Life

Thank You Internetz

and the Coca-Cola company. For turning over the rock, and allowing light to shine on the racism that is alive and all too

Statue of liberty (Photo credit: rakkhi)

well in America.

I didn’t watch the Super Bowl, didn’t see the commercial that caused waves in our amber GMO enriched grain until this morning. If I was a gambler, I’d put money on the idea that many of the same people shitting themselves over a Coke commercial featuring people of color! language other than English! would consider me suspect, not a real American for the simple fact that I’m not a football fan, not a sports fan at all.

That’s what America’s all about, right? The Pilgrims came here so they could chase a ball and drink beer without any pesky brown people, or hearing anything other than the dulcet tones of English. Such a pure language, developed in a magical place without any influences from any other nasty, discordant languages. Mmm hmmm.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too highbrow for football. I was annoyed there was no new episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta last night–I assume because they didn’t think they’d get enough viewers. I know, I know, RHoA, more brown people. Black women. If it makes you feel better, dear racists, I found that out after eating a slice of apple pie. My dessert, after a dinner of arroz con habichuelas.

At this point, I don’t know if I’m more angry, sad, or disgusted. I do know I wish we were a smarter country. Smart enough for everyone here to understand we are a nation built on the backs of immigrants, after stealing the land from the Native Americans already living here. Guess they didn’t count, since they didn’t speak English. Guess what? You, in your racist spouting household probably have traditional meals included in your pure American Thanksgiving dinner that are actually throwbacks to your family’s heritage. Potato salad? German. Pasta? Italian. Butter cookies? Norwegian. Corn? Beans? Squash? The three sisters are Native American, and you should stop serving all three because Native Americans certainly aren’t what you mean when you talk about real Americans. And I’ve got another little surprise for you, all the rhetoric you’re spewing, about these Mexicans/Domincans/Haitians/Koreans/fillintheblankins, you know, the crap about not learning English, not becoming American enough for your taste, their strange foods, the way they’re taking your jobs and your wimmenz…not original or new. The same tired fearful and fear mongering lines have been spouted for two centuries of immigration. I’m very sorry to tell you, the good old days weren’t what you think they were.

English: A Turkish immigrant in New York (1912). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wish we were smart enough to understand that we are not an isolationist nation and never were. I wish we were smart enough to understand that instead of trying to fit everyone into a cracked mold that’s a figment of stultified imaginations, we need to move forward, leave this nonsense behind. I wish we were smart enough to understand that the affordable air travel, internet and cell phones have brought us more than resort vacations, Candy Crush, and sexting. We are living in a global economy. Guess who’s going to get ahead in a global economy? Those who are able to respect cultures other than the one they grew up in; those who speak more than one language, those who aren’t terrified by the sight of someone who has different skin color, eye shape, hair texture, religious beliefs, clothing or customs than their own. Those who don’t vomit hatred because their sacred game has been tainted by nothing.

That’s right, I said it. Nothing. You’re up in arms because the ridiculously priced commercials selling shit you don’t need during a game dared to show America as it is, not your fantasy of what it should be.

I just got off of the train. On the subway I hear English, spoken with a broad number of American accents. I hear English spoken with accents from Ireland, England, New Zealand, Pakistan, Guyana, Australia, South Africa, Ghana, Jamaica, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Papa New Guinea. I hear Spanish, Italian, French, German, Hebrew, Arabic, Tagalog, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Tagalog, Portuguese, Hindi, Vietnamese, Yiddish, Polish, Serbo-Croatian, languages from Scandinavia and languages from Africa. I don’t know who was born here, who’s an immigrant–documented or undocumented–who’s a tourist here to pump thousands of dollars into our economy. Shocking though this might be, I don’t care. It’s beautiful to my ears, part of being an American in New York.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in New England, including the more rural areas where it’s truly rare to see a person of color or hear a language other than English. Also beautiful, also part of America. I’ve spent time down South, where outside of the major cities you don’t hear as many different languages, but still a few, and see many people of color. Beautiful. I’ve spent time in the Southwest, where there are more Native Americans, and I heard bits of languages rarely if ever heard in NYC. Beautiful. Time in the Pacific Northwest, where I heard more Norwegian words and influences than I hear in the east, heard languages and saw faces originating from Alaskan Native cultures. Beautiful. To me, that’s what makes America. It’s vast, our population is huge and mixed, influences from all over the world are seen, heard, and felt in our in language, music, food, and clothing. My America isn’t more or less American than yours.

I want to be clear, when you say things like “I don’t mean you,” you do. You mean my children, my family, my friends, my neighbors. When my kid is chosen for a job over you or yours, it isn’t and won’t be because of looks or last name. It will be because he has always and continues to work his ass off, speaks three languages, knows how to be respectful and appreciative of all cultures and focus on commonalities in our global economy.

I’m not a politician, not a sociologist or anthropologist, not an academic, not in marketing or advertising. I’m not a mover or shaker in any circle, no impressive degrees, haven’t traveled the world, really not that smart. A plain old gal living on the fringe. But I know the commercial that prompted this latest round of bullshit has nothing to do with anything you’re whining about. It’s about the Coca-Cola company wanting to reach the broadest possible audience, so the next time you’re in front of a display in the store, choosing between Coke and Pepsi, you spend your dollars on Coke. And I will. Or I would, if I drank soda–or pop, or coke, depending on what region of the US you’re in.

What Big Stones You Have, Mrs Fringe

A rock, an island 😉

While getting ready to take Flower Child to art class this morning, I thought about the weather being nicer than it has been, I didn’t have to wear the megaboots, a couple of hours to myself…I’m a rebel, I have big ones– I’ll take the camera, and go into Central Park, take some pictures. I didn’t talk myself out of it, didn’t think about the fact that warmer doesn’t = warm, didn’t think about being tired, maybe I’d be better off just sitting on the couch and zoning out. I remembered to take the camera.

I didn’t remember to check if the camera battery was charged, and I didn’t think about a warmer day meaning the paths would be muddy and icky. So much like the rocks of Central Park, my stones aren’t quite as natural and rugged as they first appear.

Most of the rocks in Central Park were deliberately chosen and placed in the plans.

With my comfy old barely more than slippers squishing when they weren’t slipping and the red battery alert flashing, I figured I’d walk anyway, until the battery completely died.

Nope, doesn’t make me want to run.

The mainstay wildlife of the city, unimpressed by rising real estate prices or the polar vortex, they’re staying and they’re eating.

Sparrow?

These guys were finding plenty to eat.

The reservoir looked perfect, I wish had that damn back-up battery with me.

More than half frozen

Birds going wild.

This blue jay? made me think of my wanna be writing career. Out of season, he was loud, I stalked him from tree to tree, could see him way up high but every time I raised my camera he took off again. I squinted and got this one shot of his tail feathers way, way above me.

The last shot before the camera completely shut down.

Oh Mama!

This winter is feeling very, very long. I’ve barely taken my boots off in the last six weeks.

Sure they’re ugly, but they’re warm and dry.

You know I’m just waiting for beach season, but this morning it occurred to me we’re nowhere near the end of winter. Blargh. So I thought about what’s been good. Writing and editing have been very good.

Continuing to try and capture a sharp from the terrace moon pic…not as good, but getting there. This was from this morning, somewhere between 5:30 and 6am.

But not bad, getting closer.

Flower Child began art classes, excellent. Man Child has been home, which has been beautiful. He hasn’t been home for a good length of time since last winter, and I’m thoroughly enjoying having him here. He helps out, he cooks and bakes (really, really well), and he makes me laugh. As I’ve mentioned in the past, I like my kids.

Woke to fresh, home baked by Man Child cinnamon rolls the other morning…bliss.

His goal, for his time at home this winter involved driving. New York kids aren’t as driving focused as teens in other areas, so it isn’t unusual that he didn’t get a license as soon as the law allowed. But now it just makes sense, he’s been spending more and more of his time up North, and who knows where he’ll go when he graduates. So he got his learner’s permit within days of being home, and has been practicing. If staying up North is a consideration, this was certainly the winter to learn on, plenty of opportunity for finding out about driving in snow and ice.

Today he went to take his road test. Like any mother, I felt compelled to give last minute words of wisdom. With a song.

Stay the Hell Home!

Load em up and slide down Broadway.

So says the Mayor and Schools Chancellor of NY. Except wait, schools are open.

I will never understand these decisions. Stay off the roads! Visibility is terrible, the roads are terrible, trains are running but only local, dangerously cold, don’t call 911 unless it’s an emergency (no kidding!), State of Emergency…but schools are open, offices are open, just go ahead and use that magic teleporter to get to school and work, so you don’t interfere with the plows or interrupt the flow of the dollar.

There have been four fatalities in my neighborhood over the last week, pedestrians struck by cars/buses. I’m afraid to turn on the news and see what might have occurred during the storm yesterday and last night. Even today, the snow has stopped, but contrary to the image they’re showing of the street outside the mayor’s house, the streets aren’t all clean. The plows have obviously been through, or the snow would be piled much higher, but still far from “cleaned up.” And we’re back to frigid temps, so plenty of ice to go along with the snow that won’t be melting anytime soon.

Snow storm in NY photos. I would have gone into the park, but it was too freakin’ cold.

Pfft, NY, don’t let a little snow get in the way of $

Some are from yesterday afternoon, some from last night, a few from this morning.

Nothing stops restaurant delivery. This guy is “lucky” to have a moped available, most are on bicycles.

I know, it’s blurry, but I liked it.

Bless the EMTs, they’ve been going non-stop since the snow began.

Museum of Natural History, majestic no matter the season or weather.

oops, no recycle pick-up when it snows. All sanitation workers are doing snow removal/sand/salt

No garbage pick up, either. This stack will seem like a delicate wastebasket compared to what it will be in another 2 days.

oops. Being a delivery guy has to be one of the top 10 crappiest jobs during a NY snowstorm. Tip them well, NYers!

There’s a limited time for buildings/store/restaurant owners to get their sidewalks cleaned before they’re fined. Law suits have no such delay.

I have to make soup for a snowstorm. It’s the rules. Man Child baked bread to go with. 🙂

Alternate side of the street parking suspended for the day–happy car owners!

The salt, the salt, the salt. So painful on doggy paws. 😦 The ice it melts also causes pain. Can’t win for losing.

No rain, Mrs Carmichael–but plenty of snow. This is going to be a long winter, isn’t it? Stay warm and dry, Fringelings!

Comma Coma

Like a gazillion little commas.

Since finishing the draft of Astonishing, I’ve been worthless. Seriously, it sucked it all out of me. I know there is editing to do, revising to do, but I’ve yet to even sit and do a read through. And there is always editing/revisions to be done. If nothing else (ha!) I’ve got to address those pesky commas.

They know I adore them, know I won’t notice until later, so they sneak in, get fruitful and multiply between the pages of text. Each one a little love note to my fevered writing brain, slow down and think. Some say our mutual love is unnatural, I say we’re misunderstood. I want to keep each and every one, stop trying to get between us! Unless you’re an agent with interest and publishers in mind in which case ptooey i will stomp out those little marks like roaches revise the text into one long stream of consciousness

My love of this pedestrian punctuation is so great, Man Child penned an ode to us:

And,so,I,saw,no,shadow,from,anoth,r,parting.,In,my,youth,growing,up,as,a,young,boy,in,rural,K,ntucky,,I,r,m,mb,r,my,dog,,lassi,.,Lassi,,was,d,licious,dog,and,it,was,quit,,sad,wh,n,w,,had,to,,ast,h,r,out,of,n,c,ssity.,And,so,th,,sun,ros,,on,Notr,,Dam,,onc,,again!,Th,,gargoyl,s,w,r,,afoot,and,th,,ghostbust,rs,nowh,r,,to,b,,s,,n.,My,fri,nds,and,I,w,r,,fr,qu,nt,rs,of,th,,automobil,,shop,sp,cializing,in,ch,vy,,mon,ch,ri.,And,so,th,,girl,aft,r,having,com,,hom,,from,school,d,cid,d,to,wast,,tim,,idly,b,,at,th,,couch,in,st,ad,of,addr,ssing,th,,pr,ssing,cup,of,t,a,that,h,r,moth,r,d,r,ast,was,bringing.,Th,,t,a,is,known,as,African,d,w,for,it,is,produc,d,northw,st,rn,costa,rica,,which,is,in,south,Am,rica.,How,v,r,,aft,r,y,ars,of,studying,wat,r,charts,and,w,ath,r,patt,rns,on,,might,r,aliz,,that,th,,d,ws,from,Africa—ov,r,th,,cours,,of,millions,of,y,ars—,v,ntually,migrat,,from,to,south,Am,rica;,wh,r,,my,d,ar,fri,nd,Z,is,curr,ntly,r,siding,with,h,r,moth,r,,,xploring,th,,and,s.,FC,got,a,pap,r,cut,today.

There are others who would like to get between my love and I, citing disdain for my little Oxfordian friend, who toss around slanderous words like redundancy. Jealous, they’re all just jealous, wishing they had the freedom of intimacy, the long history we share.

If you couldn’t tell from my ramblings, my sleep has been a bit off for the past few days. Friday night I was snoring by 9:30. Unfortunately that left me wide awake at 3:30 Saturday morning. I thought by last night, I would be able to not only get a normal night’s sleep, I would get to sleep in this morning–MLK day, Flower Child has no school. And then I could be productive today, do my read through, maybe even make notes for when I’m ready to begin revisions. But no, my phone rang at 5:30. “Hello. Hello!” No one there. Crap. Then I had to pee. Double crap. Once I get up, I’m up, doesn’t matter if I had 2 hours or 8 hours of sleep. For the record, it wasn’t the phone ringing, it was my alarm. I forgot to turn it off, it’s set to go off automatically on weekday mornings.

Maybe I will be able to read through today. Maybe not. I’ve been thinking this could be the perfect opportunity to get back to a regular Yoga routine. It would be, if I didn’t have the motivation of a slug.

One of the things I like about waking early is seeing the sun rise. My apartment faces east, a beautiful way to have my first (or second) cup of coffee, on the terrace. I’ll share today’s.

Are you ready?

Looks like a promise of a good day, no?

Breaking News: Cold in NY, in January

Yeah, I know, this is more than the usual cold. Pretty sure the meteorological term is fucking freezing. Or en español, frio con cojones. But first it was strangely warm, and we saw a spectacular sunset as the temperature plummeted yesterday evening.

The view facing east, sun reflecting off of the buildings.

This being NY, nothing stops for weather (-12 windchill be damned) so it was school and business as usual today. I had an appointment that I expected to take about an hour.

Bring on the leeches!

After a quick consult, I was sent to the lab. Except the usual lab was closed for renovations, so I had to bundle up and head outside to walk closer to the river, and then register to wait. To register insurance info. And then wait for a broken printer which wasn’t fixed. And then register for the actual lab part of the lab. And then wait. And wait. Free entertainment, something broke on an upper floor causing flooding, and I was treated to an hour of alarms and flashing lights. This is a hospital and lab that is crazy crowded under the best of circumstances. Add in sub freezing temps outside (lots of accidents, illnesses, and people just looking for anything that will get them out of the cold), the second lab of the hospital being closed, and chaos on another floor, and well. Sigh.

I’ll admit, met a nice bunch of folks all talking about (surprise!) the weather. One reminded me of one of my mother’s friends, very elegant older woman there with her daughter for pre-op fun. I started to worry that I wouldn’t make it home on time to pick up Flower Child. I said this out loud (why?) and the group prodded me to go into the lab and tell them. When the lab tech came out and called my name, I stood up and this small group cheered for me. Not kidding. NY is never more wonderful than when faced with a challenge/crisis–be it natural or manmade.

I felt worst for the phlebotomist, the inner rooms of the lab were so cold, my hand was literally blue as she took my blood. I was only in there for five minutes, I can’t imagine how that woman was keeping her hand steady in the middle of an 8 or 12 hour shift. Thank you! After a mere four hours, I was on my way to the subway.

The show might go on, but the streets are strangely empty today. No one is loitering outside, everyone is bundled up and hurrying to be indoors. The streets along the hospital are usually lined with panhandlers/homeless. I didn’t see one today, and I’m glad, it means they’re all inside somewhere. Even the pigeons are suspiciously absent.

Just about everyone is as bundled as they can be and still navigate the steps down to the station. I saw two exceptions. One, a woman running to the train this morning in a short skirt and heels, no tights at all. Umm, honey, I know bare legs are awesome, but no one was admiring your daring. And another on the train, sure she was cute in her short peacoat and no hat. Young women always look good. But psst,

you would have looked just as cute in boots. At least put a pair of socks on.

I took note of the empty benches in the street and waiting for the light to change when I noticed this:

Sometimes I really don’t want to know.

I’m just ready to be done for the day, and join Big Senile Dog on his tempurpedic.

Warm and cozy.

¡A Tu Salud!

Français : Adèle of Champagne (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Happy New Year, Fringelings!

I was looking for an appropriate quote to inspire me for the coming year–or at least inspire me for a New Year’s post, and I found this:

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”–Theodore Roosevelt

I think that’s what I did over the course of 2013. Not a banner year, but hell, those don’t really exist for those of us on the fringe, do they? Still, not a bad year. Bad moments, scary moments, disappointments? Oh yes, plenty of those. But also some lovely moments, and I find myself further along on the path of acceptance, a là Theodore Roosevelt. I did what I could with what I had, where I was.

I wrote. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I wrote a few new short stories, two of which I’m pleased with. I held my breath and closed my eyes and posted one of my stories for all to see here on Mrs Fringe. I finished a WIP, Wanna Bees. I edited, I revised. I wrote a query letter for it, and did some half-hearted querying of it. It’s a light, romancey magical realism/urban fantasyish piece. I participated in a twitter pitch contest with it. Lesson learned, twitter pitching is not for me. And then I stopped querying it. Another lesson learned. I want to be that light hearted, romancey love conquers all woman who believes I can and will have it all. But I’m not. I’m a quirky old gal who will do anything for the people I love, adores each of my children so much it makes my heart ache, prone to the blues when I don’t get enough sunlight, with a tendency to think too much while wondering why, how can it be, and what if.

I want to write what (I think, I hope) I’m best at. So I put Wanna Bees to the side, and began a new WIP: Astonishing. I wish I had the magical combination of freedom, discipline, and a decent night’s sleep every night to produce a reasonable word count every single day. But I don’t. I’m more than 3/4 of the way through the first draft, and at the moment, I’m stuck. Pondering, as my friend Buzzie says. I swing between thinking I’ve really got something here and being convinced this is the suckiest suckage I’ve ever committed to paper (or keyboard) and I’m completely delusional to think any agent will ever be interested, let alone a publisher willing to put money towards it. Literary fiction, for God’s sake–something a good number of people don’t believe is a real thing, and assume anything categorized as such is code for pretentious, bloated, navel gazing prose. Still, I haven’t given up, and don’t plan to. A few people I respect and value who’ve seen excerpts have been very encouraging. They like it. Ask if it’s finished–because they want to read the rest. Completely cool, and completely terrifying.

I kept blogging, through times when necessity dictated more sporadic posts, I doubted anyone was reading, doubted whether any of my words should be out in cyberspace. Through Mrs Fringe I raged, I railed, I giggled. I’m glad I did, I’m glad you’re here, and have no plans to stop blathering any time soon. I made and deepened several friendships through blogging and through the writer’s forum.

All three of my kiddos are doing well. Moments of breath holding, nerves, fear, yup. But no out and out medical crises this year for them or Husband, woot!!

I will never be happy living hand to mouth in a cramped apartment, will never stop dreaming of a beach house, will never be blasé when faced with a mountain of medical bills, will never stop wishing I could do more and be more for my kids, will never stop wishing I could be more productive with the hours in my day, will never stop questioning the worth of myself and my words without the validation of a dollar; will keep dreaming of a dishwasher, a yard and garden, my own washer and dryer, a pert nose and perky boobs. But somehow in the year 2013, I did what I could, with what I had, where I am.

I hope to say the same in 2014, and I wish the same for all of you; my followers, my Fringelings, my friends.

Flags around the rink at Rockefeller Center, 2013

Stuck!

Motel (Photo credit: Thomas Hawk)

I want to be home. On my comfy couch. Drinking a cafè con leche and web surfing.

Instead, I’m sitting in a motel lobby somewhere in Massachusetts, drinking piss water that came out of the coffee pot, and inhaling fumes from the vinegar they just used to wash the floor.

The plan for the weekend: road trip, pick up Man Child, see Nerd Child perform in a school production of Comedy of Errors, go home. It all went well until the going home part.

I want to say first in all seriousness, Husband is the best driver I’ve ever known. I’ve driven with him in all kinds of conditions, he’s always in control, never gets nervous behind the wheel. Never say never. After 8000 years of being together, I’ve now seen him nervous. Last night the snow was coming down so hard, straight at the windshield, no lights on the road, no plows, no salt trucks. After leaving Nerd Child’s school, we drove for over two hours. It went from well, this is annoying to breath holding, to oh shit this is downright disorienting very quickly. Got about 40 miles.

C’mon, New England, would it kill you to tell a few of the plows we saw driving to actually, yanno, put the shovel part down and plow?

Snowstorm outside Casper, WY (Photo credit: adventurejournalist)

So yes indeed, we had to find a place to crash. I’m thankful we were able to without any hassles once we were able to get off the highway. I am sitting with Man Child beside me, which is lovely. Nerd Child was fabulous onstage. And Flower Child is going to be very happy when she wakes up and sees it’s only snowing lightly now. It was scaaaary last night.

I spoke to Fatigue about an hour ago. He told me the snow has turned to rain in the city. I’m wondering if the motel has a shovel we can borrow to dig our car out. And where the nearest Starbucks is. Trust me, if you were drinking the swill I’m drinking right now you’d be crying for a Starbucks too.

Winter is Coming

PARKA SQUIRREL TRACKS ALONG THE WEST BANK OF THE SAG. THE ESKIMOS MAKE THEIR WARMEST WINTER PARKAS FROM THE PELTS OF… – NARA – 550466 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This year, I’m trying something new. I’m going to do/wear whatever I need to in order to stay warm. That’s right Fringelings, I am going to blow the dust off my change purse and go with the warmest, not the least expensive. I say this every time I need to get new winter gear, but this time I mean it.

There’s a pair of boots I’ve been eyeing for three years, super waterproof and warm but silly overpriced. I finally found them online in a size sort of close to mine (in August) for a greatly reduced price and bought them. They’re a silly color. Have I mentioned the ugly factor? And they are *gasp* flats. But they are warm.

“Improvised winter boots”. Improvised Winter boots. Battle of Stalingrad. Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. Русский: «Эрзац-валенки». Эрзац-валенки. Сталинградская битва. Великая Отечественная война 1941-1945 годов. Россия, Волгоград (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I researched the warmest winter coats. Yes. Research. I’m an obsessive lunatic, remember? Found the perfect coat two years ago. It’s been discontinued and isn’t for sale anywhere. Ok, found the second best one. More expensive. After two years of watching, I accept that this brand never goes on sale, doesn’t matter where you buy it. Never seen it at any of my usual discount haunts. Two weeks ago I dragged Husband to a fancy department store I haven’t been in since my pre-children days. Found the coat, tried it on. Very, very warm. And ugly. And expensive. Now picture Husband’s face when I said, “okay, let’s go home.”

Lucy watches Little Ricky’s birthday party from the window ledge. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Aren’t you going to buy it?”

Pfft. He must have me confused with someone else. I have to think about these things first. It’s only been two years since I started watching it online. Come on, a lot of money for an ugly coat? Much angst is required. Plus, then I stopped at another section of the store and tried on another coat. $10,000. For a coat! Still, fun to put it on, and it gives me a giggle every time I think of the lewd joke Husband made after we left the store. He’s the king of deadpan.

Ok, it’s getting cold. I’m ready. Still, no way I’m paying absolute full price for anything. If I opened a credit card account in fancy shmancy store, I could get ten percent off. Better than nothing. Back to the store we went, in between dog walks yesterday. Guess what I forgot? These fancy stores only buy a few pieces of each item. None left in my size or the color I wanted. Pretty sure Husband’s head was going to explode if I didn’t Buy. The. Damned. Coat. The saleswoman found one for me in another store across the country, and is going to have it shipped.

Now I didn’t dress up to go shopping, or put on makeup. This was a quick run in between picking up dog poop, come on. It isn’t a fun day out for me, it is a necessary ~~torture~~ ~~evil~~ errand. Plenty of time for the sweet saleswoman to chat while I filled out the credit card thingie and then she arranged for shipping. Idle chit chat about how quickly those coats sold out, especially the smaller sizes (not as small as I used to be). Why the smaller sizes? Well, because we small Puerto Rican women love this particular coat. Hmm. For the record, the saleswoman’s accent was decidedly East European. Have I ever mentioned that Husband is in sales? Has been since forever. He is an excellent sales person, always calm and friendly-but-not-too-friendly, never let’m see you sweat. Did she just say? Why yes, yes she did. After 8000 years of being friends and then being together, this could be the first time I’ve seen Husband look shocked in public, in front of a stranger. Shocked to the soles of his Dominican feet.

Before we could fully process this, the saleswoman helpfully, generously let me know I could get ten percent off of anything else I’d like to purchase that day. Pause for a deep and meaningful look, complete with raised eyebrows. “Anything. Even cosmetics, you must need some.”

I don’t know why shopping isn’t more fun.

shop or hang , that is the question (Photo credit: gandhiji40)

Mrs Fringe Gets Nekkid!

Exposed, and Overdue for a Pedicure

A couple of weeks ago, I posted about the idea of posting one of my short stories, asking for thoughts from the Fringelings. The majority opinion was do eeeeet. I thought about it, and I’m doing it.

This certainly feels like I’ve stripped and opened the bedroom blinds. Foolish, maybe. But maybe some fresh air will do me good.

I’ve created a separate page here where the story is, and where any future stories might go, in an attempt to keep this house of Fringe clean and tidy. Perma-link to the page says “Fiction” on top of the home page, next to “About Me” and “Favorites.”

My short stories usually come into my head kind of fully realized as a brief scene, or a snapshot. No muse, no magic, all the fabulous ideas and mental pictures don’t mean shit without that picture being followed up by BiC. Butt in Chair (or in my case, couch) and doing the work of writing. Otherwise, I assure you, my imagination is vivid and fabulous, I’d have been on the New York Times Bestseller list three times over already, with at least one Pushcart Prize under my belt.

One afternoon last year I was out walking a dog through Central Park. I had a moment, in my mind I saw the picture of an old, broken down Brooklyn fisherman talking to a young girl by the water in the 1980’s, saying the word miserosion, the miseries of life translating into eroding body parts. At the time I was working on Wanna Bees, so when I got home I wrote down the word, a couple of notes, and left it to be written when I was done with the romance/magical realism of Wanna Bees.

But the idea morphed, as these things sometimes do. What if the story was hers, the young girl, long after meeting the fisherman, as an adult who has had years of broken souls drawn to her, a lifetime of if-it-wasn’t-for-bad-luck magical realism? And so started Astonishing, my current WIP.

“Miserosion” is Tommy’s story, back in the 80’s, a snapshot leading up to his meeting with Christina, the young girl who becomes the broken woman of Astonishing. Yes, it is magical realism.

Fringelings, I hope you read it, I hope you comment. Most of all, I hope you feel something, whether it’s your kind of story or not. It’s dark, and won’t be for everyone.

I hope you don’t mind, I left my socks on. Now I’m getting a draft!