I like stories that end with a twist. It is the kind of story I like to read as well as write.  But when your word count is limited, it’s hard to get in everything you want to say…

Money Well Spent

“Oh, no!” she moaned. “Not another overdraft notice!” The bank envelop with the distinctive etching on the outside and the perforated end tab was by now all too familiar to Sally. What would she say to Richard this time? He alternated between praising her for taking over the bill paying because he was increasingly overworked and had no time to do it, and yelling at her that she had to cut back on expenses because the money just wasn’t there to absorb “frivolities.” Once she had asked him to make a priority list of how the bills should be paid, and wasn’t really surprised that it was almost the exact opposite of her priority list. They never agreed on anything, so why should she expect agreement on this?

Richard and Sally weren’t newlyweds. In fact, their kids were grown and gone, but just barely. The kids still asked for money for things they couldn’t quite afford on their own.  Sally had resigned herself to giving them checks only on Christmas and their birthdays, just to keep the budget on an even keel. Twenty-five dollars for their birthdays and $100 for each birthday wasn’t a lot, and she was able to pay for it by joining the bank’s Christmas Club and saving all during the year.

She shopped at outlet stores and cut-rate grocery stores. Magazine and newspaper coupons were a blessing! It had been a long time since she had bought a “dry-clean” dress. Everything she owned could be washed in the washing machine. Thank goodness for permanent press! Truth was, she loved bargains and she was good at finding them. At least that was one thing that Richard praised her for.

It wasn’t as if Richard were a big spender either, but they had been living on his salary alone now since downsizing had eliminated her job at the company last year. Where she had made two thousand dollars a month, she now made nothing. The unemployment figures in their town were “wonderful, almost approaching full employment for everyone who wants to work,” according to the local paper. Well, she wanted to work, but she couldn’t find a job.

That’s why she had answered the ad in last Sunday’s paper. Apparently there was a need for a receptionist at the new hotel, working in the Executive Suite on the Penthouse floor. She had an interview scheduled for this afternoon. The lady who had set up the appointment told her that she would need to wear something “professional,” so Sally had been at the Mall all morning, shopping for interview clothes. The cobalt blue suit she found was dressy in a tailored sort of way.  It made her blue eyes shine, and it was 50% off! She had stopped by the discount hair styling salon in the Mall, where for only $15, her hair was cut in the short bob that the stylist assured her was all the rage.  Fortunately, her Easter shoes and handbag were still in good shape.

She had rushed home to put everything on, including makeup (which she seldom wore anymore), when the mail arrived. Hoping to find her unemployment check, she found instead the overdraft notice. There was also a rather formal looking envelope, but it didn’t open easily, which only increased her frustration. Bursting into tears, she could hardly see to look through the rest of the mail. No check. Shoving the mail in her purse, she ran for the car, barely making the interview.

After the interview was over, Sally tried to make some kind of sense out of the meeting she had had with the Human Resources people. There was a woman – prim and proper – and a man, who was more casual. Sally tried to answer their questions, which were alternately warm and almost cold. It reminded her of the “good cop, bad cop” routine.

The discomfort started when she walked into the conference room. Before she could take a seat, they silently walked around her, looking her over from head to toe. Then they looked at each other for a long minute, but made no comment. At times, they would almost joke with her, and then they would retreat into formality.

Abruptly, they rose. There were at least two other people they had to interview before they would make their decision, they said, but she would be hearing from them soon. The only thing Sally was sure of was that she wouldn’t be getting that job. She had the strong sense that the next interviewee was probably the candidate they were seeking, and she was just there as a setup to fulfill the Human Resources requirement.

The interview was obviously over.

Dazed, all Sally could think of was that she hadn’t gotten the job, but she had gotten the clothes! Over $150 spent on this interview, with no return on investment! How could she tell Richard? This, on top of the overdraft? She wanted to run away somewhere and hide.

At home, in her bedroom, she began taking off the clothes. Maybe she could return them to the store, saying they didn’t fit, or that she really didn’t like the color. That was a possibility, even if they were sale items.  At least the purse and shoes were hers.  As she started taking the things out of her purse, she noticed the unopened mail. Getting a pair of scissors, she cut open the envelop and reached inside. Unfolding the letter, she saw a check spiraling down to the floor. It was for $2,500 and it was addressed to her!

Momentarily distracted by the amount of the check, she methodically examined every inch of it, front and back, looking for the dreaded words: “This is Not a Valid Check.” But it was, in fact, a valid check and it was, in fact, made out to her! Who was it from? She scanned the letter.

Of all things, it was a sweepstakes prize!

Sally entered every sweepstakes promotion that crossed her mailbox, long ago ceasing to buy anything, but meticulously following every direction “if not ordering at this time.” And now, it had paid off! This was her money, her reward for those years of patiently and loyally sending in the sweepstakes! She was so proud that she had kept at it!

But Richard wouldn’t be proud. First of all, he didn’t know that she had continued to enter the sweepstakes, after he had yelled at her for buying all those magazines and books a couple of years ago. Secondly, he would probably not view this as “her” money, especially after she told him about the overdraft and the purchases she had made today.

It was almost time for Richard to come home. Dreading the approaching  confrontation, she grabbed her purse and ran back to the car. Any place else was better than being here!

An hour later, Sally drove into the garage. There stood Richard – smiling – holding flowers! He opened the car door and helped her – gently – out of the car and into a big bear hug. “I’m so glad you are home!” he said. “Oh, Richard, you won’t be glad when you find out what I’ve done!” And, sobbing, she told him all about the day’s events.  All, that is, except about the check.

Amazingly, he didn’t get mad. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he said “Let’s go  into the house. I’ve got something to show you.” There on the kitchen table was an envelop. “Open it,” he said. The card showed two bunnies side by side in the grass.  Inside, the two bunnies were rolling in four-leaf clovers.  It was a “Thank You” card that read:

To The Love of My Life

“Thank you for loving me

In spite of my imperfections.

Thank you for loving me

When I lost my sense of direction.

Steadfastly you stood beside me

When I thought my life was over.

And now it’s your turn, darling,

To roll with me in the clover!

Richard then explained that he had been working hard on a big project at work, and that his long hours had paid off – literally! He had gotten a promotion and a raise that was more than the equivalent of Sally’s lost salary. The only thing he regretted, he told her, was that all the long hours had taken their toll on him, and he was worn out. And until he actually got his raise, money would still be tight. Too bad they had to cancel their vacation.

“I can help with that,” she said, handing him two round-trip tickets to Hawaii. “And all paid for, too!”  She put her finger across his lips, as he started to ask questions. “Just call it my project money,” she laughed. “I think it’s money well spent!”

A few years ago, I thought I would try my hand at writing short stories and submitting them to those little magazines that you see as you stand in line at the checkout counter in grocery stores. They pay pretty good money. This story was written to the specification of 1500 words. I have added in a few more words for this publication. To my knowledge, this story was never published.

The Best of His Life

The Colonel looked up at the steps looming before him.  Damn! Why couldn’t she have her office on the first floor?  Thirteen steps.  He could have taken them three at a time in his younger days, but not now.  He had been in great shape then. Lean. Muscular.

Handsome enough to get the prettiest girl in school, too.  How he had managed to keep her all these years, he’d never know.  She said she didn’t mind those extra pounds, or that he had lost some hair. (She used to tease him that she was so short, she couldn’t see the top of his head anyway!)  But she did mind that cough. She called it “rheumy,” and said it sounded serious. Wanted him to go to the doctor.  Hell! Doctors were no good.  They just wanted to poke around, ask silly, embarrassing questions, and make pronouncements: Stop Smoking!  Lose Weight!  Slow Down!

To tell the truth, he’d been considering retirement.  So much hassle at work nowadays.  Young people half his age coming in at twice his salary, telling him what to do.  Him, with 25 years experience at this job, not to mention his military experience! How dare they!  It was enough to make him quit.  If they wanted to call it retirement, so be it.  A man shouldn’t work where he’s not respected.

That’s what brought him to this building.  It looked like an old house – no, an old home – a lot like the house he grew up in.  Two stories, gingerbread trim, lots of character. Not like the houses in the neighborhood he lived in now.  Not a lick of personality in any of them.  Brick houses with white siding front porches, not wide enough to hang a swing on to sit in at night.  Nothing interesting to watch anyway.

All his neighbors were into doing whatever worked up a sweat – running, shooting baskets, soccer moves, in-line skating – and they did all this while pushing baby strollers!  Never saw so many babies! Didn’t these people know the planet was overpopulated?  He and June had produced two children, and they had produced two children.  Theory of sustainability – two, replaced by two, replaced by two, and so on.  Two by two.  Sounded Biblical…

Biblical.  Accountability.  End-of-Life.  Meet Your Maker.  Can’t do a proper job if you’re always thinking about the end of things.  Maybe it was time to go.  Always said if you can’t produce, get out.  But he wasn’t ready to go yet, he realized.  There was the sense that something else had to be done.  Things at work might be over, but his life wasn’t yet complete.  Being forced out by “things” wasn’t fair.

Not fair to June either.  She deserved better.  How lucky he felt, having her by his side.  Not a day went by that he wasn’t reminded in some way of his good fortune.

Fortune. That’s why he was here.  June had asked him to talk to her friend Callie.  Not  his friend.  They had never met, but June and Callie were friends from childhood.  “Sisters by choice,” June once said.

“Just talk to her about work, and retirement, and the things you are thinking about…” June had said.  “This is what she does for a living, listening and advising, using her gifts to help others.”

Oh, yes.  There was the matter of her gifts. Callie was a psychic, plain and simple.  No matter what other people might call it, she claimed to be able to look into the future and advise you – for a price.  He had to admit the price was reasonable.  Because of her friendship with June, this was to be a “free consultation.”  He wondered: “if you get what you paid for,” what would he have? But then, what did he have to lose?

So here he was, trying to negotiate these blasted stairs without coughing.  He must have a touch of asthma.  Guess talking to a psychic wouldn’t matter – she wouldn’t be asking all those questions that a doctor would.  She should know!

He knocked on the door.  It opened easily.  “Won’t you come in?” said the pleasant woman who looked up at him.

Not what he expected, not at all what he expected.  Must have been thinking of a gypsy-type woman, although he knew June would never be friends with such as that.  But he felt at ease with this woman, as if he had known her for years.  June had spoken often of her, so he did know about her, yet she seemed familiar beyond that.

Of course! It came to him in a flash.  They looked enough alike to be sisters!  My God! He had never thought of there being two Junes – yet here she was, same height, same honey-colored hair, same smudgy-blue eyes.

Callie was murmuring something about his having been ‘right on time.’ Of course he was on time!  He couldn’t abide tardiness.  Show up early, work late.  That was the way to succeed! Touching his elbow, she guided him to a large overstuffed chair, and indicated that he was to put his feet up on the ottoman.  She sat in a chair nearby and leaned back, fingers of one hand crossed with fingers of the other.

“June tells me you are considering the pros and cons of retirement – ?”

He nodded.  Taking in the room, noting how ‘normal’ it all seemed, his gaze came back to Callie.

“I know you are evaluating when you might possibly leave your…position?”

He knew this technique well, making statements that were actually questions, and then pausing so long you had to fill in the silence.  Used to make him mad when his boss did it – sounded so damn know-it-all. Never knew how to handle it then.  Didn’t know now.

“Have you thought about what you and June might do, where you might go, if you did take retirement now?”

This was a real question. Demanded – deserved – an answer. He looked into her eyes and said “Yes, I have.”

He was not prepared for the effect these three words had on her.  Callie recoiled as if she had been slapped!  She put one hand up to her face, and held it there, while she righted herself in her chair with the other hand.

Leaning forward, eyes fixed intently on his, she spoke slowly. “What if you walked into your office and told them that you were leaving now because you had more important things to do with your life?  What would happen?”

Wonderful scenarios immediately came to him – travel, boats, wind, hot sunshine, sunsets on the water, sunrise on deck, insects humming, birds singing, fragrant flowers, Monet landscapes, sitting with June, talking about their lives together while sipping cool drinks, sending emails to the poor miserable chaps at work who were stuck there at their desks, having to put up with bureaucratic crap, never feeling appreciated, knowing precisely how a thing should be done with no one to listen or care…yes, YES, YES! It felt wonderful just to think about it!

Callie reached out and took his thick hairy hands in hers. (Callie’s hands were so like June’s dainty hands, not painted up claws like those women at the office had.)

“Honor. Obligation. Responsibility.” She allowed these words to sink in.  “I know these are very important to you.  But I have never had such a strong feeling as I am having at this moment that you would be very smart to quit your job today and get started realizing your dreams! If you do, I see these next six months as being the best of your life!”

Six months later, at the Colonel’s funeral, June held on to Callie’s arm.  “I don’t know what you told him that day he came to you, but when he got home he was like a new man!  He called the office and told them to pack up his things and mail them to him, and then he put the house up for sale!  We found a buyer in two days and bought a small yacht that afternoon.  We lived every day of the next six months to the fullest.  He was the happiest I have ever seen him!  He had quit smoking (“Don’t need ’em!”) and had lost weight.  Did you tell him to do that?  I know when he got home from your place he said there was no need to see a doctor.  Said you told him the best of his life was ahead of him…”

Callie said, “When he opened his mouth to speak, June, the cancer shot out at me like a huge black tongue!  It almost knocked me off my chair.  I knew he wouldn’t want to die in a hospital bed, lingering for the few months he had left.  And so – God help me! – I sent him on a six-month adventure!”

HE LOOKS AT HER

He looks at her

like my dog looks at steak.

He smiles at her,

delighted to be in her presence!

His jaw, resting on his hand, is firm.

his smile is lopsided, a little goofy.

“I only have eyes for you” is the clear message

he sends.

His eyes are riveted on

her lips,

her eyes,

her face.

He listens to every word she says,

with no distractions.

“I understand,” he says,

as he leans forward,

eager to hear more.

He’s not lecturing,

or explaining,

or teaching,

or telling her anything.

He’s just enjoying her company.

Clearly, they’re not married.

This poem (above) was written at a Cracker Barrel in Murfreesboro, TN. Somehow I am able to write in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of a busy restaurant, whereas my very quiet office is the best place for editing and re-writing.

REMEMBERING WHEN…

She glances too quickly

towards the door

as it opens –

Sitting at her table,

eating breakfast.

Then she raises her cup

 to her lips

to hide their trembling.

She knows he won’t come

Yet she hopes…

Eating together in public

is too public

and can’t be done.

Loving together

in private

is too private

And shouldn’t be done.

(Why does restaurant coffee

always taste bitter?

Or is it only this way

at the cheaper hotels?)

It seems to her

that breakfast

shouldn’t be eaten alone.

Even steak and biscuits

don’t substitute for

companionship.

A waittress friend told me that everyone who comes in brings a story with them, and some are more easy to read than others…

FIRE

I watch the fire go from new logs,

with flames spitting blue and yellow,

to the dull red and gold of pulsating embers.

Someone stirs the new logs,

repositioning them for maximum burn,

and the flames perform a lively dance!

I watch, mesmerized…

Later, as the fire dies down,

and burning bits of wood drop into the ashes,

I watch the constant irregularity of it,

and I am fascinated.

And now I am watching as the embers glow less brightly,

still pulsating,

still full of fire,

their impact diminished only by Time.

Long ago, someone came

and moved me

so that I

could burn properly.

Then, you came,

not so long ago,

and stirred me

so that flames leaped up, like so –

And bits of fire,

filled with the hotness of desire,

fell down into the ashes

of my first love…

And now I pulsate

and I glow,

remembering the fire

and the desire

that you both showed me.

This was written on a very cold, windy, snowy day when I ventured into a Cracker Barrel store to get warm and full. Their fireplace added a dimension of nostalgia and resulted in this poem, which I love…

Being raised in the Deep South, I lived most of my life under the admonition “What Will The Neighbors Think?” Since our yards were huge and our houses were not jammed up close to one another, it never occurred to me that our neighbors might want to watch anything that I would do, or listen to anything that I might say, or even be aware that I lived next door. Now, of course, we are able to see and hear far more than we want to of what everyone in the world – or in Space, for that matter – is doing.

Last year, I entered a Vanity Fair Essay contest regarding the way we as Americans are seen in the world around us. I certainly didn’t expect to win a prize – I don’t recall what the prize was, actually – but I did want to put down on paper just what I felt like to be an American. And I wanted to do some research in order to know where we were going as a nation, which meant we had to find out where we had been, and how we got to where we are now.

To See Ourselves As Others See Us – Americans in today’s world

Americans are, economically speaking, a pear-shaped demographic. The head of the pear represents the few very wealthy Americans who either earned or inherited their money; the bottom of the pear, those who live in poverty. The rest of us comprise the vast middle class, the “haves” who do not have it all – yet. What determines part of our character as Americans is what happens when we decide which demographic we will aspire to stay in or rise out of. We are not bound by our circumstances. Ambition and initiative very much figure in the American psyche, as do laziness and boredom. The fact that we can change our situations as Americans sets us apart from most of the rest of the world.

Another key characteristic is our diversity. Ours is a land peopled by immigrants, people who came to America looking forward to that nebulous “freedom” that we consider so important even today. We are not all from the same place or from the same people. Our ancestors wanted to be free from religious tyranny, the religion of the State, and so they tolerated many different expressions of religion, even the right not to be religious. But make no mistake about it: our country was founded on religious principles. We still believe that religion is important enough to appear on our money; to give thanks before we eat; to begin and end government meetings. We do indeed “praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

Alexis de Tocqueville wrote in his “Democracy in America” that Religion in America takes no direct part in the government of society but it must be regarded as the first of their political institutions…This opinion is not peculiar to a class of citizens or to a party, but it belongs to the whole nation and to every rank of society.

Our forefathers stressed the fact that our freedom depended on a moral, religious citizenry.

The term “American” describes no one person. To picture who and what we are, think of meeting “The Americans” – a four-generation family. Each generation’s family members  represents his or her time here in a different way, yet all are members of one family. The time frame is roughly 1930 to 2013.

Our grandparents, in general, observed the tradition of the Father as the breadwinner, and the Mother as the homemaker. Meals were home cooked from food that was home grown. If they wanted something that cost more money than they had, they saved for it. God, Country, Family, and Friends were important – in that order. Authority was not questioned: teachers and church leaders and doctors and their elders were looked up to. People earned – and gave – respect. They were grateful for the blessings of life and its goodness. The family was the support system for each family member and they took care of their own, no matter how hard it was. “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” was their mantra, if they had known what a mantra was.

Parents were the role models. We wanted to grow up to be just like our fathers and mothers. They had been through two World Wars, separated by the Great Depression – a dark time. The survivors learned to assess their wounds and count their blessings. They had their priorities in order. Our parents wanted the best for us, and while we were exposed to the basics of their generation – hard work, religion, education, family – we determined that when we became parents, we would work harder, earn more and give more opportunities to our children.

If success meant moving away from family and friends to accomplish these goals, then so be it. Our support system became the people we worked with in the new jobs in the new towns we moved to. We worked long and hard because it was “for the children” and therefore, worth it. We wore ourselves out – and worked ourselves to death – for our families. Stress became a household word and its antidotes were many, from exercise to prescriptions to meditation to diets to non-prescription panaceas.

A new phenomenon emerged: Credit! No longer would we have to wait to have our heart’s desire – we could have it NOW! We could have whatever we wanted, and we wanted it all. We were consumed with consumption. The acquisition of things became the new measure of success.

America was subtly re-shaping itself in terms of its people. The heartland of America still held to the traditional values, but around the perimeter of the country, the people reflected the stresses of City Life. As the pace of constant working accelerated, it became more difficult to stay together as a married couple. While teamwork was touted in the workplace, single parenthood became a more accepted option in the home. “The Children” became “The Children of Divorce.” Balancing work and family life became the goal for the successful single parent. Women became steely in their emotions; men became more emotional in their response to Work and Life. Not having children as a choice became a controversial option. Fulfilling oneself became accepted as a lifestyle.

Television began to have a huge impact on our lives. Initially, we gathered around the tube together; then we taped programs for later viewing; then latch-key kids watched alone without parental monitoring. Soon our children began to get their information and their values from TV. Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street were positive influences, but then television programming changed. It has been estimated that by the time a child reaches school age, he or she has watched more murders, rapes, robberies, and other heinous crimes than entire police precincts in their home towns. Constant exposure to vicarious violence and the degrading of others, nudity, strong language and disrespectful acts numb children to the consequences of their actions. When sensibilities are not developed at home or in our educational systems, we slowly lose our humanity.

Many Americans saw a formal education as a way to succeed, and most Americans believed that every child deserved a public education. We were most proud of our corporate successes for they showcased our vast wealth around the globe. We didn’t learn about “corporate culture” until later. This two-edged sword provided unimaginable opportunities for its workers while luring its corporate officers with the siren song of unimaginable riches. Our news media were zealous in exposing the irresponsible acts of our corporate and elected officials.

In her excellent essay on “Character and Corporate Influence”, Vicky Davis stated: At some point in our history, there was a fork in the road…Honesty, integrity and humanity are (now) characteristics held in low esteem. Greed, dishonesty and inhumanity are rewarded. Just as the magnetism of the poles is shifting, so too is our national character. Right is Wrong. Good is Bad. War is Peace. Marketed correctly, anything can be sold to the American people.

Our children, raised in abundance and relative peace, now modeled themselves on television idols and celebrities. They emulated their dress and their causes and they aspired to their lifestyles. They are willing to attempt outrageous things for a fast buck. They are obsessed with “image” while ignoring the illnesses it spawns – anorexia, bulemia, cosmetic surgeries. They are perceived as being self-absorbed and ignorant of any agenda other than their own. The banner of shallowness is held high, and thick skins enable reality programs to dominate programming. Good manners are not only not used, they are unknown.

Many Americans don’t see the value of learning any language other than their own. The need to do so is not pushed in our school systems nor encouraged in our homes. We are quite satisfied with our own lives and can’t be bothered with learning other equally valid lifestyles. “Think globally, act locally” is not an easy concept to grasp because it involves entertaining thoughts of something other than “the American Way”. We don’t know how to react to the idea that not everyone wants to be like us Americans. After all, we are Number One, aren’t we? Aren’t we?

Recent national and international tragedies have thrust a jagged mirror in our collective faces, and we have been forced to see ourselves as the world sees us. It is not a pretty picture for some. But for others, a more hopeful image emerges. For there is a great silent majority of people in our country who do not rush to register their uneducated opinions at the end of each TV news program on topics they know nothing about. This silent majority chooses to vote their opinions in our public elections, where they do  know a great deal about the issues and the candidates who promise to uphold their voting preferences. These people practice the old-fashioned American values that made our country strong and honored in earlier times. They VOTE!

Increasingly, Americans want to travel, to meet different people in distant places. They are willing to educate themselves to get the jobs that will pay for this lifestyle, but they are traveling light. The acquisition of things is not their goal; indeed, they are into simplification. They travel to experience the Earth and her people. They want to leave a legacy of peace and friendship and understanding – of stewardship, if you will. This generation learns by doing, by actually being there, by seeking to learn about everything first-hand, including learning the language. They are perfectly willing to entertain a lifestyle other than the one they experienced growing up American. And they are open to embracing differences and finding their place among those ideas and people and places who are different. They do not think that doing so will lessen their stature as Americans. And for the first time in a long time, these Americans give me hope.