom door didn't have a lock on it andthe girls were accustomed to opening the door at their convenience.
Debbie imitated a cat, fingers for ears, and went through the kitchen after the two girls. They howled with delight, their blue eyes round with fright. Debbie was inspired by the tabby cat wearing a coat of unusual, distinct markings, hiding under an end table in the living room.
The heat was stifling. Mindy and Charlene kept coming over to sit close to Debbie on the couch.
"She doesn't want you around her! Go watch TV!" Toni commanded.
Debbie looked up from Charlene's colored picture she had given her. Elizabeth was inside the screen door, her eyes swollen, trembling with tears. The tears kept flowing out of her already puffy eyes. "Bruce and Todd are making fun of me." She sobbed in disbelief.
"Bruce! Todd! Get over here now! Look at her! How does that make you feel?"
Both boys stared at their shoes and squirmed.
"Well? It should make you feel pretty yucky. What are you going to say to her now?" Toni demanded.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Bruce said politely.
Todd hesitated. "Sorry, Lizzy."
At four o'clock, Debbie glimpsed Carlotta through the screened window.
"Doesn't Toni make it look easy? How does she do it?" Carlotta wondered.
Debbie agreed. "One, maybe two kids. Definitely not three or four."
UP NEXT: BACK EAST.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
UP NEXT: Meet...The Single Mom of Cactus County!
Motherhood is the most important job there is. To do it singularly is quite a feat! Up next, meet Toni of the Desert Southwest. Through the sands of time, I will never forget her.
SOUTHWESTERN BELLE / No Resume Needed
The line went out of the glass doors of the lobby. Young women in dresses, students in shorts, housewives husbands formed the line that snaked through the lobby into a huge cafeteria like room. It moved fast and she signed the book and entered the room, careful not to make eye contact. An overweight woman with long hair sat at a table. Debbie looked at her, hesitated, then joined her. Her smirk did not escape Debbie's glance.
"You can wear shorts," she explained. "I've been to these before. It was for an administrative clerk."
"Yeah, I'd much rather wear shorts. I brought them," Debbie said. She looked down at her nicely pressed navy skirt, her black sleeveless with string of pearls. Outside the large windows, young men walked around the outdoor employee patio in shorts and tee shirts.
The woman smirked, her eyes far away. "See?" she said.
"They say NO RESUMES NEEDED but I always bring mine. And they always take it," she nodded.
Debbie looked into her eyes. They were aquamarine with a crazed, unfocused look.
"I was at McDougal Douglas for six years. Making fifteen dollars an hour. They layed us off and the next thing, they had hired all temporaries in our place," she said.
"If I don't get this job, I know where I can go. Up the street. Picking oranges for five dollars an hour," she smirked.
"It's a job," Debbie said.
"They called me," she said. "I couldn't believe it. They wanted me to work in Casa Grande. You know where that it?" Debbie nodded, concealing her tiny pink address book. "They wanted me to work the third shift," she said.
"The job no one else wants," Debbie said in understanding.
"My daughter...she wants to move out. She's eighteen. You know how much her friends want? They live in California!" she said.
"Does she have a savings?" Debbie asked.
"No," the woman smirked.
Debbie wanted to leave. She didn't want to take the test. She just wanted to get out of there and go home. She thought of the plane flying out of this desert. But she did not want this woman to see her walk out. She wanted her to stop talking.
She filled in the answers quickly, in the circles, with her pencil. Some of the questions, she did not bother to read thoroughly. Some, she did. When she knew the right answer, she darkened the corresponding space.
The woman started to erase vigorously, blowing off her paper so that Debbie could feel her breath on her hands, her cheek.
Debbie calmly finished the tests and stared at the clock. At four twenty, she left without looking back, through the glass doors, past the employee patio. When Debbie was sure the woman had gone, she returned to the patio and waited for Carlotta. She took off her heels and took her thongs out of her packed pocketbook.
"That was ridiculous," Debbie said as she got into Carlotta's car. But she knew Carlotta would not understand. The test was too confusing to explain.
As they reached the huge grocery store parking lot, a storm was kicking up. The sky was darkening. The sparse trees were being whipped around by the wind. In the distance, lightening struck. On her small enclosed adobe patio, Debbie watched the trees and wind in fascination. She grabbed her black Izod sweater to pull over her white halter top. It poured for exactly twenty minutes and then it stopped, to rain no more for a long time. That was it. At the first bar, cowboys wandered restlessly, indistinguishable from each other in their big cowboy hats.
"Meat!" Debbie said. They left quickly. "The Lonely Cowboy Bar," Debbie joked. "Maybe they'd take us back to their ranch. Make us their wives."
Carlotta frowned in distaste as she drove to the next bar.
"My parents always say, do what you like," she said.
"Mine don't. They say, make money," Debbie said wearily.
"My father doesn't have a very high opinion of reporters, anyway," she said.
"But you've showed him," Debbie said. "You got promoted to Editor."
"Yeah, I think he's gotten used to it," she agreed.
"Someone took my chair. There were four chairs and somebody took all of them!" an irate girl shouted in Debbie's ear.
Debbie turned to her. "You do not own this chair," she said. Carlotta was on the dance floor.
"What?" she said.
"You do not own this chair," Debbie repeated.
"I'm not saying I own it! I'm just saying that we were sitting there!"
Debbie slipped off the chair and walked away, not desiring a fist fight before she left Arizona.
Two young men were talking to them. They wanted to go to another bar.
"You're sure you'll be there," the young man asked Debbie.
"When Carlotta got in the driver's seat, she asked, "Do you want to go there?"
"No," Debbie admitted and they decided to go home.
"My friends tell me I'm too paranoid. When this girl moved here from New Jersey a year ago, she was found in a park. She was de-capitated. It was really sad. We figure she had a fight with her boyfriend, went to the park, and wanted to be left alone. It was really sad."
"I don't think you're too paranoid," Debbie said.
The next morning, she heard the cat's incessant, haunting meowing in the apartment next door. A sad, crying meow behind the locked door.
Haunting.
"Oh, isn't that annoying. I'd like to get rid of that cat," Carlotta said.
"No, I feel sorry for it. It sounds so sad."
In the outdoor jacuzzi that night, Debbie announced that she was going home.
"I drove her away," Carlotta said. After a few minutes, Debbie caught Carlotta eyeing her sadly through her long hair and tanned face. She looked away.
UP NEXT: Meet...finally...THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY!
"You can wear shorts," she explained. "I've been to these before. It was for an administrative clerk."
"Yeah, I'd much rather wear shorts. I brought them," Debbie said. She looked down at her nicely pressed navy skirt, her black sleeveless with string of pearls. Outside the large windows, young men walked around the outdoor employee patio in shorts and tee shirts.
The woman smirked, her eyes far away. "See?" she said.
"They say NO RESUMES NEEDED but I always bring mine. And they always take it," she nodded.
Debbie looked into her eyes. They were aquamarine with a crazed, unfocused look.
"I was at McDougal Douglas for six years. Making fifteen dollars an hour. They layed us off and the next thing, they had hired all temporaries in our place," she said.
"If I don't get this job, I know where I can go. Up the street. Picking oranges for five dollars an hour," she smirked.
"It's a job," Debbie said.
"They called me," she said. "I couldn't believe it. They wanted me to work in Casa Grande. You know where that it?" Debbie nodded, concealing her tiny pink address book. "They wanted me to work the third shift," she said.
"The job no one else wants," Debbie said in understanding.
"My daughter...she wants to move out. She's eighteen. You know how much her friends want? They live in California!" she said.
"Does she have a savings?" Debbie asked.
"No," the woman smirked.
Debbie wanted to leave. She didn't want to take the test. She just wanted to get out of there and go home. She thought of the plane flying out of this desert. But she did not want this woman to see her walk out. She wanted her to stop talking.
She filled in the answers quickly, in the circles, with her pencil. Some of the questions, she did not bother to read thoroughly. Some, she did. When she knew the right answer, she darkened the corresponding space.
The woman started to erase vigorously, blowing off her paper so that Debbie could feel her breath on her hands, her cheek.
Debbie calmly finished the tests and stared at the clock. At four twenty, she left without looking back, through the glass doors, past the employee patio. When Debbie was sure the woman had gone, she returned to the patio and waited for Carlotta. She took off her heels and took her thongs out of her packed pocketbook.
"That was ridiculous," Debbie said as she got into Carlotta's car. But she knew Carlotta would not understand. The test was too confusing to explain.
As they reached the huge grocery store parking lot, a storm was kicking up. The sky was darkening. The sparse trees were being whipped around by the wind. In the distance, lightening struck. On her small enclosed adobe patio, Debbie watched the trees and wind in fascination. She grabbed her black Izod sweater to pull over her white halter top. It poured for exactly twenty minutes and then it stopped, to rain no more for a long time. That was it. At the first bar, cowboys wandered restlessly, indistinguishable from each other in their big cowboy hats.
"Meat!" Debbie said. They left quickly. "The Lonely Cowboy Bar," Debbie joked. "Maybe they'd take us back to their ranch. Make us their wives."
Carlotta frowned in distaste as she drove to the next bar.
"My parents always say, do what you like," she said.
"Mine don't. They say, make money," Debbie said wearily.
"My father doesn't have a very high opinion of reporters, anyway," she said.
"But you've showed him," Debbie said. "You got promoted to Editor."
"Yeah, I think he's gotten used to it," she agreed.
"Someone took my chair. There were four chairs and somebody took all of them!" an irate girl shouted in Debbie's ear.
Debbie turned to her. "You do not own this chair," she said. Carlotta was on the dance floor.
"What?" she said.
"You do not own this chair," Debbie repeated.
"I'm not saying I own it! I'm just saying that we were sitting there!"
Debbie slipped off the chair and walked away, not desiring a fist fight before she left Arizona.
Two young men were talking to them. They wanted to go to another bar.
"You're sure you'll be there," the young man asked Debbie.
"When Carlotta got in the driver's seat, she asked, "Do you want to go there?"
"No," Debbie admitted and they decided to go home.
"My friends tell me I'm too paranoid. When this girl moved here from New Jersey a year ago, she was found in a park. She was de-capitated. It was really sad. We figure she had a fight with her boyfriend, went to the park, and wanted to be left alone. It was really sad."
"I don't think you're too paranoid," Debbie said.
The next morning, she heard the cat's incessant, haunting meowing in the apartment next door. A sad, crying meow behind the locked door.
Haunting.
"Oh, isn't that annoying. I'd like to get rid of that cat," Carlotta said.
"No, I feel sorry for it. It sounds so sad."
In the outdoor jacuzzi that night, Debbie announced that she was going home.
"I drove her away," Carlotta said. After a few minutes, Debbie caught Carlotta eyeing her sadly through her long hair and tanned face. She looked away.
UP NEXT: Meet...finally...THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY!
Monday, March 28, 2011
UP NEXT: Southwestern Belle :)
See ya here next week. Same time, same place. Live from the Groton Library, home of the raaaaams! Baaaah! Naaaah!
(Denise...Denise Dances...19 years later!)
(Denise...Denise Dances...19 years later!)
THE JOB INTERVIEW
He sat behind his desk without lifting his head. He frowned. He picked her resume and writing samples from a pile of papers.
"What did Carlotta tell you about this place?"
"You didn't do much writing at that place in New York," he whined, as if in afterthought.
She did as much writing as she could. She wrote a report on Stress Management. She attended a seminar on stress management. She wrote a report and it was distributed to the staff. She wrote letters and memos. She used her writing as much as she could. As she explained all of this to him, she could see his eyes wander.
He gave her three tests. He asked her where she'd been.
"Desert Botanical Gardens," Debbie answered in awe. A faint smirk appeared on his frowning face.
He described the job. Half reporting. Half copy-editing and layout. Saturday work. Fridays were spent in the office, getting the paper out.
"A production day," Debbie said.
"Things get a little raunchy around here on Fridays. It's casual. You can wear shorts. Why do you want to go into the newspaper business?" he suddenly asked.
"That's what I always wanted to do. I was on the school paper in college. I majored in English. But I got side-tracked," Debbie answered in surprise.
When she finished the three quizzed, Debbie returned to his office. He was on the phone. She waited. She returned the tests, thanked him, looked him in the eye, and said goodbye, feeling puzzled.
Debbie entered Dirtwater Springs with Carlotta and Rob, the photographer for the Apache Junction Independent. The editor who interviewed Debbie had refused Carlotta's invitation to lunch.
Old bottles lined the shelves near the high ceiling in the large, rustic establishment. Dead flies lined the deep windowsills near their booth. But it did not matter. The burgers were excellent. The fries were tender and well done, so much better than the fries back East. They were shaped like chips, cooked just right.
Debbie chatted about the interview.
"He's hard to read," Carlotta said of her former boss. But she liked him. A woman's opinion mattered to him, she said.
"What did he tell you about that place?" Rob laughed. He said it was good that Debbie liked photography and the Editor would like that.
"I guess I'm not very positive," she admitted.
"Oh, yeah? That's hard to believe," Rob said amicably.
They stood outside Dirtwater Springs, a small wooden establishment in the sand on a long road leading to nowhere. Rob hugged Carlotta emphatically.
"It's not often I get to eat lunch with two beautiful women," he said, his voice slightly sad.
Debbie said nothing. Then they were back on the road.
"Do you want to go to the Mall? I could drop you off, and pick you up when I get out of work at five," Carlotta offered.
But Debbie opted for the pool. Her face was burnt from the walk home and she had spent too much money at the mall.
When the sun got too hot, she sought solace in Carlotta's apartment. The phone rang.
"There's a graduation party tonight. Nothing big. Just a pool party and some food. I think there will only be a few of us," Carlotta said.
"Sure!" Debbie answered.
"It's not dressy; we'll only be sitting by the pool. Wear shorts," Carlotta advised.
"I never get invited to things like this at home," Debbie said.
"You don't get out much, do you? To me, it's just like hanging out," she said.
Carlotta drove past monster malls, with names like "Broadway Southwest," along the freeway, bypassing the lights of downtown Phoenix in the distance. She turned into an elegant Southwestern apartment complex.
"These apartments always reminded me of a birthday cake," Carlotta described the three and four story dwellings, foreign to her in the desert.
They looked like English Tudor style adobe apartments. The girls agreed that the $450 price tag was too much.
"That's East Coast prices!" Debbie exclaimed. Carlotta had shared an apartment with her friend Diane when she first moved back home from New York. But she moved before they started to get on each other's nerves.
"She'll only go somewhere if it's trendy. Then she has a rotten time," Carlotta told Debbie.
"That is such a New York thing to do," Debbie said.
"She's a really sweet person. But she's too nice. She's always apologizing for everything."
"I think I'm too nice," Debbie said.
"Here's what you have to do," the mother of Diane's fiancee was saying. "You like the Phoenix Suns, right? Say, hey, did you see the Suns' game last night? And name a few of the players."
Debbie named one. Richard Dumas.
"That's it," she winked.
"But I don't want it to sound so obvious," Debbie countered.
"No, you don't want to be phony. Be subtle. Did you see the Suns?"
She looked at Debbie knowingly. But Debbie looked back at her with doubt in her eyes, as elusive to her in the past few weeks as clouds to the Arizona sky.
"See? You made three dollars already," she said.
Debbie had dunked into the pool, retrieving three one dollar bills, resting on the bottom of the aquamarine floor. No one else had even ventured into the pool yet.
"This is beautiful," she said, noting the palm trees, the surrounding Southwestern apartment.
"To me, it's just buildings," Diane's fiancee, the graduate said. "Why people want to live this close, I don't know."
He explained how the palm tree was a transplant to the desert. This whole complex used to be open desert.
On Saturday morning, Debbie awoke with a nauseous feeling. It wsa seven o'clock and she had to get ready for an open test sessoin for a temporary job with the phone company. But Carlotta's car wouldn't start. Debbie felt relieved.
She cooked spaghetti for lunch while Carlotta's father worked on her car.
"Don't tell my mother, if she calls. She'll get upset," Carlotta warned.
"Did you ever break down on the way to work?" Debbie asked her.
"Once," she said.
If Debbie worked in Apache Junction, she would have to get a car. She lay awake at night, thinking about this. Her savings. Her mother would have to close her bank account. She would have to get a car.
Carlotta returned to the apartment as Debbie was cooking. She did not expect her for hours. The car was fixed. Carlotta decided not to go to the office.
"No water in the battery," she said.
She was delighted with the spaghetti luncheon and offered to clean up while Debbie got ready for the next available test session at 2:00. She drove past a lone vendor on the lackluster streets of Arizona.
"Selling oranges here?" Debbie laughed.
"Yeah, they still sell them."
"Oh, just like we sell apples," she said.
"An apple is more of a treat to me," Carlotta said.
An orange tree grew in the parking lot of the phone company.
"I wouldn't pick them," Carlotta advised. "If you finish earlier, just call. If not, I'll pick you up at 4:30."
Up Next: NO RESUME NEEDED....(or should I say, Southwestern Belle???...* * * :)
"What did Carlotta tell you about this place?"
"You didn't do much writing at that place in New York," he whined, as if in afterthought.
She did as much writing as she could. She wrote a report on Stress Management. She attended a seminar on stress management. She wrote a report and it was distributed to the staff. She wrote letters and memos. She used her writing as much as she could. As she explained all of this to him, she could see his eyes wander.
He gave her three tests. He asked her where she'd been.
"Desert Botanical Gardens," Debbie answered in awe. A faint smirk appeared on his frowning face.
He described the job. Half reporting. Half copy-editing and layout. Saturday work. Fridays were spent in the office, getting the paper out.
"A production day," Debbie said.
"Things get a little raunchy around here on Fridays. It's casual. You can wear shorts. Why do you want to go into the newspaper business?" he suddenly asked.
"That's what I always wanted to do. I was on the school paper in college. I majored in English. But I got side-tracked," Debbie answered in surprise.
When she finished the three quizzed, Debbie returned to his office. He was on the phone. She waited. She returned the tests, thanked him, looked him in the eye, and said goodbye, feeling puzzled.
Debbie entered Dirtwater Springs with Carlotta and Rob, the photographer for the Apache Junction Independent. The editor who interviewed Debbie had refused Carlotta's invitation to lunch.
Old bottles lined the shelves near the high ceiling in the large, rustic establishment. Dead flies lined the deep windowsills near their booth. But it did not matter. The burgers were excellent. The fries were tender and well done, so much better than the fries back East. They were shaped like chips, cooked just right.
Debbie chatted about the interview.
"He's hard to read," Carlotta said of her former boss. But she liked him. A woman's opinion mattered to him, she said.
"What did he tell you about that place?" Rob laughed. He said it was good that Debbie liked photography and the Editor would like that.
"I guess I'm not very positive," she admitted.
"Oh, yeah? That's hard to believe," Rob said amicably.
They stood outside Dirtwater Springs, a small wooden establishment in the sand on a long road leading to nowhere. Rob hugged Carlotta emphatically.
"It's not often I get to eat lunch with two beautiful women," he said, his voice slightly sad.
Debbie said nothing. Then they were back on the road.
"Do you want to go to the Mall? I could drop you off, and pick you up when I get out of work at five," Carlotta offered.
But Debbie opted for the pool. Her face was burnt from the walk home and she had spent too much money at the mall.
When the sun got too hot, she sought solace in Carlotta's apartment. The phone rang.
"There's a graduation party tonight. Nothing big. Just a pool party and some food. I think there will only be a few of us," Carlotta said.
"Sure!" Debbie answered.
"It's not dressy; we'll only be sitting by the pool. Wear shorts," Carlotta advised.
"I never get invited to things like this at home," Debbie said.
"You don't get out much, do you? To me, it's just like hanging out," she said.
Carlotta drove past monster malls, with names like "Broadway Southwest," along the freeway, bypassing the lights of downtown Phoenix in the distance. She turned into an elegant Southwestern apartment complex.
"These apartments always reminded me of a birthday cake," Carlotta described the three and four story dwellings, foreign to her in the desert.
They looked like English Tudor style adobe apartments. The girls agreed that the $450 price tag was too much.
"That's East Coast prices!" Debbie exclaimed. Carlotta had shared an apartment with her friend Diane when she first moved back home from New York. But she moved before they started to get on each other's nerves.
"She'll only go somewhere if it's trendy. Then she has a rotten time," Carlotta told Debbie.
"That is such a New York thing to do," Debbie said.
"She's a really sweet person. But she's too nice. She's always apologizing for everything."
"I think I'm too nice," Debbie said.
"Here's what you have to do," the mother of Diane's fiancee was saying. "You like the Phoenix Suns, right? Say, hey, did you see the Suns' game last night? And name a few of the players."
Debbie named one. Richard Dumas.
"That's it," she winked.
"But I don't want it to sound so obvious," Debbie countered.
"No, you don't want to be phony. Be subtle. Did you see the Suns?"
She looked at Debbie knowingly. But Debbie looked back at her with doubt in her eyes, as elusive to her in the past few weeks as clouds to the Arizona sky.
"See? You made three dollars already," she said.
Debbie had dunked into the pool, retrieving three one dollar bills, resting on the bottom of the aquamarine floor. No one else had even ventured into the pool yet.
"This is beautiful," she said, noting the palm trees, the surrounding Southwestern apartment.
"To me, it's just buildings," Diane's fiancee, the graduate said. "Why people want to live this close, I don't know."
He explained how the palm tree was a transplant to the desert. This whole complex used to be open desert.
On Saturday morning, Debbie awoke with a nauseous feeling. It wsa seven o'clock and she had to get ready for an open test sessoin for a temporary job with the phone company. But Carlotta's car wouldn't start. Debbie felt relieved.
She cooked spaghetti for lunch while Carlotta's father worked on her car.
"Don't tell my mother, if she calls. She'll get upset," Carlotta warned.
"Did you ever break down on the way to work?" Debbie asked her.
"Once," she said.
If Debbie worked in Apache Junction, she would have to get a car. She lay awake at night, thinking about this. Her savings. Her mother would have to close her bank account. She would have to get a car.
Carlotta returned to the apartment as Debbie was cooking. She did not expect her for hours. The car was fixed. Carlotta decided not to go to the office.
"No water in the battery," she said.
She was delighted with the spaghetti luncheon and offered to clean up while Debbie got ready for the next available test session at 2:00. She drove past a lone vendor on the lackluster streets of Arizona.
"Selling oranges here?" Debbie laughed.
"Yeah, they still sell them."
"Oh, just like we sell apples," she said.
"An apple is more of a treat to me," Carlotta said.
An orange tree grew in the parking lot of the phone company.
"I wouldn't pick them," Carlotta advised. "If you finish earlier, just call. If not, I'll pick you up at 4:30."
Up Next: NO RESUME NEEDED....(or should I say, Southwestern Belle???...* * * :)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR
Walkers in Groton, Beware: Town of Groton, Poquonnock River Boardwalk. Runs parallel to Depot Rd, off Long Hill Rd, across from Dept of Human Services. Male, about age 60, ave height, dressed in black or dark brown overcoat and hat. Seen around 1:00pm. I feel it is best to walk in pleasant weather when more people are around. It also seems best to me, to take this walk around 9 or 10a.m. Also best to park your car where you plan to walk. Let others know your whereabouts. When suspicious, there are several "exits," or side streets, leading off the boardwalk onto Depot Rd. Always look around you, walk quickly, but do not run and wear yourself out. Do not give false signals, such as a smile to a stranger. --DH
FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR. Debbie walked across the deserted clean sidewalks. She walked through the vast parking lot across the street from Denny's Salon. She entered the Mall. Pure white, it sparkled before her. She walked cautiously past the stores. She saw one that looked a little less trendy than the rest. She needed shorts. She picked up a pair of denim shorts with a sash printed with the sun.
"May I take those for you?" the sales girl drawled. She followed Debbie back to the dressing room.
"I have another outfit for you to try on!" she shouted in her friendly Southern accent. She returned with shorts, tops, more shorts, more tops, halters, bright colors, clingy pastels.
Debbie separated the piles. She had one hundred dollars in travelers checks in her pocketbook. She added up the pieces. She could only buy two brightly flowered clingy tops. Two pairs of shorts. The most flattering ones.
"Now, you come back and tell us if you get a job!" the salesgirl called after her.
Debbie had only a few dollars left to buy postcards. She found an Arizona souvenir shop, bought a select few postcards, and left. She walked down the wide, empty asphalt sidewalks for blocks. She saw the blue bank building. But she had gone too far. Carlotta's street was nowhere in sight. She turned back. There it was. Longmoor. She had found it, but her nose and forehead were beginning to burn. She ducked into shade. Where there was some shade to be found. Someone rode a bike. A driver jerked forward in her path, from a side street. "Sorry," he called out the window as he drove away.
Finally, there was Emelita in the impersonal stretch of apartment complexes, all non descript, with adobe style appearances and small windows. Signs announced, "$199 to move in." Or, "$149. Move in Special." Indian Springs. Fiesta Villas. Debbie wandered around the tan adobe apartments on the grass, through the parking lots. She couldn't find her apartment number. A young man on a bicycle, black-haired; pedalled slowly by her in the deserted parking lots. She announced angrily that she couldn't find her friend's apartment. He smelled of liquor.
"It's probably behind those apartments," he said. "Some of the apartments are in back."
Debbie followed his advice and was rewarded with the familiar sight of the pool, the black fence, the soda machine and laundry room, the permanent barbecue grills in the middle of the sidewalks. She dropped everything on the floor inside Carlotta's apartment. She carefully locked the door latch.
"Hey, I found this key in the door," Carlotta said when she came home at five or six o'clock.
"What! I was so careful to make sure the door was locked from the inside," Debbie said. She remembered how tired she was when she got back from the mall.
"You walked from the mall?" Carlotta said. "I could've picked you up."
"I know. I just had to try it out for myself. I won't do that again," Debbie said.
(The more things change, the more they remain the same.) {sic}
"Do you feel like you know your way around?" Carlotta said.
"Yeah...a little better," Debbie laughed.
There was a message on Carlotta's answering machine. Her friend Toni wanted to go out. The last of her at-home daycare kids would be leaving at 4:00. In the sunny parking lot, Toni stood outside by her car.
"Are you sure you want to move out here? There are bugs...they don't go away. It's warm all year out here."
"There's so much to do," Debbie crooned.
"I think this is the most boring place," Toni laughed.
UP NEXT: THE JOB INTERVIEW.
See you here next Tuesday.
FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR. Debbie walked across the deserted clean sidewalks. She walked through the vast parking lot across the street from Denny's Salon. She entered the Mall. Pure white, it sparkled before her. She walked cautiously past the stores. She saw one that looked a little less trendy than the rest. She needed shorts. She picked up a pair of denim shorts with a sash printed with the sun.
"May I take those for you?" the sales girl drawled. She followed Debbie back to the dressing room.
"I have another outfit for you to try on!" she shouted in her friendly Southern accent. She returned with shorts, tops, more shorts, more tops, halters, bright colors, clingy pastels.
Debbie separated the piles. She had one hundred dollars in travelers checks in her pocketbook. She added up the pieces. She could only buy two brightly flowered clingy tops. Two pairs of shorts. The most flattering ones.
"Now, you come back and tell us if you get a job!" the salesgirl called after her.
Debbie had only a few dollars left to buy postcards. She found an Arizona souvenir shop, bought a select few postcards, and left. She walked down the wide, empty asphalt sidewalks for blocks. She saw the blue bank building. But she had gone too far. Carlotta's street was nowhere in sight. She turned back. There it was. Longmoor. She had found it, but her nose and forehead were beginning to burn. She ducked into shade. Where there was some shade to be found. Someone rode a bike. A driver jerked forward in her path, from a side street. "Sorry," he called out the window as he drove away.
Finally, there was Emelita in the impersonal stretch of apartment complexes, all non descript, with adobe style appearances and small windows. Signs announced, "$199 to move in." Or, "$149. Move in Special." Indian Springs. Fiesta Villas. Debbie wandered around the tan adobe apartments on the grass, through the parking lots. She couldn't find her apartment number. A young man on a bicycle, black-haired; pedalled slowly by her in the deserted parking lots. She announced angrily that she couldn't find her friend's apartment. He smelled of liquor.
"It's probably behind those apartments," he said. "Some of the apartments are in back."
Debbie followed his advice and was rewarded with the familiar sight of the pool, the black fence, the soda machine and laundry room, the permanent barbecue grills in the middle of the sidewalks. She dropped everything on the floor inside Carlotta's apartment. She carefully locked the door latch.
"Hey, I found this key in the door," Carlotta said when she came home at five or six o'clock.
"What! I was so careful to make sure the door was locked from the inside," Debbie said. She remembered how tired she was when she got back from the mall.
"You walked from the mall?" Carlotta said. "I could've picked you up."
"I know. I just had to try it out for myself. I won't do that again," Debbie said.
(The more things change, the more they remain the same.) {sic}
"Do you feel like you know your way around?" Carlotta said.
"Yeah...a little better," Debbie laughed.
There was a message on Carlotta's answering machine. Her friend Toni wanted to go out. The last of her at-home daycare kids would be leaving at 4:00. In the sunny parking lot, Toni stood outside by her car.
"Are you sure you want to move out here? There are bugs...they don't go away. It's warm all year out here."
"There's so much to do," Debbie crooned.
"I think this is the most boring place," Toni laughed.
UP NEXT: THE JOB INTERVIEW.
See you here next Tuesday.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
UP NEXT: Find Me Something to Wear
I will see you next week, live from the Groton Library, land of the rams! Coming up next, on Monday or Tuesday, FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR. Does Debbie take her hairdresser's advice and choose to forego the Mall? See ya next week in the Desert Southwest! with links to these hot places, as well.
Happy St. Patrick's Day to you, too!
Denise
Happy St. Patrick's Day to you, too!
Denise
Friday, March 11, 2011
Up Next: FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR
See ya back here Tuesday. Same time, same place. Next week. What? Am I boring you? Is my life getting too easy? Doesn't make for good writing, does it? At least, not the kind anyone wants to follow. About 25 hits last Tuesday. Come on, people now! Have I really gotten that....that...boring???...* * * :)
DESERT BOTANICAL GARDENS
On Monday afternoon, Carlotta slipped out of work early. She drove along cactus lined freeways, through some rocky desert. Wandering through Desert Botanical Gardens, Debbie's root beer suddenly seemed sweet and unappealing. She craved water, cold water.
"There are only two seasons here. Hot and very hot," she said.
A chipmunk with long hind legs ran around the desert plants. A sandy mountain dotted with bushes towered over the girls.
"Think anyone would go hiking up there today?" Debbie said.
A brown, rocky mountain in the distance fascinated her. She paused to photograph it. The Christmas film was still in her camera. The unexpected, temporary bank job had not allowed any time for such hobbies. Now she didn't have to worry. She had no job to return to.
Carlotta spoke of quitting the job she had hated in New York. Her father had been against it, just as Debbie's father had argued over her identical decision.
"He said, you're going to come out here; you won't get a job," Carlotta said.
Three years later, Carlotta was now being promoted to Editor of her local newspaper. Her father had not supported her journalism career either.
"You won't make much money at it," she told Debbie.
As she drove along the freeway, "Well, you've survived your first hundred degree day," she said. "Once it turns a hundred degrees, there's no going back. That's what they say," she continued on this tenth day of May.
"Where are those plastic water bottles?" Debbie asked.
"You mean, a jug filled with water."
"No, a plastic water bottle," Debbie insisted.
"They're with the soda."
Debbie walked up and down the mammoth aisles. She had removed her contact lenses, being forwarned of the desert heat. She frowned at the aisles, at the rows of blurred products.
"The ice cream," she said. "There aren't any square containers."
"What difference does it make?" Carlotta snapped.
Debbie grabbed a round container of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. It wasn't what she really wanted but she couldn't read the other labels. At the check out, she started to unload the cart.
"No. You put it here and she unloads it," Carlotta explained.
"Oh. That makes a lot of work for the cashier."
"Well, she's going to pass them over the scanner and lift them anyway."
Debbie recalled her cashiering days and how much she hated the extra work which all of that lifting created.
The next time they visited the mammoth grocery store, she picked out a huge orange.
"You're only getting one?" Carlotta said.
Debbie picked another one and threw it into the carriage. This time, she had put in her contact lenses and was able to zip through the store and get the ordeal over with as soon as possible. She crossed certain items off the list.
They walked outside, in the bright sunlight of the parking lot. Debbie remembered not to roll down her car windows so that Carlotta could turn on the air conditioner. And not to slam the passenger door.
"Is it starting to look familiar to you?" she asked Debbie.
"Well..." Debbie said.
"I know, you really don't learn until you drive," she said.
"I recognize the bank building," Debbie said, was they passed a towering, modern office building which reflected the blue, blue Arizona sky.
"It's the easiest city in the world," Carlotta's hairdresser was saying. A sparkling Harley Davidson motorcycle stood outside his salon.
"I hope I can find a job," Debbie said.
"Bug 'em. It works. That's what my boss once told me. If you bug 'em, show up at the office and say, "Ilm not leavin', they're bound to hire ya. You been to the Mall?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Malls are fun. They're new. But unless you've got a rich daddy..."
"I have to support myself," Debbie said.
"Whoever thought of that?" he agreed.
"You won't be supportin' yourself for long. You won't be. There are lots of boys here. Lots o' boys. Did Carlotta tell you where to shop?"
"No," she said.
"I know women. I do them all day. T.J. Maxx." He explained how to walk across the street and to cross the intersection. It was the easiest city in the world. North, east, south, and west. The northwest corner of this. The Southwest corner of that.
"Now, your hair would fall like this when you get out of the pool," he said. He demonstrated the search for her natural part. Her hairdressers at home had not been able to master this.
{To the left, slightly off center} {sic}
"And you want the bangs to blend in with your natural hairline. Not to be peanut shaped." He held up a clump of her hair of top of her head. He spoke of "getting our confidence levels going with each other."
"That's a nice motorcycle. My father used to race motorcycles," she said.
"Now that's really living on the edge," he exclaimed in his Midwestern drawl. He suggested that Carlotta and Debbie go to Show Low next weekend. He was riding to a motorcycle rally.
"Show Low. It's next weekend," he said. He stepped out of his emtpy spacious salon. He pointed the way to the discount clothing stores.
UP NEXT: "FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR."
"There are only two seasons here. Hot and very hot," she said.
A chipmunk with long hind legs ran around the desert plants. A sandy mountain dotted with bushes towered over the girls.
"Think anyone would go hiking up there today?" Debbie said.
A brown, rocky mountain in the distance fascinated her. She paused to photograph it. The Christmas film was still in her camera. The unexpected, temporary bank job had not allowed any time for such hobbies. Now she didn't have to worry. She had no job to return to.
Carlotta spoke of quitting the job she had hated in New York. Her father had been against it, just as Debbie's father had argued over her identical decision.
"He said, you're going to come out here; you won't get a job," Carlotta said.
Three years later, Carlotta was now being promoted to Editor of her local newspaper. Her father had not supported her journalism career either.
"You won't make much money at it," she told Debbie.
As she drove along the freeway, "Well, you've survived your first hundred degree day," she said. "Once it turns a hundred degrees, there's no going back. That's what they say," she continued on this tenth day of May.
"Where are those plastic water bottles?" Debbie asked.
"You mean, a jug filled with water."
"No, a plastic water bottle," Debbie insisted.
"They're with the soda."
Debbie walked up and down the mammoth aisles. She had removed her contact lenses, being forwarned of the desert heat. She frowned at the aisles, at the rows of blurred products.
"The ice cream," she said. "There aren't any square containers."
"What difference does it make?" Carlotta snapped.
Debbie grabbed a round container of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. It wasn't what she really wanted but she couldn't read the other labels. At the check out, she started to unload the cart.
"No. You put it here and she unloads it," Carlotta explained.
"Oh. That makes a lot of work for the cashier."
"Well, she's going to pass them over the scanner and lift them anyway."
Debbie recalled her cashiering days and how much she hated the extra work which all of that lifting created.
The next time they visited the mammoth grocery store, she picked out a huge orange.
"You're only getting one?" Carlotta said.
Debbie picked another one and threw it into the carriage. This time, she had put in her contact lenses and was able to zip through the store and get the ordeal over with as soon as possible. She crossed certain items off the list.
They walked outside, in the bright sunlight of the parking lot. Debbie remembered not to roll down her car windows so that Carlotta could turn on the air conditioner. And not to slam the passenger door.
"Is it starting to look familiar to you?" she asked Debbie.
"Well..." Debbie said.
"I know, you really don't learn until you drive," she said.
"I recognize the bank building," Debbie said, was they passed a towering, modern office building which reflected the blue, blue Arizona sky.
"It's the easiest city in the world," Carlotta's hairdresser was saying. A sparkling Harley Davidson motorcycle stood outside his salon.
"I hope I can find a job," Debbie said.
"Bug 'em. It works. That's what my boss once told me. If you bug 'em, show up at the office and say, "Ilm not leavin', they're bound to hire ya. You been to the Mall?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Malls are fun. They're new. But unless you've got a rich daddy..."
"I have to support myself," Debbie said.
"Whoever thought of that?" he agreed.
"You won't be supportin' yourself for long. You won't be. There are lots of boys here. Lots o' boys. Did Carlotta tell you where to shop?"
"No," she said.
"I know women. I do them all day. T.J. Maxx." He explained how to walk across the street and to cross the intersection. It was the easiest city in the world. North, east, south, and west. The northwest corner of this. The Southwest corner of that.
"Now, your hair would fall like this when you get out of the pool," he said. He demonstrated the search for her natural part. Her hairdressers at home had not been able to master this.
{To the left, slightly off center} {sic}
"And you want the bangs to blend in with your natural hairline. Not to be peanut shaped." He held up a clump of her hair of top of her head. He spoke of "getting our confidence levels going with each other."
"That's a nice motorcycle. My father used to race motorcycles," she said.
"Now that's really living on the edge," he exclaimed in his Midwestern drawl. He suggested that Carlotta and Debbie go to Show Low next weekend. He was riding to a motorcycle rally.
"Show Low. It's next weekend," he said. He stepped out of his emtpy spacious salon. He pointed the way to the discount clothing stores.
UP NEXT: "FIND ME SOMETHING TO WEAR."
Coming Friday afternoon: DESERT BOTANICAL GARDENS
Hey. Got doctor appointments. Been procrastinatin'! Bloodwork at PHC in Groton on Monday and check out new specs at SEARS OPTICAL, Crystal Mall on Tuesday. Hey, didja know that the Crystal Mall is a great place to walk laps? It is FREE, unless you crave food 24-7 like I do.
"Delayed Diabetic," dx'd at 45 years old! (Feb. 2007) The way to beat the Mall: figure out your budget, as well as your needs. (Doesn't always seem to match up, does it?) Don't take any credit or debit cards with you. If all you can afford is a coffee, which doesn't come cheap these days, then at least you got out and walked, among people, in an extremely safe, controlled environment. Have at it! Go to the Crystal Mall. Support commerce, but only buy what you can afford, point of sale! If you can't afford to play, then don't pay! Oh. That's why I'm here at the Groton Library today. In order to put my health first, I need to keep my doctor appointments up-to-date. This will take away from my library time, but Health First! (Before the weather gets nice!) Honeeeey, see you at the beeeaach this summer and don't forget to THIIIIINK SUNSHINE!
"Delayed Diabetic," dx'd at 45 years old! (Feb. 2007) The way to beat the Mall: figure out your budget, as well as your needs. (Doesn't always seem to match up, does it?) Don't take any credit or debit cards with you. If all you can afford is a coffee, which doesn't come cheap these days, then at least you got out and walked, among people, in an extremely safe, controlled environment. Have at it! Go to the Crystal Mall. Support commerce, but only buy what you can afford, point of sale! If you can't afford to play, then don't pay! Oh. That's why I'm here at the Groton Library today. In order to put my health first, I need to keep my doctor appointments up-to-date. This will take away from my library time, but Health First! (Before the weather gets nice!) Honeeeey, see you at the beeeaach this summer and don't forget to THIIIIINK SUNSHINE!
Monday, March 7, 2011
UP NEXT: Desert Botanical Gardens
See ya here next Monday or Tuesday. Same time; same place: Groton Library. Take time to visit the....raaaams! (!haaaaB !haaaaaN) -- Didja ever hear of a back-handed ram?
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011!) -- 19 years later.
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011!) -- 19 years later.
THE DESERT SOUTHWEST
Tropical music played on the airplane as they landed in Phoenix. Jagged mountains and tall palm trees came into view. Palm trees? Inside the airport, across from the luggage bins, a skinny girl stared at Debbie in question and Debbie looked back at her. She approached Debbie and smiled. She held out her arms.
"You're so skinny! You look like a different person!" Debbie said. Her friend smiled and squinted.
"You won't be needing those," she said of Debbie's long, leopard print jeans and black Izod sweater.
Carlotta drove along the cactus lined freeway. Mountains covered with tiny bushes stood against the freeway.
"You're so skinny. What did you lose...twenty pounds?"
"Forty," Carlotta said. She still liked to eat a lot, but she worked out and excercised alone at home.
She drove past uniform sets of apartment complexes on empty streets. Two story, low, small windows, secluded decks.
"I don't know if you feel like doing anything, but we could walk around downtown Tempe," Carlotta said.
"Yeah," Debbie said as she gnawed on her apple from the airplane stewardess. They sat in her calm, neat apartment of two years. The blinds were drawn to shun the Arizona heat.
"The apartment where nobody lives," joked Debbie.
Delicate mist fell gracefully from the awnings of the outdoor cafe. It was a beautiful day, hot and breezy. The air was pure. But, by August, these sidewalk cafes would become unbearable, the misters a necessity. The girls sipped on fruity drinks. Debbie commiserated over the agonies of smalltown life.
The girls strolled across the Arizona State University campus. An ornate, trellised, sunken entrance way guarded the library.
"There is nothing like this back home," Debbie said. "Nothing."
"At one time, you could just walk in," Carlotta was saying. "Now, you have to go underground to get inside."
A whole new entrance had been created for the campus library. But it was beautiful. Debbie stopped to admire it.
"Oh, isn't that dumb?" Carlotta's mother said at the dinner table that evening.
They relaxed over barbecued chicken, rolls, salad, and shrimp stir fry. Fresh oranges could be plucked off the trees in Carlotta's parents' back yard. Carlotta's cousin, visiting from Boston showed them the rocks she had collected while residing in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
"How long are you here for?" Carlotta's father asked Debbie.
"I'm not sure...I'll stay if I can find a job!" she proclaimed enthusiastically.
"Are you going to rent a car? What arrangements did you make with Carlotta?" her mother asked Debbie. She gave her five fresh tangerines to take home. Carlotta's father said he would pick oranges for her later.
"I don't feel like it right now," he groaned.
"I would gladly pick 'em," Debbie said. "My parents would love that. I could ship them."
Unlike her parents' home, wine coolers and sodas were passed around the dinner table.
"Wanna go out later? What type of place are you in the mood for? Meat market or the type of place where you sit and talk?" Carlotta asked her.
"Doesn't matter," Debbie said.
MEAT MARKET
Diane changed into a long skirt and peasant blouse. Debbie wore black jeans and a pink, sleeveless, high-necked top with pearl necklace. Hopelessly Connecticut, she thought. Each time they saw a cactus on the side of the road, through the car windows, both Diane and Debbie giggled and pointed.
"I would miss them if I didn't see them," Carlotta said of the cacti.
Outside, they walked past a row of motorcycles in the balmy Arizona night.
"Don't lean against them," Diane warned them. "Not even one."
"I need your ID," the young bouncer told Debbie.
"I just flew in from Connecticut!" she shouted.
She emptied the entire contents of her purse on the ground. She presented her Connecticut ID.
"Sorry. It's the state law," he shrugged.
Her dance partner held up his arms in a round, all encompassing gesture. He was miming the words, "the sun" in the song to which they danced. The hot Phoenix sun. He tried to teach her "The Pretzel" but the floor was too crowded. Girls in denim shorts danced around them.
"You have so much energy," Carlotta said. The jet lag had not touched her yet.
"You look like you're having fun," Diane smiled.
When she returned from the dance floor, Diane said, "I love to exploit men."
"Wanna dance? It's AC/DC!" Debbie's partner exclaimed.
"No," she said. She was tired of dancing.
"Oh, come on! It's AC/DC!" he shouted.
"No!" Debbie insisted.
"But it's AC/DC! Wanna go outside for a minute?"
"No!"
"OK. Fine," he said and stalked away.
"You heartbreaker," Carlotta said.
A fight broke out in the bar. A cold shower sprinkled Debbie's back.
"We had a beer bath!" Diane told Carlotta's parents later.
"A christening," Carlotta said Sunday afternoon.
Debbie wandered outside by the pool. She felt white and flabby in the revealing black and red bikini. Shouts rose from an unseen neighbor's house, across the desert. The Suns were beating the Lakers this afternoon. Hot from the sun, Debbie sank her white body into the bright blue waters of the pool. When she climbed out, her skin immediately froze. She grabbed a towel. Drowsily, she wandered into the living room. She hesitated to sit down in her wet clothes.
"Oh, don't worry. Everything dries," Carlotta's mother explained. "There's no humidity. That's why you're cold."
"Oh, oh, those Seminole winds..." the band crooned at Fibber's Restaurant and Saloon that night.
"My mother would love this!" Debbie exclaimed, as she watched the two-steppers dancing to the country music.
"She's going to move here. I can just see it in her eyes," Diane said.
"Oh, I'd love to get a job here," Debbie said wistfully. "I know what song this is!" she bought a Fibber's tee shirt from the waitress for her mother. She spoke of the trials and tribulations of living at home; of the sad country music on the car radio when her mother drove.
"It sounds like you need to get away from your parents," Diane said.
UP NEXT: Desert Botanical Gardens.
"You're so skinny! You look like a different person!" Debbie said. Her friend smiled and squinted.
"You won't be needing those," she said of Debbie's long, leopard print jeans and black Izod sweater.
Carlotta drove along the cactus lined freeway. Mountains covered with tiny bushes stood against the freeway.
"You're so skinny. What did you lose...twenty pounds?"
"Forty," Carlotta said. She still liked to eat a lot, but she worked out and excercised alone at home.
She drove past uniform sets of apartment complexes on empty streets. Two story, low, small windows, secluded decks.
"I don't know if you feel like doing anything, but we could walk around downtown Tempe," Carlotta said.
"Yeah," Debbie said as she gnawed on her apple from the airplane stewardess. They sat in her calm, neat apartment of two years. The blinds were drawn to shun the Arizona heat.
"The apartment where nobody lives," joked Debbie.
Delicate mist fell gracefully from the awnings of the outdoor cafe. It was a beautiful day, hot and breezy. The air was pure. But, by August, these sidewalk cafes would become unbearable, the misters a necessity. The girls sipped on fruity drinks. Debbie commiserated over the agonies of smalltown life.
The girls strolled across the Arizona State University campus. An ornate, trellised, sunken entrance way guarded the library.
"There is nothing like this back home," Debbie said. "Nothing."
"At one time, you could just walk in," Carlotta was saying. "Now, you have to go underground to get inside."
A whole new entrance had been created for the campus library. But it was beautiful. Debbie stopped to admire it.
"Oh, isn't that dumb?" Carlotta's mother said at the dinner table that evening.
They relaxed over barbecued chicken, rolls, salad, and shrimp stir fry. Fresh oranges could be plucked off the trees in Carlotta's parents' back yard. Carlotta's cousin, visiting from Boston showed them the rocks she had collected while residing in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
"How long are you here for?" Carlotta's father asked Debbie.
"I'm not sure...I'll stay if I can find a job!" she proclaimed enthusiastically.
"Are you going to rent a car? What arrangements did you make with Carlotta?" her mother asked Debbie. She gave her five fresh tangerines to take home. Carlotta's father said he would pick oranges for her later.
"I don't feel like it right now," he groaned.
"I would gladly pick 'em," Debbie said. "My parents would love that. I could ship them."
Unlike her parents' home, wine coolers and sodas were passed around the dinner table.
"Wanna go out later? What type of place are you in the mood for? Meat market or the type of place where you sit and talk?" Carlotta asked her.
"Doesn't matter," Debbie said.
MEAT MARKET
Diane changed into a long skirt and peasant blouse. Debbie wore black jeans and a pink, sleeveless, high-necked top with pearl necklace. Hopelessly Connecticut, she thought. Each time they saw a cactus on the side of the road, through the car windows, both Diane and Debbie giggled and pointed.
"I would miss them if I didn't see them," Carlotta said of the cacti.
Outside, they walked past a row of motorcycles in the balmy Arizona night.
"Don't lean against them," Diane warned them. "Not even one."
"I need your ID," the young bouncer told Debbie.
"I just flew in from Connecticut!" she shouted.
She emptied the entire contents of her purse on the ground. She presented her Connecticut ID.
"Sorry. It's the state law," he shrugged.
Her dance partner held up his arms in a round, all encompassing gesture. He was miming the words, "the sun" in the song to which they danced. The hot Phoenix sun. He tried to teach her "The Pretzel" but the floor was too crowded. Girls in denim shorts danced around them.
"You have so much energy," Carlotta said. The jet lag had not touched her yet.
"You look like you're having fun," Diane smiled.
When she returned from the dance floor, Diane said, "I love to exploit men."
"Wanna dance? It's AC/DC!" Debbie's partner exclaimed.
"No," she said. She was tired of dancing.
"Oh, come on! It's AC/DC!" he shouted.
"No!" Debbie insisted.
"But it's AC/DC! Wanna go outside for a minute?"
"No!"
"OK. Fine," he said and stalked away.
"You heartbreaker," Carlotta said.
A fight broke out in the bar. A cold shower sprinkled Debbie's back.
"We had a beer bath!" Diane told Carlotta's parents later.
"A christening," Carlotta said Sunday afternoon.
Debbie wandered outside by the pool. She felt white and flabby in the revealing black and red bikini. Shouts rose from an unseen neighbor's house, across the desert. The Suns were beating the Lakers this afternoon. Hot from the sun, Debbie sank her white body into the bright blue waters of the pool. When she climbed out, her skin immediately froze. She grabbed a towel. Drowsily, she wandered into the living room. She hesitated to sit down in her wet clothes.
"Oh, don't worry. Everything dries," Carlotta's mother explained. "There's no humidity. That's why you're cold."
"Oh, oh, those Seminole winds..." the band crooned at Fibber's Restaurant and Saloon that night.
"My mother would love this!" Debbie exclaimed, as she watched the two-steppers dancing to the country music.
"She's going to move here. I can just see it in her eyes," Diane said.
"Oh, I'd love to get a job here," Debbie said wistfully. "I know what song this is!" she bought a Fibber's tee shirt from the waitress for her mother. She spoke of the trials and tribulations of living at home; of the sad country music on the car radio when her mother drove.
"It sounds like you need to get away from your parents," Diane said.
UP NEXT: Desert Botanical Gardens.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Up Next: THE DESERT SOUTHWEST
Go Suns! Go Debbie! Same time, same place..next week? (Remember: it's my birthday on Thursday, March 3! Niece Julia's too! Happy Birthday to my sister Kelley, whose b-day is March 2!
Boston Maddy!
Across the busy street from South Station, Debbie dragged her suitcase. She entered the only building that looked vaguely like a former hotel. Her friend was not sitting at any of the tables. She sat at the empty bar in the dining room, avoiding the noisy, young, Happy Hour crowd. She sipped on a Corona beer with a wedge of lime in it. She stared outside the windows.
"I think I see my friend," she said to the hostess.
"I'll watch your suitcase for you if you want to go look," she said. Debbie thanked her. When she returned, she told the hostess she had to go. "We're sorry you couldn't enjoy your drink," she said.
"I can't stay here," her friend Maddy said. She had driven around the block because a meter maid had threatened to ticket her. "I said, look, my friend's coming from out of town and she doesn't know the city," Maddy said.
"Always there when you don't need them," Debbie said.
"The desert. That's far, Madam. I don't want you to move that far away," she said.
From the window of the plane, Debbie gazed over sunny Boston Harbor, the several isalnds swirling in the Atlantic, the small skyscrapers at the tip of the city, the outlying areas. Where was Lowell? She saw rivers, cities, any one of which could have been Lowell. Brick city after brick city. Rivers. Was that the Merrimac River? Were those the canals?
This was God's view. The same God who created and eventually took her beloved cat. She surveyed the peaceful scene, clouds casting navy blue shadows on the flat, flat plains. Orange red swirls and jigsaw puzzle pieces continued for a while. Must be Mexico. Dark bluish green rivers curved throughout the deserts. Debbie stared outside the window. Red and orange squares and purple pieces gave way to the beige Arizona desert. She witnessed the huge uniform circles in the landscape which her father had seenwhen he flew to California a few years ago. "Go Suns," a landsaped pattern proclaimed from the ground.
"I think I see my friend," she said to the hostess.
"I'll watch your suitcase for you if you want to go look," she said. Debbie thanked her. When she returned, she told the hostess she had to go. "We're sorry you couldn't enjoy your drink," she said.
"I can't stay here," her friend Maddy said. She had driven around the block because a meter maid had threatened to ticket her. "I said, look, my friend's coming from out of town and she doesn't know the city," Maddy said.
"Always there when you don't need them," Debbie said.
"The desert. That's far, Madam. I don't want you to move that far away," she said.
From the window of the plane, Debbie gazed over sunny Boston Harbor, the several isalnds swirling in the Atlantic, the small skyscrapers at the tip of the city, the outlying areas. Where was Lowell? She saw rivers, cities, any one of which could have been Lowell. Brick city after brick city. Rivers. Was that the Merrimac River? Were those the canals?
This was God's view. The same God who created and eventually took her beloved cat. She surveyed the peaceful scene, clouds casting navy blue shadows on the flat, flat plains. Orange red swirls and jigsaw puzzle pieces continued for a while. Must be Mexico. Dark bluish green rivers curved throughout the deserts. Debbie stared outside the window. Red and orange squares and purple pieces gave way to the beige Arizona desert. She witnessed the huge uniform circles in the landscape which her father had seenwhen he flew to California a few years ago. "Go Suns," a landsaped pattern proclaimed from the ground.
Up Next
On this first day of March, stay tuned this afternoon. For then, you will see Debbie meet up with Boston Madelyn before boarding zee plane to Arizona. But will she return to Connecticut? Find out...this afternoon...after my brisk walk outdoors, in search of my rams!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
What's up next?
What's coming down the Massachusetts Pike next for Debbie? Will she find love back in Beantown? Will she make it the hub of her life? Will she get on that plane for Phoenix? What will she find there? Love? Friendship? A job? A life? "Are we there.......................................................................yet???...* * *:)
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011! -- 19 years later.)
(Denise...Denise Dances...2011! -- 19 years later.)
UP NEXT: The Single Mom of Cactus County II: Boston
UP NEXT: Debbie visits her friend, Boston Maddy in The Hub! before boarding the plane to Arizona.
THE SINGLE MOM OF CACTUS COUNTY: Part I
The roar of the engine submerged the sounds of the problems in her head. She leaned forward and pushed. A tin can was swallowed up and crunched by the engine. She gasped and pulled the throttle of the lawn mower. The scrunched tin remains lay underneath it among the damp green clumps of grass.
Up and down and around, forming a large square, a rectangle, smaller squares, a triangle, until all of the waving green grass was clipped. Sticks, last autumn's leaves were devoured in its midst. The snows had come suddenly before she'd had time to finish last season's raking.
Exhausted, she leaned forward, uphill, downhill, pushing, pulling, turning. Her mother came outside with a glass of water. The glass of water she was dreaming about, but would not stop for a minute to go get it. Here it was!
"There's lemon in it. Lemon-water," her mother said. She sat down and sipped on the patio. Her mother grabbed the handlebars of the lawnmower and smiled like a little kid. In her socks, she proceeded to mow a small portion of the lawn left unfinished. Debbie rose from the picnic table.
"I want to watch the motorcycle races," her mother said.
Finally finished, Debbie lowered the throttle and the engine sputtered and stopped. She wished she were still mowing. She reluctantly returned to the inside of the house, leaving the green grass, contrasting with the dull gray bark of the trees.
Phones, confusion, obligations. But inside her room, Debbie felt nothing but sorrow. Her cat's sudden death over the winter made her feel raw. In place of the commotion, she felt a deep, longing, strange sorrow. Sorrow. The cold January wind had swirled cleanly over the frozen snow. The cat was not coming back.
Spring's soft breeze brought along with it a haunting sound. A cat bird meowed, unseen. The air was cold with melancholy.
On the following morning, Debbie stared at the flower garden. She recalled the family cat who she called simply "Meow Meow" as she used to stroll through the garden, her garden. On the day after her death, Debbie had burst into tears behind the counter of the bank where she worked as a temporary teller. The bank was closing and they needed her for six months.
"Was she sick? Was something wrong?" Elizabeth tried to comfort her. Betty escorted her, showered with confusion, from the counters to the break room. "I used to breed dogs and lose them. I know how it feels," the usually bossy supervisor consoled her. Debbie looked at her as if to ask, What do I do now? Betty looked at her with pursed lips and sadness in her eyes and shook her head, unable to comfort Debbie.
Who would mow the lawns while she was gone? Why was she doing this? How could she leave home again after a year and a half of living back at home and helping her parents with the family business? She looked at the daffodils one las ttime, knowing there would be no more time to work in the garden. I shouldn't be doing this, she thought. I should have presented my parents with a baby boy by now, dressed in pale blue and white, someone to lift high over their heads and coddle.
At the breakfast table, she held up her cereal bowl. The bird, Nipper had been let out of his cage and was now approaching her. He stood on the table like a curious baby. He looked up expectantly at the bowl of cereal. Debbie giggled, holding her breakfast away from his smiling beak. Why was she leaving them?
Her parents laughed as they regarded their gray pet cockatiel. Her father sat down to put on his work boots.
"I hope you do find a job out there," her mother said.
Debbie left her car key and house key on her desk. Her friends' Boston and Arizona numbers were taped to her desk. She took one last look at the garden.
She hopped into her mother's truck. She would take Debbie to the bank where she would work until four o'clock closing time. Then she would come pick Debbie up with her suitcase and bring her to the train station. Ahead of them, a blue truck was parked on the side of the road. Her father's truck.
"What's he doing?" her mother cried.
Was it an accident? Her mother dropped her off in front of the bank. Then she drove off to find her father.
Cathy came smiling to the locked door and let Debbie inside of the bank. "My father's truck is stopped on the side of the road," she explained. She tried to peer out of the wide windows of the bank. "I hope it's not an accident."
Her mother walked past the windows of the closed bank, her grocery cart in front of her. When Debbie looked outside the windows again, her father's truck was gone.
"Are you looking forward to your vacation?" Jennifer said.
"I've been so busy, I haven't had even had time to think about it," Debbie said.
On her lunch hour, Debbie suddenly remembered to call her temporary employment agency. Although she was returning the call, the girl had to look her up on the computer.
"Your assignment ends May 7." She said. "You're back in our computer for availability."
"May seven? That's...today," Debbie said. She left the phone booth outside the bank where she had worked for the past five months and three weeks. She walked toward the door. Instead, she decided to walk past the door, this sunny day, and entered the adjacent drugstore. She bought lotion, razors, a travelling toothbrush.
"Did you say you're leaving?" John, the assistant manager at the drugstore asked. He stood at her supervisor's window.
"No," Debbie said slowly. "I said, I believe it."
Her supervisor said they hadn't gotten raises in three years and she believed it.
"You should look for work out there," Cathy said.
Debbie smiled. "We were roommates in New York," she recalled. "We both wanted to be reporters. We used to come home and complain about our office jobs."
"Well, maybe she can get you a job," Cathy said.
"She just got a promotion to editor of another newspaper," Debbie said of her former roommate in New York, moved back home to Phoenix.
"You should look for work out there. Maybe she can find a job for you. The bank is staying open now and you don't know where you're going to be. The bank is staying open!" Cathy's blue eyes were round with panic. They all knew she was hired as a temporary teller until the bank closed.
"I know." Debbie smiled slyly. Her temporary assignment was to be for six months or until the bank closed. For months, no one knew whether the bank would stay open, much to the hope of the loyal customers who had banked there all their lives.
The girls all looked at Debbie with her black stitched leather boots, black skirt, houndstooth blazer, and black sleeveless top with pearl necklace.
"That is a great outfit," Cathy said. "I used to be skinny like that."
Sweets, McDonald's, and the monumental event of bearing a child changed all of that.
They looked at her Western boots. "She's there," her boss, Betty said and Debbie smiled.
Elizabeth whispered to her. "Oh, no," Debbie said softly. Mac McAllister stood inside the lobby with his back to them. She surveyed his ugly neck. After hesitating for a few moments, he approached her window.
"The Astronomy Club is having a picnic tomorrow," he said.
"I won't be here. I'm getting out of this town tonight!" Debbie said.
"When will you be back? There will be another picnic on the Sunday..."
"I don't think you should make all these plans for me. I'm not sure when I'll be back," Debbie said abruptly.
"Oh. But you'll call me when you get back."
"I'm not going to call you," she said.
"Oh. Okay," he said.
"I don't know when I'll be back. I'm not trying to be mean, butI don't think you should be making all these plans for me."
"But you didn't get the job yet, right?"
"No. But I'm not sure when I'm coming back. Just let me go. Just let me go," she said, averting his face.
And Mac McAlister walked slowly out of the glass doors, still puzzled.
"Do you think I was too mean?" she asked Elizabeth.
"I would've been a lot meaner than that," the ever patient, soft spoken Elizabeth said matter-of-factly.
"They let me go," Debbie said to her. "I found out on my lunch hour. I called the temp agency. Today's my last day."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, but before she could say anything, Betty and Jennifer were upon her. They counted her cash. They added her wrok. They audited her cash box and took it from her. When she looked at Betty for a response, she looked away from Debbie. When Betty spoke, her sad voice sounded ready to crack slightly.
"Opportunity knocks," Elizabeth said as she watched them take away Debbie's cash box and prepare the way for her to leave.
"My mother's coming with my suitcase," Debbie said.
"Your mother's coming with your suitcase! Aren't you excited?" Cathy shouted.
"I need more cash!" Debbie said.
"If your train is coming at 4:47, you better get going," Betty said.
Debbie walked outside the door. "I may come back," she said. But her mother had arrived with the car and her suitcase.
"You mean you don't have a job?" she said.
"I'm leaving anyway. Now I can stay a little longer and look. The temp agency will have more jobs for me," Debbie said.
"I'm going to tell them you're doing really well out there and you sent your resume out there already," her mother vowed, angry at the bank where she had been a faithful customer for many years.
Debbie grabbed her suitcase, got out of the car, shouted "Happy Mother's Day," and walked into the New London train station. I won't be missing this place, she thought as she walked along the deserted pier and looked across the Thames River at the building of a former temporary assignment.
"I don't get it. Why do you have to leave at four on Friday?" Betty had demanded. Debbie told her she wanted to be on time. Betty still didn't get it.
"I have a train to catch," she said. Betty finally realized that Debbie was taking a train to Boston on Friday night in order to fly out of Boston early Saturday morning and that she was staying overnight at a friend's apartment.
"What time do you get into Boston?" she said.
Up and down and around, forming a large square, a rectangle, smaller squares, a triangle, until all of the waving green grass was clipped. Sticks, last autumn's leaves were devoured in its midst. The snows had come suddenly before she'd had time to finish last season's raking.
Exhausted, she leaned forward, uphill, downhill, pushing, pulling, turning. Her mother came outside with a glass of water. The glass of water she was dreaming about, but would not stop for a minute to go get it. Here it was!
"There's lemon in it. Lemon-water," her mother said. She sat down and sipped on the patio. Her mother grabbed the handlebars of the lawnmower and smiled like a little kid. In her socks, she proceeded to mow a small portion of the lawn left unfinished. Debbie rose from the picnic table.
"I want to watch the motorcycle races," her mother said.
Finally finished, Debbie lowered the throttle and the engine sputtered and stopped. She wished she were still mowing. She reluctantly returned to the inside of the house, leaving the green grass, contrasting with the dull gray bark of the trees.
Phones, confusion, obligations. But inside her room, Debbie felt nothing but sorrow. Her cat's sudden death over the winter made her feel raw. In place of the commotion, she felt a deep, longing, strange sorrow. Sorrow. The cold January wind had swirled cleanly over the frozen snow. The cat was not coming back.
Spring's soft breeze brought along with it a haunting sound. A cat bird meowed, unseen. The air was cold with melancholy.
On the following morning, Debbie stared at the flower garden. She recalled the family cat who she called simply "Meow Meow" as she used to stroll through the garden, her garden. On the day after her death, Debbie had burst into tears behind the counter of the bank where she worked as a temporary teller. The bank was closing and they needed her for six months.
"Was she sick? Was something wrong?" Elizabeth tried to comfort her. Betty escorted her, showered with confusion, from the counters to the break room. "I used to breed dogs and lose them. I know how it feels," the usually bossy supervisor consoled her. Debbie looked at her as if to ask, What do I do now? Betty looked at her with pursed lips and sadness in her eyes and shook her head, unable to comfort Debbie.
Who would mow the lawns while she was gone? Why was she doing this? How could she leave home again after a year and a half of living back at home and helping her parents with the family business? She looked at the daffodils one las ttime, knowing there would be no more time to work in the garden. I shouldn't be doing this, she thought. I should have presented my parents with a baby boy by now, dressed in pale blue and white, someone to lift high over their heads and coddle.
At the breakfast table, she held up her cereal bowl. The bird, Nipper had been let out of his cage and was now approaching her. He stood on the table like a curious baby. He looked up expectantly at the bowl of cereal. Debbie giggled, holding her breakfast away from his smiling beak. Why was she leaving them?
Her parents laughed as they regarded their gray pet cockatiel. Her father sat down to put on his work boots.
"I hope you do find a job out there," her mother said.
Debbie left her car key and house key on her desk. Her friends' Boston and Arizona numbers were taped to her desk. She took one last look at the garden.
She hopped into her mother's truck. She would take Debbie to the bank where she would work until four o'clock closing time. Then she would come pick Debbie up with her suitcase and bring her to the train station. Ahead of them, a blue truck was parked on the side of the road. Her father's truck.
"What's he doing?" her mother cried.
Was it an accident? Her mother dropped her off in front of the bank. Then she drove off to find her father.
Cathy came smiling to the locked door and let Debbie inside of the bank. "My father's truck is stopped on the side of the road," she explained. She tried to peer out of the wide windows of the bank. "I hope it's not an accident."
Her mother walked past the windows of the closed bank, her grocery cart in front of her. When Debbie looked outside the windows again, her father's truck was gone.
"Are you looking forward to your vacation?" Jennifer said.
"I've been so busy, I haven't had even had time to think about it," Debbie said.
On her lunch hour, Debbie suddenly remembered to call her temporary employment agency. Although she was returning the call, the girl had to look her up on the computer.
"Your assignment ends May 7." She said. "You're back in our computer for availability."
"May seven? That's...today," Debbie said. She left the phone booth outside the bank where she had worked for the past five months and three weeks. She walked toward the door. Instead, she decided to walk past the door, this sunny day, and entered the adjacent drugstore. She bought lotion, razors, a travelling toothbrush.
"Did you say you're leaving?" John, the assistant manager at the drugstore asked. He stood at her supervisor's window.
"No," Debbie said slowly. "I said, I believe it."
Her supervisor said they hadn't gotten raises in three years and she believed it.
"You should look for work out there," Cathy said.
Debbie smiled. "We were roommates in New York," she recalled. "We both wanted to be reporters. We used to come home and complain about our office jobs."
"Well, maybe she can get you a job," Cathy said.
"She just got a promotion to editor of another newspaper," Debbie said of her former roommate in New York, moved back home to Phoenix.
"You should look for work out there. Maybe she can find a job for you. The bank is staying open now and you don't know where you're going to be. The bank is staying open!" Cathy's blue eyes were round with panic. They all knew she was hired as a temporary teller until the bank closed.
"I know." Debbie smiled slyly. Her temporary assignment was to be for six months or until the bank closed. For months, no one knew whether the bank would stay open, much to the hope of the loyal customers who had banked there all their lives.
The girls all looked at Debbie with her black stitched leather boots, black skirt, houndstooth blazer, and black sleeveless top with pearl necklace.
"That is a great outfit," Cathy said. "I used to be skinny like that."
Sweets, McDonald's, and the monumental event of bearing a child changed all of that.
They looked at her Western boots. "She's there," her boss, Betty said and Debbie smiled.
Elizabeth whispered to her. "Oh, no," Debbie said softly. Mac McAllister stood inside the lobby with his back to them. She surveyed his ugly neck. After hesitating for a few moments, he approached her window.
"The Astronomy Club is having a picnic tomorrow," he said.
"I won't be here. I'm getting out of this town tonight!" Debbie said.
"When will you be back? There will be another picnic on the Sunday..."
"I don't think you should make all these plans for me. I'm not sure when I'll be back," Debbie said abruptly.
"Oh. But you'll call me when you get back."
"I'm not going to call you," she said.
"Oh. Okay," he said.
"I don't know when I'll be back. I'm not trying to be mean, butI don't think you should be making all these plans for me."
"But you didn't get the job yet, right?"
"No. But I'm not sure when I'm coming back. Just let me go. Just let me go," she said, averting his face.
And Mac McAlister walked slowly out of the glass doors, still puzzled.
"Do you think I was too mean?" she asked Elizabeth.
"I would've been a lot meaner than that," the ever patient, soft spoken Elizabeth said matter-of-factly.
"They let me go," Debbie said to her. "I found out on my lunch hour. I called the temp agency. Today's my last day."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, but before she could say anything, Betty and Jennifer were upon her. They counted her cash. They added her wrok. They audited her cash box and took it from her. When she looked at Betty for a response, she looked away from Debbie. When Betty spoke, her sad voice sounded ready to crack slightly.
"Opportunity knocks," Elizabeth said as she watched them take away Debbie's cash box and prepare the way for her to leave.
"My mother's coming with my suitcase," Debbie said.
"Your mother's coming with your suitcase! Aren't you excited?" Cathy shouted.
"I need more cash!" Debbie said.
"If your train is coming at 4:47, you better get going," Betty said.
Debbie walked outside the door. "I may come back," she said. But her mother had arrived with the car and her suitcase.
"You mean you don't have a job?" she said.
"I'm leaving anyway. Now I can stay a little longer and look. The temp agency will have more jobs for me," Debbie said.
"I'm going to tell them you're doing really well out there and you sent your resume out there already," her mother vowed, angry at the bank where she had been a faithful customer for many years.
Debbie grabbed her suitcase, got out of the car, shouted "Happy Mother's Day," and walked into the New London train station. I won't be missing this place, she thought as she walked along the deserted pier and looked across the Thames River at the building of a former temporary assignment.
"I don't get it. Why do you have to leave at four on Friday?" Betty had demanded. Debbie told her she wanted to be on time. Betty still didn't get it.
"I have a train to catch," she said. Betty finally realized that Debbie was taking a train to Boston on Friday night in order to fly out of Boston early Saturday morning and that she was staying overnight at a friend's apartment.
"What time do you get into Boston?" she said.
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