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Date Posted: 00:01:02 05/07/09 Thu
Author: larnsturt
Subject: Papa Sang Bass, Momma Sang Pavarotti


My Mother’s Day present will take some time to arrive. My sister and momma are coming out in June to California to stay with me and go see Andrea Bocelli in San Jose. We are all ridiculously excited. My mother used to put on her purple sweats, get our the ancient vacuum, and turn on the record player loud enough for her to hear it over the old beast’s pitiful whine. I’ll never forget the sight of her sliding the monstrous thing with one hand, throwing the other into the air to accentuate the longest notes she belted out along with Pavarotti. “O Sole Mio,” “Nessun Dorma,” and “Funiculi, Funicula.” She would hold the notes as long as he would, only not at such clear a tone. (I never told her so, though, cause by the time I was twelve, I was doing the same thing.) She got the chance to hear him in Atlanta before he died. Now, we get to see Bocelli. Perhaps he doesn’t have near the mastery of Pavarotti (yet) but his voice still sets the females in my family all a twitter.

In honor of Mama’s Day this weekend, let’s talk about family.

1. Because I Said So! Your character must deal with a family member who is not behaving. Are they a mother dealing with a recalcitrant offspring? Are they a grandson dealing with a grandfather’s failing memory? Are they kissing cousins? Fourth removed brothers-in-law?

2. Picture Is A Thousand Words. Use one of the three photos in the first link to inspire great and bountiful waves of rich and imaginative prose.


I leave you know with:

WORDS OF MOMNESS AND MOMHOOD:

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan

One of the very few reasons I had any respect for my mother when I was thirteen was because she would reach into the sink with her bare hands - bare hands - and pick up that lethal gunk and drop it into the garbage. To top that, I saw her reach into the wet garbage bag and fish around in there looking for a lost teaspoon. Bare hands - a kind of mad courage. ~Robert Fulghum

An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy. ~Spanish Proverb

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[> Foetoes! -- Larnsturt, 00:09:40 05/07/09 Thu

Dog Bites Tires

PEOPLE!!!

Laundry

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[> [> Re: Foetoes! -- Debi, 20:09:00 05/07/09 Thu

Cool, thought-provoking pics... I may have to go this route. I'll think on it a spell and get back to you.

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[> Option two -- Debi, 09:55:38 05/09/09 Sat

So, this just came from looking at the picture with the laundry hanging. This is pretty much straight from my brain to the keyboard, so forgive rambling and typos. I'm not really awake yet.
This is in the future of Rayne's story, past things that I have yet to write, but I know that they happen. Rayne, Keresh and the others completed their mission, fought a great battle and drove back the dark forces to reinstate a balance. Garoben died from his wounds and Rayen nearly died trying to save him. This takes place almost a year later. It probably won't make much sense, but I hope I got the mood rigth at least.

Copyright, Debi Matlack 2009; does not constitute publication.

A deep breath, a sigh, a stirring on the bed. Keresh opened his eyes. Rayne lay curled in her pallet nearby, her back toward him. Wan early sunlight shone through the windows, the glass wavy and thick in some places, thinner in others, making the patterns on the floor look like water flowing over the boards.

The restless sound came again yet Rayne didn’t move. He got to his feet, dodging the laundry hung to dry, wrinkled and careworn but clean. A late snowfall had forced them to seek shelter and Rayne had insisted upon washing their clothes when they finally came to rest in the old abandoned farmhouse. Nothing would dissuade her so he let her fuss and clean, hoping the activity would wear her nervous edge enough to let her rest.

As he stepped close enough to get a better look at her, the stirring came again, coupled with a muffled grunt. The bedclothes beneath Rayne’s loose curled arm moved and a tiny pink fist waved from under the edge. It retreated then emerged again, gaining strength. Keresh knelt and reached beneath the covers. Rayne sighed and extended a shielding arm, but subsided when he touched her shoulder and mumbled something soothing. He turned the edge of the blanket back again and was greeted by a brilliant gummy smile. Lifting the baby up, he gathered her into his arms, moving closer to the window to let Rayne sleep.

He sat, back against the wall, knees up, the baby reclining on his thighs. She squinted her eyes against the sunlight and fussed until he flipped the corner of her blanket over her face. The little hands extended, reaching and grasping but not quite connecting to the offending fabric. With one finger, he lifted the corner and was rewarded again with the happy smile. She studied his face, jamming a fist in her mouth to chew on while she contemplated him and the window behind.

“I wish your mama smiled so easily.” The blue-green eyes, absorbed in contemplation of the wavy glass behind him, shifted back to his face and the sucking on her fist intensified.

“You see, little one, I understand her feelings. The empty hole that someone you love used to fill, feeling as if your heart is being ripped out of your body, over and over, one thread at a time, sure that it will never get better.” Another set of blue-green eyes flashed into his memory and he felt an old ache and longing at the image behind his eyes. “You learn to live with it.”

The little pink fist left the refuge of her mouth and waved, opening into a tiny hand, reaching toward him.

Keresh smiled, extending his hand and she grasped it, warm and wet with saliva. The blanket slid away as she pulled with surprising strength for such a tiny creature, revealing a fringe of dark hair. She bore a strong resemblance to her father; dark hair, the suggestion of high cheekbones and a strong jaw under the roundness of infancy. Keresh wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse for Rayne. He let the baby pull his finger to her mouth and gnaw at it. Before long, he’d have to wake Rayne to feed her, or the baby would do that herself by crying when hunger overwhelmed her. For now, she was content, chewing on his finger and looking with those wide eyes around their spartan accommodations.

He wondered what his and Tarlia’s children would have looked like. Dark skinned but with their mother’s light hair and eyes? Or dark of eye and hair like their father? With a pang of regret, he let the thought go. The sea-blue eyes from his memory smiled and he nodded.

“You learn to live with it, but it never goes away.”

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[> [> I think it's fantastic. -- Larnsturt, 02:05:50 05/12/09 Tue

I don't think it rambles much, and I was too involved with it to catch any typos.

As for mood, if you were going for slightly weathered and hurting but healing, then I think you got it just right.

It's funny, cause I took the pictures and know what sort of environment they are set in. The shoot we were on was set in a very different frame of mind, but I had no trouble seeing this in the same room. I thought, yeah, that could totally happen there!

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[> [> [> Cool, thanks -- Debi, 10:21:44 05/12/09 Tue

>I don't think it rambles much, and I was too involved
>with it to catch any typos.

Involved is good.
>
>As for mood, if you were going for slightly weathered
>and hurting but healing, then I think you got it just
>right.

Hooray, I've learned something with all the crap I've churned out over the years...;-)
>
>It's funny, cause I took the pictures and know what
>sort of environment they are set in. The shoot we
>were on was set in a very different frame of mind, but
>I had no trouble seeing this in the same room. I
>thought, yeah, that could totally happen there!

I almost went with the 'dog bites tires' pic and set something with Valerie and Daniel, but the clothes called me. Worn and battered, but they were clean and taken care of. Thanks for providing such great inspiration!

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[> [> so beautiful Debi... -- dea, 17:35:20 05/14/09 Thu

i have a thing for men with babies. it's beautiful, sad, romantic. thank you!

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[> [> [> Thank you dea! -- Debi, 18:20:35 05/14/09 Thu

>i have a thing for men with babies. it's beautiful,
>sad, romantic. thank you!

And for once, Rayne keeps her mouth shut! Seriously, thank you for the lovely compliment.

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[> Option (sort of) One, and yes, it's long again. -- Larnsturt, 07:12:06 05/13/09 Wed


More from the family of fun again. This...I don't know. Doesn't have the same flow as the other one, perhaps it's not as interesting. I just don't know. I suppose you tell me.


From the untitled short story collection about family. Does not constitute an actual project I might ever finish © Larnsturt 2010 (dream big, eh?)


Cherie was always the stylish one. Even when she was five, and Aunt Diana brought a giant bag of plastic beads and fake tiaras for the younger girls to play with one summer holiday, Cherie managed to arrange the glaring and garish accessories into something almost wearable. It wasn’t something she sought out to do; she was merely good at it.

Encouraged by her mother, at eleven Cherie became a cheerleader for her brother Troy’s peewee football team, the Goodlettsville Trojans. Not to be outdone, my sister Christi and I soon joined, and together we cheered my cousin and his team to a second place in the Middle Tennessee State tournament. There are some rather embarrassing photos tucked into several family albums of Cherie, Christi, and me in blue and gold uniforms, standing with our pompoms perched on our hips. I barely remember it, but I was apparently the loudest four-year-old the crowd had ever heard. On my sister and I, the garish uniforms looked oversized and made even our summer-browned faces look washed out. Of course it looked fantastic on Cherie.

Aunt Karen encouraged her daughter’s natural talents, allowing her to choose her own wardrobe after the age of twelve. Cherie had skin that tanned easily on their frequent family trips to the lake. Her dark hair picked up highlights from the sun that never seemed brassy or faded. She could wear the brightest colors without looking pale or washed out. Her almost exotic appearance sometimes made the fair-headed parents wonder where their gypsy child had come from. But Cherie was all theirs. She had her mother’s wide lips and her father’s flashing dark eyes.


If Cherie’s beauty had one flaw, it was her nose. It was borderline enormous. It caused the family no end of trouble. It wasn’t normal for a daughter to out snore her father, but Cherie could saw logs like Noah building his ark. It wasn’t too bad at home, where the thick walls could muffle the sound, but during vacations where they had to share a hotel room, Uncle Jay would have to bring along earplugs.

Sadly, Cherie wasn’t immune to teasing. When she was eight, she came home from school one day, ran into the kitchen, and burst into tears. Troy came in behind her, looking petulant.

“It’s not my fault,” he prefaced the situation, reaching for an apple on the counter. He tried to slink off to his room, but Aunt Karen leveled him with her eyes. It took a lot to get her Cherie upset, and more often than not, Troy was involved in it.

“Hold it right there, mister,” she said, one arm around her weeping daughter.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Then why is your sister crying?”

Cherie let out a honking sob. Aunt Karen tried not to think of the snot now wiped on her hipbone. Troy rolled his eyes.

“I told you, it’s not my fault her nose is going to get bigger.”

“What?”

Cherie took her head away from her mother’s pants.

“My-my science t-teacher said t-that our noses n-never stop growing! Ever!” She buried her head against her mother once more, her tears leaving two dark spots on the light purple corduroy.

“See?” said Troy, tossing up the apple and catching it. “She’s a freak. Not my fault.” He dumped his school bag then took off towards the back yard.

“Troy, don’t you dare call your sister a freak!”

But the screen door slammed shut. Karen turned to her daughter, leaving thoughts of strangling her son to another time.

“Shh, shh. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“M-my science teacher said that our nose and ears n-never stop growing our whole life then on the bus Jeremy W-winett said one day my nose would be bigger than Texas!”

“Well if it’s noses and ears that never stop growing, then Jeremy Winett has no room to tease. That boy has ears like pistol grips.” She looked down at her daughter. “Cherie Beckett, you are so beautiful. No matter what size your nose is.”

But her daughter’s nose wouldn’t behave. It really did seem to grow larger than it should. Cherie started having frequent nosebleeds and often had trouble breathing from her right nostril. Aunt Karen knew it was time for a trip to Dr. Bishop.

Deviated septum, he said. And when he recommended surgery as a solution to her snoring and other nose issues, mother and daughter shared a secret look. Yes, said Dr. Bishop. He supposed they could take off a little size while they were at it.


Cherie took an earnest interest in fashion, going to college with a degree program geared towards clothing design. She graduated with honors and soon found an internship working for Manuel, a semi-famous designer known for upholding the traditions of Nudie Cohn, the Hollywood Tailor. Cherie did her best work during her time working for Manuel. She even stitched the rhinestones onto a jacket made for the President. It was the highlight of her career.

But the internship ended, and fashion jobs were few and far between in Nashville. After doing some pattern work for a couple designers, Cherie tried for a short time to make it on her own label, even making a custom dress for my Cannes carpet walk. It wasn’t long before Cherie was faced with reality. Her designs just weren’t original enough. Sewing was now a chore, and the hum of her machine no longer brought her joy. Cherie looked into to going to New York, but it would mean months away from home. Even if her brother Troy had no problems going halfway around the world to study marine biology, Cherie found it harder to leave her family in Tennessee.

At Aunt Karen’s suggestion, Cherie took a job at an insurance company. It was steady work with stable people, and an almost physical relief after the drama of high fashion. Her stylish looks and easy-going nature let her excel in her job, and she told herself she was happy.


I’m not exactly sure how she met D.J. He simply appeared one Christmas, an all-American boy-next-door with a charming smile and ready quip. We fell in love with him almost immediately. D.J. and I traded jokes and one-liners with lightning-fast speed. Between the two of us, we kept the family laughing all night. Well, almost the whole family.

“You know he’s dating Cherie, right?” my sister said, as she reached for another cup of my aunt’s Jungle Punch. Aunt Karen had set her drinks up in the traditional spot, the top of her Kenmore dryer out in the converted carport.

“What?” I said, poking the floating ball of sherbet, trying to break off a piece to eat.

“Don’t eat that, it’s for the punch.”

“I know that. I just wanted a piece.”

“Well, leave it alone. Just chill out.” And with that enigmatic bit of advice, she went off to keep her daughter Elena from stuffing an entire bowl of M&Ms in her mouth.

I settled back against the washing machine, sipping my punch and watching D.J. and Kyle talk about the upcoming baseball season. Cherie sat across from them, chatting with Maegan about something or other. Maegan blushed, and Cherie let out a long laugh. D.J. broke off his conversation with Kyle to look at her. I took another swig. I could tell from the glint in his eye, Cherie had absolutely nothing to fear from me. My sister was seeing mountains in mole hills again.


Their wedding was a blow-out affair. They rented the big Christ Church Cathedral on Broadway in Nashville, a building of stone and glass and beauty. The rehearsal went well, with only one hiccup. Ethan and Evan had been playing in one of the pews and knocked a songbook to the floor. It echoed like a gunshot in the big cathedral, sending Curt sprawling to the floor ducking for cover. It was an uncomfortable moment, then D.J. cleared his throat.

“It’s not exactly a shot gun wedding, so you can all leave your firearms at home.”

Curt stood, blushing, but smiling.

D.J. was going to fit in just fine.


D.J. worked as a professional umpire for the minor leagues, so he often spent long stretches of time away from his newly formed home. He bought a dog, a big giant beast of a brindled boxer whom he named Stogie. He charged the dog with a solemn vow to protect Cherie and the dog must have understood perfectly. The dog spent most of the time D.J. was away growling at every suspicious leaf that fluttered and went bonkers whenever the UPS guy came around.

But neither dog nor D.J. was in the apartment when it was broken into. Cherie had been visiting D.J. in Phoenix, where his spring training was held, and Stogie was staying with Aunt Karen and Uncle Jay for the weeklong trip.

The burglar was not an ordinary thief. He hadn’t taken the television, the laptop, or even the jewelry Cherie had left lying on her side table. He (presuming it was indeed a he) had disturbed very little in the apartment save Cherie’s unmentionables drawer. Cherie came home from her trip to find every pair of underwear she owned lined up on her bed, laid out in perfect rows. Three of her most expensive pairs of shoes were missing. Nothing else in the house was touched.

It was the odd nature of the crime that disturbed her so much. She called the police, then her mother. Aunt Karen got there first.

It was decided between D.J. and Cherie to move. They gave up their little apartment in Nashville for a little house a few miles down the road from her parents’ house in Franklin. Stogie loved the yard, the trickle of a creek bordering the back fence, the leaves which fell from the shade trees. Cherie loved the peace and quiet. She started sewing again, just little things here and there to accent her wardrobe and a beautiful set of sheer curtains for the new bay windows.


Iris Rose was born in the spring, a beautiful baby girl with her father’s eyes and her mother’s mouth. It was Troy, in from his fellowship down in Florida, who pointed out she also had D.J.’s nose, thank God. Aunt Karen whacked him on the back of the head and smiled. The rest of the family was overjoyed. Babies were always a big deal, and it had been three years since my sister’s youngest daughter had begun to walk. Iris was a truly beautiful child, one you might expect to see selling diapers or tires. Her grin was infectious, and her laughter light as a ringing bell.

She was so adorable in her little Easter outfit, a white dress with pale yellow trim. The aunts cooed and jabbered at her, delighting in every face she made. It took a full twenty minutes of begging and pleading for Ethan and Evan to pull the crowd away from her and start the egg hunt.

The younger kids lined up, the boys already scanning the ground for golden eggs. Elena was dumping the plastic grass out of her basket to make more room for candy. Annelyse was holding her basket in one hand and straining to get out of my sister’s grip with the other. Katie merely held her basket and looked mildly confused.

My mother yelled, “Go!” and the kids were off, grabbing at the candy quick as they could. Cherie followed slowly behind with Iris, picking up her own pile of candy the Easter Bunny had left just for her.

They sat together in the sun, mother and daughter, enjoying the springtime sun. Cherie looked around at her family, laughing and smiling at the children’s antics. She wished D.J. could be there with her, but spring training had him away again. The wind blew a tiny shiver down her back. He would be gone for the next three weeks. Three weeks of late nights and early morning with Iris. Three weeks of diapers and groceries and laundry on her own.

“Gee!” Iris held up her hands to Aunt Karen, but instead of picking up her granddaughter, Karen sat next to her in the grass, sighing heavily as she crossed her legs.

“Come here, sweetie. Grannie isn’t going to be able to get up anytime soon, so you might as well play with me here. Too many sausage balls.” She straightened Iris’s bow and sat back. “It’s too bad D.J. had to miss this. Linda hasn’t put down her camera yet, though, so we’re gonna have a whole mess of pictures to send him. I’m glad Shirley and Bud got to come.”

Cherie glanced over at D.J.’s parents who were standing among the older cousins. Bud reached down and picked up a candy bar for his wife, causing her to smile.

“Iris!” Aunt Linda shuffled over, bending low with her heavy and ancient camcorder on her shoulder. “Smile, Iris! Lookie here!”

Iris glanced up, raised a thoughtful brow, then screeched and pointed her chubby fingers.

“Dis. Did, dis!”

“She means ‘What is it?’” said Cherie. “It’s a camera. A camera.”

Iris sat back, contented to know, mulling the word over in her head.

“Racka!” she pronounced, then turned back to the shiny wrapped piece of chocolate in her hand.

Linda laughed and ambled away to preserve forever on VHS tape the epic struggle that was Ethan and Evan battling for a golden egg.

Cherie sighed and leaned over on her mother.

“You used to do the same thing when you were little,” said Karen, closing her eyes to the sun.

“Mmm?”

“You used to want to know what everything was. Of course then you would try to wear it.”

“Maybe this one will be a little fashionista, too.”

Iris pulled back her arm and let the chocolate go flying. It made it a good six feet.

“Or maybe she’ll have her daddy’s baseball fever,” said Aunt Karen, handing Iris another chocolate. “Whatever she becomes she’ll be wonderful. Just like her momma.”

“I don’t know. Her momma kind of…” Cherie tapered off, unsure of what to say.

Karen had put such faith in her, given her her first sewing machine, money for fashion school, even replaced her Mustang for a reliable and safe sedan when Iris was born. Her mother had built her up with dreams, planned a life for her talented daughter. And what did Cherie have to show for it? She was nothing more than an insurance salesman with a good sense of style.

Cherie swallowed.

“Her momma kind of made a mess of things.”

Aunt Karen looked hard at her beautiful daughter.

“Are you happy?”

Cherie considered. She thought about her failed career and grimaced. But then she glanced over at Bud and Shirley, who were going with the rest of us to clean up the left over candy from the egg hunt. She thought about the phone call from D.J. that would come in just a few hours and the warm kisses that would come when he came home again. She thought about her beautiful daughter and the joy she had brought into her life. She thought about how things never seemed to go to plan, but that they always seemed to get better.

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing more in this world I want for you.”

“I’m not a disappointment?”

Aunt Karen looked horrified.

“Disappointing is how little the cheesecake Linda brought is. You are not. Now come on, help me up. We should get inside before Paul eats all the trifle.”

Cherie stood, lent a hand to her mother, then bent to pick up Iris. She walked back up to the house with the rest of the family, who were still laughing over Elena taking candy out of her sister’s basket. Cherie laughed with them, and she knew herself to be very, very happy.

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[> [> This like being at home with my family -- Debi, 09:52:07 05/13/09 Wed

It could maybe be tightened here and there, but on the whole, it's another snapshot of this crazy, wonderful family. I can so hear my aunts, uncles and cousins in these roles, bickering but everyone really getting along well and loving each other. I like it very much.

What is it about Southern families?...

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[> Photo # 2 -- dea, 17:27:49 05/14/09 Thu

oh my, it has to be pic #2! it was one of my first lyrics of the "awakening" (2003)! i hope it counts as HW. it's the name of my blog [www.seaoffaces.blogspot.com] where i've posted most of my lyrics, poems and reviews. i have and audio file with the song, but i don't know how to post it. anyways, i'm happy to come by swiftly, i'm still very busy and in a after-harvest phase writewise.

thirst (by deav)
Rio, Mar 2003
the awakening

drowning in a sea of faces
hardly keep my head above the surface
dreams of open spaces
dreams of lands where i can rest
surrounded by the treasures gathered
through the battles of existence

though i drink from wells of wisdom
never seem to quench the thirst

i keep on searching...

bluff with queens of hearts and aces
playing games that i can’t understand
dreams of balms of holy graces
wooden tree house by the sand
surrounded by the hearts i’ve conquered
through the dances of the souls

drink from chalices of freedom
never seem to quench the thirst

i keep on searching...

angels have no answers
promise keepers swear the oaths they mean to break
so i keep the search
till the day that i'm awake
i carry right ahead a chandelier of hows and whys
and a backpack full or tears and smiles
and songs i write...

till I find fountains of true love
maybe finally quench the thirst

i keep on searching...

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[> [> Great imagery... -- Debi, 18:32:30 05/14/09 Thu

Compelling, captivating... I can see the metaphorical search... very nice!

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[> [> Hurray variety! -- Larn, 22:11:23 05/19/09 Tue

I love alternatives to prose! You did get the right photo for it.

Only one note:

dreams of balms of holy graces

I think this line is a little awkward, with the repeating word. I think with a bit of a tweak it could be a stronger phrase.

Nice. I can def hear this set to music.

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