A re-post...

I wrote this 45 bajillion years ago and am now re-posting it as an attempt to get back into fiction...maybe someday I'll even finish Marcus' Story...

Let me know what you think...

No, really. Criticism is welcome.

--------------------

"Why don’t you tell me again how it happened. From the top.”

Opal glanced around worriedly. Her eyes swept past the police, the paramedics. Thoughts of Paul and his inevitable lectures about how a woman her age shouldn’t be driving filled her head. Ever since that little fender bender last year he’d been just unbearable. She hadn’t even been hurt! Just a few little bruises. Paul certainly had a temper.

The flashing blue lights of the police car snapped Opal back to the present. “He came out of nowhere!” She blinked back tears. It was true. Maybe she had been going a little too fast, and of course that curve was the site of many an accident, but the young man on the motorbike must have been invisible until the moment of impact.

Officer James sighed. Miss Opal was going to be in a world of trouble if that boy in the ditch didn’t pull through.

They both looked up as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance. One of them caught Officer James’ eye and shook his head slightly. It didn’t look good.

"Come along with me to the station, ma'am, and we'll talk more. And we'll call your son, too."

As he helped her into the patrol car, Quentin James thought back on his eight years in the Highway Patrol. Never had he seen an accident like this one. The motorcycle was actually embedded into the front of Opal's Cadillac. They hadn't been able to identify the boy on the bike yet but he hadn't been wearing a helmet. If he hadn't been thrown to the water-filled ditch, he would have surely died already.

Officer James looked up warily as a black BMW screeched to a stop in front of his patrol car. Must be the old lady's son.

"Mother!" The kid was out of the car and scuttling towards them, engine running and door open, barely stopping to put the car in park. He looked more angry than worried. "Mother! What were you thinking?"

Opal cringed, shrinking into the back of the car. "Paul, please..."

Officer James tried to keep the peace. "Son, your mother's had quite a scare. This isn't the time to be berating her."

"Officer, is my mother under arrest?"

Quentin didn't like the man's tone, but he was used to dealing with all sorts in his line of work. "No, sir, she's not under arrest. I do need to talk to her, though, and get this mess straightened out. How did you even know about the accident?"

"It's a small town, Officer." Paul looked at Quentin disdainfully. "Good news sure travels fast."

"Son, you can either come along to the station with me and help get this taken care of or you'll have to go."

Paul shot his mother an evil glare.

What kind of relationship must they have? Officer James was baffled at the malevolence in Paul's face. He really seems to despise her.

"She just doesn't listen!" Paul spat the words out, giving each one it's own sentence.

"Now just calm down." Officer James tried to diffuse an increasingly explosive situation.

Paul took several deep breaths and appeared to gather himself up.

Officer James' radio squawked to life. After a hushed conversation with the disembodied voice on the other end, Quentin turned back the Opal and Paul. "He died en route. Ma'am, you have the right to remain silent."

"Oh, no you don't!" Paul darted to his car, ruffled around in the glove compartment and turned back, triumphant, with a gun in his hand. "Leave her alone," he said. "I'll deal with her later."

Instantly, Quentin's own gun was in his hand. "Boy, you don't want to do this. Just think about what you're doing."

"I am thinking. You're going to arrest my mother! I can't let you do that." A wild look had come into Paul's eyes. The look of a man on the brink of losing control.

A light rain started, darkening the street around them and whispering through the trees.

"Put the gun down." Quentin spoke firmly, yet calmly.

Paul sighed enormously and rushed him, closing the space between them in five giant bounds, gun in hand.

A deafening roar.

Opal looked at Officer James, his gun still smoking. Paul lay in a heap at her feet, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him as the rain began falling in earnest. Silently, she began to cry.

*Insert Fanfare Here*

We got a house! And not just any house. The most beautiful, gorgeous, perfect house of all time.

God loves us.

We move in on the 30th. I think it needs a name...any suggestions?

Moving again?!

Yes, again. The powers that be have been so gracious as to allow us to remain in student housing though we haven't been students for quite some time now. Alas, we are now being kicked to the curb. And we have to be out by the end of the July.

Also, we have a week's "vacation" scheduled right in the middle of this mess. Actually it's a revival Steven's preaching up north. The dates were picked long ago and it's too late to change anything now.

I don't know how we can be expected to accomplish all that needs to be done in less than 40 days, while working a full-time job and managing various church events.

Here's another dilemma. Where the heck are we going to live? We are hoping to expand our family very soon and (I) don't wish to have a baby in an apartment (ie, I'd like to be settled down, preferably in a house, since I don't ever want to move again. Ever.) However, houses are very permanent. And much more expensive than apartments, at least month to month. If we get a house, I'm pretty much stuck in my job for the next 30 years. And I've always hoped that if we had a child I could stay home with it. While Steven could easily become a stay-at-home dad since he doesn't have a "traditional" job, I am already jealous of him for that.

I'm completely screwed, right?

I don't think there is an easy decision here, I guess I'm just looking for prayer and advice on what we should do next.

So it's official...

Steven and I are attempting to become preggers. I'm stressed and emotional. Which causes me to further stress over the future, since pregnant ladies are (often) emotional wackjobs. So here's what I'm doing:

Blogging, to get my feelings out in the open.

Taking prenatal vitamins in anticipation of a future parasitic attachment.

Reading everything I can get my grubby little paws on regarding pregnancy and delivery.

I've been passively trying to get in shape but am now going to work in earnest. I refuse to change my diet, though. Dieting goes against everything I hold dear. Namely, delicious food in large quantity. If I want to eat cheese for three meals a day, why shouldn't I? Life is too short, right? (Of course, I'll be sure to eat balanced, healthy meals, but I won't deprive myself of delicious, comforting, luxurious food.)

Is there anything else I should be doing to prepare? No sex stuff, sillies, my mom reads this blog!

Meet Layne

My newest nephew, Layney, affectionately christened by me as "Frog Legs." You're just meeting him now...he's already an old man but I make no apologies for my laziness. He's the sweetest, best baby ever. At least until the next one is born.

Love you, Layne.

Enormous Love

This, my dear ones, is Natural Tunnel in Duffield, Virginia. The picture here hardly does it justice. We were looking down upon it from a great height. There is a ski lift that will take you down for a closer look. If you peer in closely, you can see a set of railroad tracks just big enough for a toy train. What I am saying is that this cavern is immense.

My parents and I went to visit it when Steven and I lived in Kentucky. I love going new places with my parents; they always have interesting perspectives.

My dad said (and here I am directly quoting) "If God picked up the earth like a bowling ball, that's where His thumb would go." My mom and I laughed, of course, but I have always remembered that...God's thumb hole.

What a big God we serve. What are our problems in the face of His awesome power? I say this to you, and to remind myself also. God made us, He loves us, and He's in control.

O come, let us sing unto the LORD: let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. For the LORD is a great God, and a great King above all gods. In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also. The sea is his, and he made it: and his hands formed the dry land.

Psalm 95:1-5

He loves you, beloved.

Watching Him Work...

Entering, I find a seat in the back and sit, presumably a darkly dressed melancholy girl, not to be disturbed in grief. Presumably invisible in a place like this.

He immediately sets to work, shaking hands, hugging necks, speaking words of condolence and remembrance.

I watch as he greets the family, murmuring and some of them even smile. Some even laugh.

He greets the funeral director, them in matching appropriate suits, dark and somber and dark blue/gray ties.

The service begins. Those who were smiling remember themselves, frown and sit. The tears begin.

He speaks eloquently. Words to help family and friends and acquaintances alike feel connected and loved and comforted. Words of promise and hope and eternal life.

A slow parade of people shuffle, hobble and creep past the casket. He speaks to each one in turn.

He prays.

Service concluded, people begin to come back to themselves.

My invisibility slowly wears off and I’m greeted, mostly with “Who are you?” and “Are we related?”

What do you say? "I’m the preacher’s wife. I’m here for him, not for you." "Sorry for your loss?" What good does that do? "It’s nice to meet you?" I’m glad your mother/cousin/family member died so we could have this occasion to meet?

No, I say none of that. I tell them I’m Steven’s wife. Everyone knows Steven, and nothing else need be said.

Life is Good

I'm not dead, just drugged. Or at least I WAS drugged.

I have always been an introvert, a social-phobe, a hermit. I saw my doctor on a particularly bad day and she prescribed anti-anxiety medication. Other than causing me to gain about 30 pounds, I never noticed a difference in my behavior. Well, maybe some zombie-ism. My imagination dried up and blew away. Hence, no blogging. Also, no cooking (at least nothing to stretch my brain), very little reading and a lot of sleeping. Now, a year later, I am proud to be drug free. I am still shy, still socially awkward and still hyper-vigilant, but I'm here. Biking to try and combat this ridiculous weight and hoping to be back to blogging.

And I made delicious Italian Vegetable Stew today...

Morning Drive

I guide Daisy along.
Next to me, Steven prays, preparing to preach.
Sweet sunrise, early morning mist on heron lake.
The sky on God's Day displays His artful expertise.

Daisy slows.
Country church.
Big-hearted, white-haired, quick to smile and easy to love.
Strong arms and soft shoulders.
Funny and wise.
We're home.

Brian Regan (aka Merry Christmas to me)

Steven bought me tickets to see the funniest guy in the galaxy, Mr. Brian Regan, as a Christmas gift. Ain't he sweet?

Last night was The Event.

We started out with dinner at Abuelo's, a new (to us) and very yummy Mexican restaurant. We forced ourselves to stop eating after about 2,000 calories (1,200 of said calories consisting of beans) since we were looking forward to a night of uncontrollable laughs and not being escorted from the Orpheum on account of strange belly activity.

Heading to the show, I regaled Steven (and myself) with snippets from Brian's other shows:

I used to love peanut butter… still do. I saw something in the store the other day that I don’t understand, that peanut butter and jelly in the same jar. Is there a point to that? I mean I’m lazy, but... I wanna meet the guy who needs that. Some guy going, "You know I could go for a sandwich, but uh, I’m not gonna open TWO jars! I can’t be opening and closing all kinds of jars... cleaning, who KNOWS how many knives!?" If you’re that lazy, why not put croutons in there and get the whole sandwich on a spoon. You know, just scoopin’ it out... "Mmm...Oh, scrumptious! I think I’m gonna have another one. Uh, mmmmm... DELECTABLE! As was the first!" Or if you don’t wanna clean the spoon, you put it all in a squeeze bottle. "Mmmm! Lunch and no clean up! Can life get better? I submit that it can NOT!"

ooh, and this one:

They call it softball, makes it sound like it's harmless, you know. You ever take a line shot to the face with a softball? You don't go "Hey, that's Downy Soft. That was like a big ball of cotton! Hey, don't worry about that! That's Blood Light! We're playing softball, we're all going to float around like angels!"

Finally there. Another comedian, Tom Ryan opened up the show. He was funny but...

Here comes the Man. Luckily Steven was able to restrain me before I tossed any of my underthings onto the stage, but it was a close one.

And also? I found myself watching other people reacting to the jokes. People are weird. They laugh and rock back and forth and slap their legs and cry. I'm the type to hold my laughter in (lest I draw attention to myself) and then completely lose control and burst out in hilarity (which sounds an awful lot like a lamb being carried off by a bird of prey and bleating for all it's worth) and laugh and laugh til my cheeks hurt and I have to pee and everyone around is looking at me and somebody asks if I need a doctor and I do but I say no because I just want to keep laughing.

Mmkay, so I'm weird too.

It was funny.

We had a chance to meet him after the show and I said no because what can I possibly say that won't make me sound like a lunatic?

"You're funny, want my undies?" <---most likely to get me divorced

"Ughhhhh." accompanied by drooling. <---most likely to get me committed.

"TAKE LUCK!" or "The big yellow one is the sun!" or "I'm the two-plate guy! Who wants to spot me?!" <---All of which would make sense if you just watch the guy. Youtube is a wonderful place to start, my dears.