Monday I arrived at work to find a check from her on my desk. In the Memo section she had written “pot & pizza.”  Thanks Mom.

#2. The surge protector under the TV has 5 lights? I could have sworn there were 6.

#3. Are there really that many nimrods on the tracks at 4 a.m. or is BNSF’s motto “We’re not sleeping, why should you?” .

#4. Damn, the refrigerator is loud.

#5. I should have bought Kimberly Clarke instead of GM.

“All out, ” said the clerk, though I could clearly see a stack on a high shelf behind him.

“What about that?” I pointed at the stack.

“Them are just cans fer display. Ain’t nothin’ in ‘em.”

“‘Does anything in here have something in it?”

“Not fer you. Now go on, git outta here.”

In the next town, I saw a girl on the street with a bottle of Coke so I stopped and asked her where I could get some and told her what happened at the last place.

“There’s a store right around the corner, but they don’t sell to just anyone either. Go to the counter and tell the lady with the big hair that you’re my cousin, Mr. Sower’s lady-friend from Kansas City.”

“Okay, thanks, ” I answered. “What did you say your name was?”

That’s when the girl passed out, fell down, turned into a picture on a sheet of paper and blew away. I never did get get my six-pack of Coke. Just as well. I really prefer Pepsi, I don’t know Mr. Sower and I’ve never been to Kansas City.

How many of you remember Blue Laws?  I remember complaining about them.  Everything was closed on Sunday.  Finding an open gas station was nearly impossible and if, God forbid, you needed a plumber, you had to be prepared to pay with your firstborn. When all that changed, I for one rejoiced, not taking into account the people who faced no more Sundays off or in what direction this country would take its new found shopping freedoms.

My husband has worked for the same major retailer for 27 years and we have seen many changes.  He used to have Thanksgiving Day off.  This year his company, like many others have already done, will be open Thanksgiving Day.  Some of you may have heard about the petiton started by a Target employee to keep the stores closed so the employees could have their holiday off.  I believe there are currently some 88,000 signatures and counting. A spokesperson for Target commented that the employee who started the petition is not scheduled to work on Thanksgiving or Black Friday.  I’m willing to bet he or she won’t be scheduled to work anything else either.

Meanwhile, my husband’s posted schedule was changed. Again.  Not only is he working on Thanksgiving, he’s now working the split shift from Hell: 5am to 12pm, then home to sleep until he goes back from 8pm to 8am.  As if anyone other than the 1% have got any money to spend all night long this year.  And let’s not mention the fact that driving while sleep deprived is as dangerous as driving drunk.  The difference is too many people don’t have the choice, if they want to stay employed.  Now technically, he and his co-workers are not “required” to work schedules that are changed with less than 2 week’s notice, but they are strongly “encouraged” to “volunteer” with the understanding that those who fail to grasp the subtext may find themselves with a lot of time on their hands.  We’re pretty sure that by next year, Christmas will be the same deal.

Now, I’m no huge fan of religious holidays, any religion.  I find them divisive, especially nowadays with the political and social environments melting down faster than the polar ice caps.  However, I am dismayed by our lack of national holidays during which non-essential personnel, not just the government employees, might have the day off to rest and enjoy a little national and family unity for a change.  I think we all could use it and I’m pretty sure it’ll never come to pass.  All hail the almighty dollar.  I can’t help but find it sad that our seasonal dash for cash has obscured the fact that Thanksgiving is a national holiday decreed by President Abraham Lincoln to essentially promote unity and remembrance in the wake of the horrors suffered by our nation during the Civil War.  That cute little tale we learned in school about Pilgrims and Native Americans eating turkey is as relevant to Thanksgiving as the title of this post is to World War 2.  This year, let us give thanks for our unified nation, the people who lost their lives to keep it that way and all the working folk who won’t get to be home with their families to celebrate it.

PROLOGUE

It might be easy for a child to miss the staccato note of a shovel blade assaulting the rocky earth outside her trailer during a severe thunderstorm. Easy, but not impossible. The familiar metallic sound didn’t fit, came between the heavy drops of rain and crashing thunder. It woke her up. Truly, it wasn’t just the sound, there was a feeling too. Something wasn’t right, hadn’t been for a while now. Even a seven year old could tell when a family was coming undone.

Chloe crawled out of bed and slipped to the window, pushed the curtains aside just enough to peek into the night through the dirty rain-streaked glass. There would be nothing out there. There never was when she felt the monsters watching , heard them scratching on the thin walls while Mama, Daddy & Lucas slept.

Not this time.

The lightening revealed a figure hunched in a hole maybe knee deep, stabbing the ground ferociously. Kerchunk, kerchunk, ching!

Chloe gasped and slid to the floor, shaking, then stood and peeked again. Still there. Not a dream.

“Mama!”

The door to her parent’s room was open. Her searching hands found the bed empty and sticky wet. The light switch on the wall didn’t work. There was a funny smell in the air.

“Lucas!”

As in nightmare, her 12 year old brother’s bed would be empty too. It was.

Chloe ran to the gaping backdoor, slid and fell in the puddle of rain that had blown inside, scrambled to her feet and dashed across the backyard.

“Mama!! Daddy! Lucas!! Where are you?”

The figure stopped shoveling. Straightened up.

“Go back to bed!”

Chloe stopped. Took a step. Then another.

Rivers of rain eroded two mounds of fresh dirt and poured into the hole the figure stood in.

“Mama? What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, you’ve done it before.  It’ll be a piece of cake,”  said the director.

I agreed to help and showed up.   The play was a musical extravaganza with a Victorian setting.  The cast was huge and I didn’t know any of them.  The green room was packed and people were milling around out back.  The women wore long gowns in pastel colors with matching frilly hats and parasols.  All the men were wearing red and white striped jackets and those flat topped straw hats that barber shop quartets favor.

“What play is this?”  I asked.

“Larkin,”  said everyone.

“Larkin?  I’ve never heard of Larkin, ” I said.

“You’ve never heard of Larkin?”  Everyone laughed.

“She’s never heard of Larkin?”

“Oh my God!  She’s never heard of Larkin!”

“Where has she been?  Under a rock?”  More laughter, whispering, derisive glances.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  I took my place backstage in the dark to wait for Act 1 to begin.

After Scene 1, I went on to move set and was exiting up left when the lights came up and a crowd of dancing, singing actors came surging on, driving me backward onto the stage.  I tried to exit up right and the same thing happened there.  I was trapped on the stage with the cast singing, dancing, shoving me around giving me evil looks.

I tried to hide behind a piece of set, a grassy hill with a big rock and some flowers.  As soon as I crouched behind it, it rolled off stage.  The dancing crowd parted and there I was in my blacks all by myself.  Everyone was staring at me so I started dancing too, trying to move off stage but every time I tried, more actors came on and shoved me back center.  I thought the scene would never end.

Finally, the lights went down and I exited, mortified.

Everyone in the greenroom was furious with me, calling me names and demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing out there.

The director stomped in, all red in face and pointed a trembling finger at me.  ”You’ll never work in this town again!”  he shouted.

I ran out the greenroom door into the parking lot to discover the aftermath of a terrible storm, during which my car had apparently been crushed like a piece of tinfoil.  My husband was out there, mad as hell, trying to straighten it out.

Then mercifully, I woke up all numb, tingly and out of breath, gasping,  ”It was just a dream, thank God it was just a dream!”

Then I read your posts and your blogs.  You  break my heart, you shame me, you fill me with awe.  You make me laugh and you show me what it means to really live.

I try mentally to put myself in your shoes.  I can’t. 

I wish there was something I could say or do that would make it all instantly better.  There isn’t. 

I know I wouldn’t want pity or patronization, but a little compassion and a bit of diversion wouldn’t hurt.  I can do that.  So I’m here, I care and will dare to say the wrong thing rather than shrink away and say nothing at all.

Purely by accident I devised a way to generate isolated thunderstorms by applying those flexible magnets commonly used for advertising to the steel siding next to the electric meter on my mom-in-law’s house.

The house doesn’t actually have steel siding; maybe that’s a good thing.

Anyway, I created a thin, very tall storm right over the house that produced multi-colored ball lightning and rained pink ectoplasmic creatures the size & shape of watermelons.

Everyone I told thought I was crazy.  That was the only accurate part of the dream.  Now where did I put those magnets I have for advertising our company on my car?  It’s worth a try, don’t you think?

2.  When the phone rings, let it go to voicemail.  ”Are you alone in the housssse?” really loses its thunder on the machine.

3.  Remember that when someone knocks on the door, you are not required to open it.  Feel free to apply that to real life.

4. When visiting a haunted house, avoid the bathroom.  Nothing good ever happens in there.

5.  If you were dumb enough to do the first four things, don’t run upstairs expecting to escape unless you’re willing to break a window and both your legs.

6.  If you ran upstairs anyway, don’t go looking for your attacker or crawl across the floor backwards screaming until you’re cornered.  Find something heavy to swing and wait behind a door for him/her/it to come to you.

7.  Don’t hit him/her/it once and then stand there gawking.  Whatever it is will not be dead and will eventually grab you.

8.  When traveling to a foreign country, skip the hostel and cough up the extra bucks for the five-star hotel.  You’re more likely to wake up in the morning unshackled and with both your kidneys. 

9.  If you get lost or break down in the French countryside, never go to the distant farmhouse with the light on for help or you’ll end up having to deal with at least one of those other things I just mentioned.

10.  Camping with your friends is always a bad idea.  There will be hillbillies and bear traps everywhere.  The upside is that the most obnoxious member of your party will be the first victim.

11.  Never tell your friends the zombie bit you. 

12.  Don’t mess with Japanese ghosts.  They will kill you.

13.  The woods in Korea are full of people burying bodies, especially during rainstorms.