The Black Friday Snooze

Ah yes, Black Friday. But before we get to that, did you have a nice Thanksgiving? I did. It was hectic but enjoyable. 

Having the power to write the day as I saw fit, I made Black Friday the antithesis of Thursday. I spent it on the sofa. 

Instead of running around the kitchen two steps ahead of myself in the throes of dinner preparations, my legs were folded under my laptop and my Blankie was draped over my shoulders, keeping me warm. 

Rather than barking orders at my charges, in the nicest tone I could muster, I spent Black Friday petting the sleeping cat beside me. Cats have the right idea. Cats rule. 

Stirring the gravy was replaced with stirring my muse. 

I don't remember how many years ago it was dubbed Black Friday but I understand the concept. It's an accounting term, the day retailers turn their bottom line from debt-red to profit-black by offering shoppers irresistible deals. It's a hopeful, prosperous sort of prediction, a win-win and bargain hunters eat it up, scampering from one store to another, frantic to fill their cart before the "sold out" signs go up. Some, like a woman cited on this evening's news, use pepper spray as a form of crowd control. She's serious. And maybe in jail. 

Do you shop on Black Friday? Were you a member of the mega crowd lined up in front of Target? If so I commend you. You're good for the economy. You probably have all your Christmas shopping done and you're working on the wrapping and mailing when you're not organizing your medicine cabinet. You rock. 

Me, I'm more of a last minute person. Around the third week of December I start to feel motivated to get a few items. Somehow it all works out. Once I figure out how, I'll let you know. 

I'm convinced that my single-handed defiance won't cause any kind of uproar. I don't have enough cache to sway public opinion and I doubt Wall Street is in a dither. I don't have any plans to form an anti-Black Friday crusade. Others can do that. Maybe those "Occupy" people. They're better suited for such undertakings.  

Although global revolutions have their place, I'm more interested in pursuing personal ones. But some things probably won't be revolutionized any time soon. I'm pretty set in my ways on this one. Likely, I'll spend next year's Black Friday exactly how I spent this one, sitting on my couch with my legs folded under my laptop and my Blankie keeping me warm and maybe after awhile, I'll get up and get some leftover turkey and give a tiny nibble to my cat. 

How did you spend your Black Friday? Be honest.

Elevator Escape

The following is another short essay on real life events. 

The telltale "ding" alerts the growing after-lunch crowd situated in the lobby. They migrate towards the opening elevator as I toil with the option of including myself or hanging back. It's one of those decisions that holds much more weight in retrospect. At this point my only concern is whether or not my body will be one too many. At the last second I decide to go. 

I should have waited. 

I force my arm to stay straight but it would rather rise and shield my nose from what is clearly the recycled aura of a dozen consumed lunches. But at the risk of offending someone, I just try not to breathe. 

My eyes scan my fellow passengers and I smile to myself. Sure enough, other than two of them in the opposite corner whispering to each other, it seems like everyone is looking up, scrutinizing the lighted numbers above the door as if this highly procedural event might veer from normal. Funny how we do things on autopilot.  

The doors open and people file out. More people. Like water, they pour out until the glass is almost empty. Almost. 

His energy is palpable and haunting. It grabs at me like a bitter wind and I'm instantly defenseless. He stands there on the opposite side of the elevator. Staring. 

On some barely perceptible level, I'm chastising myself for not paying better attention when coworkers spoke of him. The fear they felt in his presence. The deranged look he transmitted. Menacing. Evil. So this is who they were talking about. 

The fight or flight zings my adrenaline and I labor to remain clear headed. The stairs. Get away!  

Like a robot, my hand goes up to halt the closing doors. I step off the elevator and feel a sense of victory at the distance I'm putting between him and me. I stride towards the stairwell. As I grab the doorknob, I steal a quick glance to my left. His face is inches from mine! I'm mystified by his stealth and how he got here, undetected by my hypervigilance. 

He doesn't speak. I don't speak. I let go of the doorknob. Alone, in the stairwell? With him? 

The adrenaline is now palpable. It propels me down the hall towards a closed door. I open it and with a dry throat, relay my anxiety to an apathetic secretary. Only later will it occur to me how inappropriate her inaction is to me, a young woman in trouble.    

Eventually, I peak my head out the door into an empty hallway and tentatively work my way upstairs to the office and the comfort of my coworkers.  

And this becomes etched as one of the most terrifying days of my life. 

Any scary moments you'd like to share?

Adventures on Larch Mountain

Music boomed from the backseat speakers as we bounced and swerved our way out of the city. Ignoring internal safety promptings, I perched myself on the middle hump between the seats so I could be closer to Steve. In three hours, my shift would start so a drive to the country seemed like a fitting way to spend our together-time.

Dark clouds were gathering and icy rain was spitting on the windshield but we wouldn't let the typical late-November weather discourage us. We were both native Oregonians. Cold rain was in our blood.  

As we climbed, the road narrowed and there were fewer and fewer oncoming cars. Oak trees and pastureland gently morphed into towering Douglas Firs skirted by native sword ferns. I scoured the sidelines for wildlife but the land seemed barren and desolate. The higher we climbed the darker it felt, save for the few large areas where an early snow was apparently thick enough to persist. 

A large metal gate signified that we'd reached the end of the main road. Just to its left, smooth-as-glass snow covered the ruts of a gravel road that led down into deeper woods. 

Momentary discouragement was quickly snuffed out by Steve's thirst for adventure. "There's a road," he said. "We'll just take it." Then, in hopes of getting me fully on board, "Come on, it'll be fun." 

His fearless prodding was met with my anxious protestations. "Let's not! It looks kind of scary. We don't know where it goes." 

"Yeah. So let's find out."  

It took maybe a mile to figure out that this road was going nowhere. Maybe Steve was getting bored. Or maybe my anxiety was finally getting on his nerves. Whatever the case, as soon as the vegetation widened, Steve turned the car around to head back. 

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We didn't get very far before the tires began spinning. We'd completely lost traction. 

"Hmm, it's icy," Steve said, while putting it in reverse. 

My anxieties grew with each attempt to gain footing and climb the hill that seemed to elude our attempts. We'd gain traction, go five or so feet, then start sliding again. As time wore on, our efforts seemed futile and my anxiety, always a loyal companion, had reached panic mode. 

"Let's walk back up to the main road. Hopefully someone will drive by and stop to help us." 

We hadn't walked very far when something on the side of the road caught my eye. 

"Look!" I said pointing to thick chain links, partially buried under browning white. At that point in my life, rusty things didn't have they allure they possess now. The only reason I mentioned them at all was because it seemed odd that here sat a partially submerged product of man in the midst of God's country. 

Steve, however instantly went from quiet worry to animated hope as he bent down, grabbed the exposed chain, pulled and shook the snow and icy bits off what appeared to be tire chains. Two of them. Sitting here on the side of the road like they were just waiting to be discovered and employed. Like some divine hand placed them here. For us.  

"These are exactly what we need to get out of here." 

It took some doing, but we made it up the icy hill and onto the wet pavement, back to the obligations of city life. Since that incident many years ago, Steve is a little more interested in what I think on a matter. If not, all I have to do is mention, "Larch Mountain..."  

To see my post on The Moment I Knew World Wide Blog Tour, please click on the tab located at the top of the page. As always, thank you for visiting. Your comments make my day. 

World Wide Blog Tour

Greetings, everyone. I am participating in the month-long world wide blog tour to celebrate the publication of The Moment I Knew. 

Rather than write a lengthy review focusing on one of the 30 amazing stories and poems, I thought I'd try something different. So, below are a few words on each of them to pique your interest. 


"The Other Side of the Doors" by Alice Coggin Bagley

When her role changes from spectator to participant, Alice's perspective changes too.

"Powerful Eyes of Love" by Cynthia L. Pauwells

Ancient traumas continue to haunt Cynthia but she now has the power of love to help her heal.  

"That Smile" by Mimi LaFrancis

An enigmatic smile and the gift of knowing help forge a new beginning for Mimi. 

"When Life Gets In the Way" by Deborah Starling-Pollard

Outward appearances often mask betrayal and emotional heartache but clarity can change all of that.

"Birthday Wish" by Noelle Stern

An unexpected token from the past becomes the truth Noelle is searching for. 

"Choices" by Tammy Gail Backlund

Facing the truth that she's living a double life, Tammy eventually finds deep happiness. 

"Good Enough for Whom?" by Corbin Lewars

A therapist's wisdom opens Corbin's eyes to her misguided motives. 

"The Rationale" by Rachel Malis

Life, like weather has its seasons. 

"The Strangers Inside Me" by Kate Lacey

Discovering the strangers takes many years but is a sweet reward.

"The Bump and Me" by Nadia Ali

The view from the mountaintop makes every step of the climb well worth it. 

"The Gift of True Love" by Alison Popple

A life-threatening situation becomes a confirmation of enduring love. 

"What I Gave to the Fire" by Kimberly L. Evans

Kimberly finds a perfectly symbolic place to rest and heal. 

"How Detachment Changes Everything" by Susan Black

Susan makes peace with the truth that there is only so much you can do. 

"One Punch" by Lisa Ford

A correct diagnosis is the first step towards recovery. 

"An Indelible Imprint" by Stephanie Ng

"It's not always the loudest voice that makes the strongest impact." 

"Last Call for Musicians" by Tami Herzer-Absi

The kindness of one inspires the kindness of another.

"My Sikh Mother and I" by Surinder Kaur-Saeltzer 

Surinder lovingly examines the cultural traditions of her people. 

"A Short Memoir of my Mother" by Connie M. Rushman 

Knowledge of her mother's difficult upbringing turns Connie's resentment into admiration.

"Gale  Force Wind" by Janel Bongiorno-Field

Physical healing takes time. Emotional healing takes longer. 

"Grief and The Pain of Death" by Donna M. Donabella

We feel sadness over loss until we think of the peace of those who've departed. 

"This One's On Me" by Grace Peterson--that would be me! 

A gift from a departed friend offers confirmation that all is well. 

"Going Home" by Jennifer Graves

The love of a grandma inspires a celebration of life. 

"The Letter" by Nadya Petkova

An opportunity to move forward means saying goodbye to the past. 

"The Labyrinth's Path" by Brenda Joyce

Brenda discovers that life, like nature  is rarely linear. 

"When the Music Dies" by Rebecca J. Love

Life doesn't always go the way we want but the detours can be a blessing too. 

"Complete Unknowns and Rolling Stones" by Elizabeth Willse

Making peace with uncertainty can be solitary but is universal. 

"Gone Forever" by Bonnie Skinner Crow

What's here today may not be tomorrow. 

"Mrs. Brown's Daughter" by Rene Graham

An accepting, caring adult can leave an indelible impression in a child's mind. 

"Roadkill" by Beth Myers

Things aren't always what they appear to be.

"The Cost of a Sweater" by Lisa K. Clark

Making the decision to help others can be fraught with anxiety but it gets easier with practice.

I've got a free copy of the book, The Moment I Knew to share with one lucky commenter. I'll randomly pick the winner in about a week or so and send you the book. 

Clicking on the book in the sidebar (above, left) will take you to the site where you can find more information on the book and links to more participating blogs. 

When was the moment you knew?