Mystery Box/ The Daily Post


Mystery Box

You wake up one morning to find a beautifully wrapped package next to your bed. Attached to it is a note: “Open me, if you dare.” What’s inside the mystery box? Do you open it?


Christmas is better than I thought it would be. I spent the evening and night with my daughter and her family. This helped me so much. Every year for years my family would spend Christmas with my parents at their home on Christmas Eve.

My parents have been gone for some time. Mom passed in October of 2000, and dad passed in December of 2007. After Al passed this year in March, the last thing I wanted to have happen was Christmas.

No one can fix this for me. Nothing can make 2014 not pass on, taking the words of Al passed away this year and turning it into Al passed away 1, 2, or more years ago. Thankfully my memory part of my brain still functions and I can remember my parents and Al very well.

So when this topic on Daily Post came up it gave me an opportunity to live out my secret wishes. So here is my story in my mind as it plays out.

Christmas was so lonely, but only on the inside of me. I had a wonderful time with my family, but I knew something or some people were missing from my celebration. I did my best. I smiled and carried on conversations. I played with the grandchildren. I ate a wonderful meal. We shared a wonderful time; but way back in my mind I couldn’t help but keep thinking of my parents and my brother,  Al.

The evening light turned to dusk. I lit the candles and listened to Christmas music on the television.After some time, I realized how tired I was so I blew out the flames and left the music playing. I brushed my teeth and got dressed into my pajamas.

I laid in my bed my mind turning over and over as if I could ever forget the memories of mom, dad and Al. An angel must have sprinkled some angel dust over my eye lids because the next thing I knew it was daylight.

I had nothing going on and didn’t really feel like starting a new day, but my brain was thinking hot coffee. I sat up on the edge of my bed and reached down to get my slippers when I saw a beautiful box wrapped in silver and draped in gold ribbons.

There was a gift tag on it. It wasn’t signed but it did say, open me if you dare. I picked it up and noticed how light it was for such a big box. I shook it and heard nothing rattle. I wondered how it got there, but decided to open it. My curiosity got the best of me.

I carefully took the ribbons off and tried to take the paper off gently so I could save the pretty color. Once the lid was off there were three pieces of paper inside. I took them out and placed the box off to the side on the bed.

Unfolding each piece one by one tears began to fall gently down my cheeks. Then they showered my face and a smile beamed like a ray of sunlight. This is what each piece of paper said.

Dear Terry,

I know when I left this earth,  you would be sad without me, but I knew you were strong and you would make it through. I have been watching over you and I am so proud of you. You have wonderful kids and grandchildren. You took excellent care of dad and Al. You published two books. Be happy Terry. Heaven is wonderful. Mom


Dear Terry,

You did such a good job taking care of me Terry. I know it was tough having to listen to words from others that hurt. I know you could have had more help caring for me, but you pulled it off. I wanted to tell you all those years I didn’t go to church or read my bible, well I am glad I changed my life because heaven and God are awesome. I love you Terry. See you when you get here. Dad


Dear Terry,

I know you have suffered so much sis since I left. I have seen you crying when you thought no one was looking. I know you understand that I had to go. God kept telling me he could heal me of MSA. I wanted to stay with you but I wanted to heal more. I am glad you moved out of the house. I know and understand why you did it. You have a wonderful Christmas. I am not there but I am with you in spirit. Feel that soft breeze going through your hair? It is me doing it. I love you sis, Al.

christmas shot 2

Flash Talk/ The Daily Post

Ben Hubberman


Flash Talk

You’re about to enter a room full of strangers, where you will have exactly four minutes to tell a story that would convey who you really are. What’s your story?


I put on my most beautiful dress I owned. Applying my make-up ever so carefully, checking for hairs out-of-place, I twirl around gently hearing the material dance in the wind.

It is my night, the night I have waited and dreamed of for three years. I have been invited by a white and gold trimmed invitation to speak about MSA, Multiple System Atrophy.

Ever since my brother passed away I have tried in so many ways to spread the word of this disease. I promised Al that I would carry on in his name sake, but alas I am a nobody. A pebble on the beach. A mouth with a soft-spoken voice. No one hears me out of my circle of associates and friends.

It so happened that I went to visit a friend of mine in a plush city. We were having drinks at an infamous jazz club in downtown Chicago. Of course among our delightful conversations, I managed to bring up the topic of MSA.

Little did I know that one table over was a lady eavesdropping who just happened to be a researcher for rare and unusual illnesses. As our duo party was coming to an end we stood up to leave and the lady at the table slipped me a small  napkin with her name and phone number on it.

I looked at it and then at her. I smiled as the thought of her coming on to me was too funny in my eyes; but I thanked her and she introduced herself formally and handed me her business card. As I turned around I promised I would call when I had empty time.

A few days later, my visit over, I was relaxing and watching television. A lady on the news was speaking. She looked so familiar. Wait! That’s her! The lady from the club. I ran and found the card she had given me at the bottom of my purse. I went back and listened to the last few sentences she said. She was looking for speakers for a convention on rare illnesses.

The next morning I called her and here I am in a hotel room she reserved for me and now I was on my way to the hall where I would be speaking.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Terry Shepherd. I am the sister of a gentleman who had a rare illness for seven years. It is called Multiple System Atrophy. I promised my brother that I would do what ever I could to help spread the word of this rare illness. I am determined to open your eyes and explain what this illness is all about and how you, each of you can help me to make a difference. With your jotting down important information I am about to give you, you will be able to take it back to your own people and teach what I have taught you. There is a web-site where you will be able to not only donate funds but it will also allow you to set up your own conventions, drawing in more and more people. When I am finished I will spend as much time answering questions that you have for as long as need be. Now let’s begin. Turn off your cell phones, turn your eyes on me and place pens in hands.


Weekly Writing Challenge; 1,000 Words

relaxationI crave relaxation. I accept what I am not, which is relaxed, but I don’t like it. I have always looked at myself as a survivor. A gentle soul floating carelessly on the waves of life. Taking in, listening, and yet able to make decisions according to what the almighty God and myself feel to be right.

When that one day came last week and I ended up face down on the floor I was scared. When I felt my body quivering out of fear and heard my own heart beating hard against the floor, I knew something was wrong. I was in trouble.

As I forced myself to stand and walk to the kitchen where my blood pressure kit lay I felt each step I took my feet were covered in very thick cement. I took my blood pressure and I was only a few numbers a way from a dangerous stroke level.

I went back to the living room and fell to my knees. I wept in to my own arms as I knew that the constant state of being a caregiver had at this moment taken its tole on me. It was no accident that my best girlfriend appeared that same evening.

Although quite embarrassed at her being able to see me in this stage, I was also very thankful that it was her and not Al or someone who would think less of me.

It is odd how something so innocent can grab a hold of us. I don’t even work outside the home and yet the pressures inside my body were building ever so steadily, with no time clock present anywhere.

How can being the best sister I could be or loving someone so easily become out of hand? I didn’t have a boss hovering over me. I had no time frame of my own and yet the life of my brother, his very own illness, took on a mask of its own in my own body.living_soul

Why didn’t I see it? What made me think I was invincible? How could I not recognize it? I don’t have the answers. I can assume that I was so involved with Al that I didn’t recognize what was happening.

What I am thankful for is my  friend being here. My rock is what I call her. With her guidance and understanding I dialed my doctor. I set the appointment. I allowed my pride to be lowered. I let her drive me to the office.

I have a real phobia with medications. It doesn’t matter if it is in liquid, pill, capsule, I fight taking anything. I know why I do it, I just haven’t figured out how to get past it. Years ago when I was first diagnosed with Diabetes, the doctors kept giving me too strong of medications.

I would be doing something, anything, and I would pass out. It didn’t take long for my mind to connect pills and passing out was a bad thing. Now, years later I still struggle, but can take something with the help of someone being with me when it is a brand new prescription. I wait for two hours. If nothing happens I know I am safe and can continue on with the taking of medications until the bottle is gone.

How silly is this? Am I not stronger than that? Aren’t I in control of my own life and old enough to make my decisions. How can something from over twenty years ago still live very much alive within me. I don’t understand, but I know fear of bad things takes over and I have not learned how to crush it down to return more to myself.

When we get involved with things to do in our lives we don’t take the time to relax in between. We are rushing here and there, sometimes going nowhere, and yet we are always in a hurry.

When did life become so mad? Where did it start, the feeling of having to hurry? When did we forget to stop and say thank-you for living this day, or look at the beautiful skies, or see the pretty flowers.

Life can be fabulous and then life can become blurred as we walk in our all too familiar paths each day. For me, I had to hit bottom. No matter how much I love my brother or want to do the best for him, I have to take the time to remember who I am.

I have to remember that I am important also. I need tending too. My heart, my soul, my body need rest too. Is this wrong to think of me when a soul is laying in that bed waiting to die?

I have begun to realize the answer to this is yes. It is imperative that we give our mind and body time to digest what we are seeing and feeling. We must nurture our bodies along with allowing peace to enter our souls.

We are humans only. I am no super woman because I feel love for others. I have to slow down. I have to let others pitch in. I have to lower my pride and allow others to sense my tiredness.

It has been a rough journey these past six years. I have watched my brother go from a strong giant to an infant laying in a bed. I have had to see him come to the point where he can do nothing for himself anymore. I feed him from a syringe. I allow myself to break down now. I cry the tears.

There is no good reason to hold back anything. Maybe Al needed to see me cry. Maybe it was one way I could show him how much I loved him. Although I have told him many times he has my permission to leave and go to heaven, I can say it now with a reality in  my heart that he and I both, will be better in the end.


Weekly Writing Challenge; Cliffhanger,Weekly Writing Challenge

For this week’s challenge, write a post that will leave readers waiting for more. Breathless with anticipation. On the edges of the seats. Obsessively clicking “refresh,” waiting impatiently for the end of the story. We want to hear audible groans when readers reach the end of your post and see “To be continued…”


Lori ended her last day,  her last year in college. She was ready for a break. A long break. Enough of this studying. Too many professor’s lectures, more than enough of written papers. It was time to pack up and get out-of-town.

She invited her best friend Jen months ago to an outing to the mountains. The two gals had been saving every dime they could get their hands on. Instead of grabbing a coffee out, they invested in a coffee maker. Each of them took turns cooking suppers, saving even more money on groceries.

Now today was the day. Everything out of her locker she bounced with excitement the two blocks to her dorm room. Once inside she tossed her books on the bed. When she returned from her vacation she would box all of her supplies up and go back home.

But for now, it was a quick shower, a text to her girlfriend, and an evening of constant chatter. Each fell asleep with their words fading on their lips. Bright and early they got up and got dressed. Their bags had been packed for days.

Walking through the room one more time they each agreed they had left nothing behind. There was no food left in the cupboards and the fridge was bare so they stopped on the way out-of-town for some breakfast.

Bellies full along with their gas tank they headed out onto the open roads. Rolling the windows down and letting their hair fly out the window Jen turned up the radio and they sang to the tunes flying down the highway.

The mountain hike was only three hours from their college and in no time they had arrived. Peace and the birds was all they heard as they got out of the car. They got out all their supplies and their backpacks, locked the doors and headed to higher ground.

The trails were nice and dry. There hadn’t been any rain for some time so walking was easy. After walking for about a half an hour they stopped and rested. Looking out over the view all they could see was lush greens.

The air was pure and when they talked they heard their own voices echo off into the distance. They decided to have a snack and reached into their backpacks. They had packed some energy bars and with the fresh air even these pre-packaged ones tasted pretty good. Washing them down with water from their canteen they headed deeper into the forest.

It was almost dusk when they spotted an open area. Together the girls had their tent set up in no time. They found some kindling and built a fire. Everything ready for the night they chatted watching the flames of the fire and listening to the crackling of wood burning.

Both girls began to yawn. It had been a long and yet exciting day. Getting up early to attend the last classes and then no relaxing until now they both made comments about how tired they were.

Both girls crawled into their sleeping bags with their heads poking out of the unzipped flap. They talked a little longer and then it became quiet. Lori swatted at her hair, and then a few seconds swatted at her hair again. Without turning towards her friend she told her no more joking, time to go to sleep.

Her friend made some sort of noise to acknowledge she had heard what was said but she wasn’t prepared when suddenly two strong hands grabbed each girl’s hair and yanked them out of the tent.

hands 2

To be continued….

Weekly Writing Challenge; DPCHALLENGE

#DP Challenge

This week, weave a story about yourself told through the lens of your past December 23rds.

When I think back to past Christmas years on the 23, I get mixed memories. Smiles, sadness can appear and then fade a way as I go year to year.

Christmas as a kid was always the same. Wonderful, magical, excitement! Those were the days.

Christmas as a married adult meant working over-time, need of more money, lots of presents under the tree for our children. Giggles and screams of delight as wanted gifts were opened.

A divorce and remarriage on the rebound means sadness to me. A husband who made life hard to exist. Him hiding when people came to our house. Embarrassment, replaced delight of seeing people. Wanting to get the day over with. No money, very few gifts. It was always a sad time for me and an angry time as well. I saved my little bit of money I earned each week and finally was freed from this relationship.

The loss of parents that you love leaves the biggest gap in your heart. Christmas joy is ripped a way. Tears and sorrow replace all other feelings. Robotic movements kick in as you try so hard to carry on in a normal way that Christmas is supposed to be. Always glad when it is over, but sad when my kids leave to go back to their homes.

Christmas this year I dreaded with all that I have. Excitement over my kids being here. Sadness over wondering if Al would make it to the holiday. Thankful he was here, sad he slept through it. Not as many gifts but gifts that were wanted and enjoyed. Plenty of food and good conversation took the sting out of what was happening in my brother’s bedroom.

I am glad Christmas is over. My tree is down and the house looks more back to normal. Al is still here having bad days, and some better days mixed in. I treasured each moment with my entire family, knowing in my heart that there will never be a Christmas like this again.

Christmas will come once again. The 23rd will arrive without delay. People will come and some will never be seen again, but hopefully the future will open new doors. New memories and I will once again smile, remembering the pasts and looking forward to the future.


Weekly Writing Challenge; Traces

#DP Challenge

Using the story behind the photo above as a jumping off point for this week’s writing challenge, we want you to talk about leaving your mark. For the fiction-minded, fill in the mystery behind this photograph. Who were these flowers left for? Was there a message included? Is there a mysterious reason why these flowers are covered in dust, but still appear so young?


Every night after the lights went low, busy fairies came alive. Bustling through the cemetery. Oh there was plenty to do. Everything was groomed but one potted plant. There was trimming of weeds, picking dead blooms, applying fresh fertilizer. Each night the glow of their shiny wands made a person feel like they were seeing the reflections of twinkling stars falling to the earth.

There were many fairies. It all started in the year of 1850 when the lady of the southern plantation took ill. Annabelle had been a beautiful lady.southern belle She was not only the wife of a rich husband but her heart was bigger than any pile of gold.

She had many slaves that worked for her. In fact this was one plantation where slaves begged for her attention so they may earn a chance to work inside for her.

While her husband was attending to business, Annabelle was helping where she saw fit.

She helped teach young mothers how to bathe their new babies. She mended holes in clothing for the farm hands. At the holidays she made each of them special plates of food and each of the children could count on getting a present of their very own.candy canes

When one of the children became ill she fetched him and brought him to the main house. Here the child was nursed back to health if at all possible.

But one day Annabelle felt ill. The house was quiet. She hadn’t been seen any where outside the house.

Buzzing went through the slave quarters as questions remained with no answers. That night Annabelle’s husband had come home.

He had a rough day. Sales were low. He was hungry and tired. He needed someone to talk to. He went straight to the drawing-room where he was hoping she would be.drawing room

The room was silent. He went through the rooms looking in the sleeping quarters  last.

There lay Annabelle ghostly white. He went to her and sat on the side of the bed. Speaking to her he received no response. He felt her forehead with the back of his palm.

She was burning up. He covered her gently and quickly exited their room and dashed out the main door. Hopping on his horse he took off for the five mile ride  to the doctor’s office. Beating on the door for what seemed minutes, the doctor opened it.

Explaining the symptoms he observed the doctor picked up his satchel and hat and readied his horse. The two rode hard back to the main house. Once inside the doctor performed an examination.

Nodding for her husband to follow him out into the hall, the doctor explained that his wife had little time. She had come down with the fever and there was no cure.

Her husband’s eyes filled with tears as he walked the doctor to the front door. Shaking his hand he watched until he could no longer see the horse and rider.

He went directly to the slave quarters. He ordered them to gather round. He explained his wife’s condition. He told them this was very contagious, but he needed the help. Which ones would be able to come to the main house and be of service?

Several  of the ladies raised their hands  in the air. He nodded at each one and they got their belongings and followed him back. For eight days the fever remained. Anabelle grew weaker and paler. Food was offered but not taken. Visitors stayed a way for fear of the sickness getting a hold of them.

On the eighth day Anabelle died. Her faithful followers remained behind to tend to her and the funeral but one by one each passed also.

Ever since the last one passed, the flowers that were left by Annabelle’s grieving husband had remained untouched on her grave. The fairies which were once her helpers in distress watched over her as she had once done for them.

To this day if you visit the old cemetery, and you sit quietly in the night, you can see the reflection of the twinkling stars falling to the earth.


Weekly Writing Challenge; The Difference DP Challenge

In today’s challenge, you’ll tell the same story from two or more unique perspectives. You can choose from the prompts below, or create your own prompt.

My Story Challenge

It was about 10:30 at night. Russell, my husband was in bed, but I just couldn’t sleep. I was restless and wasn’t sure why. I had sure worked hard enough at the plant today. It just always seems the better I do, the more parts they want put out. There is no rest for the wicked, I guess.

Russell and I had been married for about 20 years. He rescued me when I made a big mistake years ago. I don’t know if Russell really loved me or if he  just plain felt sorry for me. Back in my day it was improper to do what I had done. I could have paid a higher price than I did. He was a good man. He takes good care of me.

There isn’t a lot of romance but just enough to keep the nerves calm. He works at the same factory I do. In fact he is the one who got me in. He introduced me to his boss and I got work real easy.

I finished drinking my cup of warm milk but still wasn’t tired. I looked towards the window. It was dark as dark could be. This was a quiet neighborhood. We lived on a dead-end street. Not much traffic round here.

I wandered over to the window and pulled the desk chair close. I opened the window a bit to get some fresh air. It is a good thing for sleep, getting fresh air. As I thought, no one stirring.

I sat there for a while just letting the chill go in my nostrils. Instead of making me tired it sort of refreshed me and I was more a wake now than ever. I propped my arm up and rested  my chin on it just staring out over the tops of the trees, gazing at the stars.

I heard a noise and as I looked over in the direction of where it was coming from I spotted two people. They were standing under the only street lamp. He had his arms around her waist and she had her arms around his shoulders.

I squinted so I could get a better look at the two. They looked like maybe they were young high-school kids. I instantly went back in time to the moment I was standing just like they are.

Oh those were the days. The golden days of love and romance. Stars in my eyes. I never did hear anything but the words he whispered in my ear. I wonder where he is today. It has been over twenty years since the last time I saw him.

I watched the two and they were kissing. I know I should turn a way, put my chair back and leave the window, but my own memories were playing on the phonograph and I was sort of scared for these two.

I can still hear his words. Oh baby, I just love you so much. You know how much I want you and besides this just isn’t fair; you turning me down. We both know I have to leave for the military next week. How can I go knowing I never got to prove my love to you.

I watched as they dropped their hands and moved over to the grass. I could still see them but not as good. He took off his jacket and laid it on the grass.

I didn’t want to do what I did, but I loved him so much. How could I turn him down?

Oh young lady, you better be real careful. Don’t fall for any of his cute words. He is just trying to have his way with you. He is thinking of his own needs and nothing about you. I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing but by the stirring I knew they were about to do the same things I did.

He talked me into laying down on the grass where he was already sitting. He took my face and turned it towards him and he kissed me real quick. I can remember looking into his eyes. I must have set off some sort of stupid signal because the next thing I knew he had sort of pushed me down to the ground and he was kissing me real hard on the mouth. He parted my lips apart with his tongue and he was feeling everywhere inside.

Oh girlie, I hope you aren’t letting him do that to you. Neither of you look old enough to be getting married. From here you both look like you’re still wet behind the ears. Be careful honey. Don’t listen to anything he says. Get up, walk a way, I promise you won’t regret it. Sure it will hurt for a few days, but you could be ruining the rest of your life.

Oh baby, I love you so much. I can remember as he was sweet talking me his fingers were fumbling with buttons. His hands were finding places I had never even explored myself.

Mr., Mr. please don’t do this. Don’t ruin her for the rest of her life. Have some decency. Get up and go home and take a cold shower. Tears started to stream from my eyes. I didn’t even know I was beginning to cry until my hand started to feel wet. Oh how I wish I would have made different choices. I was too young.

He placed his hand in a very private area. Against my words my body rose to the attention it was getting. In no time at all he was standing up, zipping up his pants. He lit a cigarette and looked down at me. I felt warm all over and when I touched myself and looked at my hand I saw blood. All he could do was laugh and say, oh that’s the way all virgins look the first time, but don’t worry, you won’t ever see that again. I was so ashamed. I had done something that I knew inside was wrong.

I stared through the window barely breathing. Soon I saw that man standing up. He was looking down at her like mind did with me. He helped her up and the two walked off.

When he got done with me he didn’t help me up. He just smoked while I tried to paste myself back together. Once I was standing up he gave me a quick peck on the cheek and we walked towards our homes. At the corner he waved goodbye and we parted.

As I watched the two walk hand in hand I wept. I blew my nose on the hankie tucked inside my sleeve. I was weeping for that girl and the girl I once was. I prayed a silent prayer that her life had not just been ruined.

You know, I never saw him again after that night. I did write him a letter months later when I had our baby boy, but he never answered back. I was alone. I had made a big mistake. I had believed in a dream full of words. It changed everything. My parents did the best they knew for me. I kept my baby and learned to be a mommy. Life was rough until I met Russell. Now, years later, my son is a grown man, married and has a family of his own. I got a good man who I am  pretty sure loves me. I was one of the lucky ones.eye crying

Weekly Writing Challenge; Living History

DP Challenge, DPrightnow,

What can you write about? It can be a conversation or a protest you took part in, or a recent development that made an impact (negative or positive) on your life. It can be something that happened in your town, or news from far away that moved you. The important thing is that it’s your story, your insight. Background detail is important, but what really matters is your voice, your opinion, your way of thrusting yourself, Forrest Gump-like, into the center of the news reel.

God bless America. Land that I love. Stand beside her and guide her through the night.

These are the words of our country. We show how proud we are of where we live.

But there is no perfect life. God never promised life would be easy. There really is no bed of roses. We are dreamers. We dream of a better land. We want our children to have it better than we did.

Have you ever really thought of those words that go around in our head? What was it that was so bad in our life that we have to give our kids something better? The way I look at it what our kids need is exactly what most of us got growing up, love.

I can’t say that every kid got this. Like I said, life is not perfect, but I can wish that all kids were treated with respect and love, nurtured into fine adults. We lived from the land. We grew our own meat, or before that we hunted for game. We fished from our waters.

We planted seeds. We tended to the fields with love and pride. We harvested and we had Thanksgiving with our entire family, giving thanks and realizing our blessings.

I don’t care what technology is waiting to be scooped up on your corner it can’t replace love. In fact, there are many kids in families today that spend their together time at the supper tables apart, either physically or mentally.

Kids spend so much of their time texting and no one today can leave home without their cell phones. Is it any wonder families drift apart. Friends don’t see each other as often. The mail boxes are empty?

Today, on the news here there was a prime example of a man who loved his country. He cherished his wife and kids. He worked the land. He was known as that one word that is becoming extinct to our younger generation. He was known as a farmer.

Today, God knew something we didn’t know. No one guessed it, but God knew this wonderful man was tired and needed a break. God used the love of this man’s hands with his own farm machinery  and formed an accident that took his life and sent him directly to heaven, into God’s arms.

It is tragic, it saddened me and I wept. The world is full of we must go here and we have to go there. We have to have this, we can’t be left out.

But for this man his time was up. A hero in our lands, a soul who denied the now world.

Today, he is with God looking down, smiling upon each of us. History played out over and over, starting with the forbidden fruit, that was grown in God’s ground with his own two hands.forbidden fruitharvester 2

Weekly Writing Challenge: DNA Analysis

DP Challenge

Your challenge is to take something intensely personal — the bits and pieces that make you YOU — and use them as a springboard for a post that makes a larger point and resonates with lots of other readers.

mirror blocksWhat do I see when I look in the mirror? What do you see when you look at me? Two good questions with entirely different views; I am sure.

When you see my face, maybe you see a round, chubby face. Not very many wrinkles. Maybe a pudgy nose surrounded by short hair. A nice sister, a caregiver.

Pools of memories

Deep as the sea

You see in my past

And where I am meant to be.


When I look in the mirror I am disgusted. I see a fat, round face. Plain with usually no make-up. I see would haves and should haves. I end up comparing myself to some dorky model on the cover of a magazine or TV.

This causes  a snow ball effect forcing me to shatter the glass and walk a way.broken window

When I look at me

I wish for more

I wish for magic

To change my core.


It is crazy, the things I do. The thoughts I have. I don’t take the time to make that check list of what I see very often. Usually when I do, I go on a spending spree and try to make myself feel better.

Knowing why I feel this way about myself is opposite of knowing how to fix it. When you friends make comments on my blog, most of the time I am shocked, pleasingly shocked. I just don’t see it.

When I read the Freshly Pressed I know that I am not a deep thinker. I don’t pull things out of my hat to write about or make a statement. My life is my statement. If I just write about my deep feelings about what I do in my life, it makes me feel more content.

Being honest on  paper is much easier than looking back at my reflection in any mirror.mirror No one is looking at me and it is so easy to write my thoughts. Sometimes I want to kick myself in the rear for being a foolish old woman for thinking such negative thoughts. There is no sense in it. But old habits and old words still haunt me today.

What I am doing is taking a segment from your comments and saying them to myself; changing my thoughts. I am improving, and for this I am glad. So on that report card, I will give me a big check mark on the box marked; Improving.

Weekly Writing Challenge; Backward

DP Challenge

caves-0001Her skin wet, wrinkled from being in waters too long. Labored breathing, resting on her back. Looking up at the dark ceiling of her shelter. Glancing to either side of her, looking out through the opening seeing the beautiful blue water. The water she had spent so much time in trying to escape.

Skye was born in the U.S.A. and was moved as a young child to a tropical island. Her father was in the military and as he gained rank and came near his time of retirement he made the decision to move his family to an area he had always dreamed of.

Skye was a late baby in her parents lives. A moment of passion, one night under the stars, gave the new baby her name. Barefoot and barely clothed she grew to learn the island. Short cuts through the mountain. Bike trails into town.

Sky learned quickly. She excelled in the top of her classes. She was a trusting and innocent soul but in the books she was a scholar. She made friends easily, both males and females.

By the time she was a teenager she wore long wavy hair and with her beautiful blue eyes she cast many an eye. Slender from many days of swimming and hiking she felt comfortable in her own skin.

It was summertime, it was always hot here on the island, but this day it was exceptionally hot. She decided to go swimming. Chores at home could wait. She had the same list daily so she could get them done before her parents arrived home.

There were so many swimmers and she just wanted to relax. Skye moved down the beach until she could find a perfect spot for her. Dressing down to the nude, she waded in and then glided into the water.

Coolness immediately over took her body sending small shivers up and down her spine. It felt so calm and the clear blue allowed her to look beyond the water’s surface. Before long she was pushing herself deeper into the sea.

Able to see the fish scattering moving beneath her  made her forget how far out she was going. Popping up for air and going down into the depths of the waters, she immersed her brain into the beauty. Ignoring her book smarts about being here alone. Casting a way all she had been taught, she was caught off guard when a current caught her and carried her much farther out than was safe.

She was startled into reality and rose to the surface grasping at fresh air only to be pulled back into the dark waters. She felt a brush of something hard against her leg. Forcing herself to take notice of what was surrounding her she saw the huge creature.

A shark with enormous teeth. Full-length swimming in circles around her. She started splashing the water trying to scare him a way but it seemed to fire him up even more. She tried lying lifeless feeling herself become weak as she knew she needed air once again.

She relaxed everything in her. She allowed herself to be slowly floated to the surface and gasping for air she felt pain in her leg. Scrambling to get a way, she used every fiber in her body and swam. Swimming faster and faster, gasping for air, darkness swirling around her eyes, she became afraid of passing out.

Becoming supper for this beast. Suddenly she was tossed out of the water. She ended up flipping over. The shark had gotten under her and pushed her with all his force. He knew to win the game he needed to wear the pawn out.

Once on her stomach again she swam harder determined to escape. Racing through her mind was a slide show consisting of her parents, her friends at school, questions about her future.

Once more the nudge came and she was tossed like a salad into the air. Feeling pain surge through her limbs she thought that all she would see was body parts floating on the surface as loose lettuce dropped from the bowl.

He was tired, she was tired. She took advantage of her free seconds and looked quickly around trying to locate any safe haven. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark hole. It was so far a way she couldn’t pin point what it was. Her head hurt, her body felt shattered but her spirit refused to give up.

Her body began to wear. She continued to remain  lifeless. The  game was becoming dull for him  The waters calmed as small gentle waves washed over her. The shark,  he was losing interest.

She started to pray to the Gods above. She rolled over on her back and lay limp in the water.  She felt the nudge of the long nose against her back but willed herself to not move.

She could feel her heart racing and she took deep breaths to slow down the beating. Gaining seconds of new energy, she could feel the shark beneath her but his attack was losing strength.

Skye floated for what seemed to be hours. The attack was leaving. The waters stilled. After she felt safe enough to turn over she looked into the water beneath her. The beast was gone.

She lay there for a while longer making sure she had bought enough time to make her escape. Slowly she started to paddle with her arms, moving as a snail on dry ground. When she was secure in her decisions she picked up her speed.

She swam until the dark hole became reality. A cave, a gold nugget, security against the strangers at sea. She swam until she could reach rock. Skye tried to climb up on the ledge but her body was tired.

She lay there floating and then tried again. Another try, another fail. On the third try she made it. She crawled into hiding, into safety. Letting her body guide her she ended up on her back, gasping for air. Her body ached, her gash was bleeding, but she was safe.