The Far Side of Lonely

It came upon her like the proverbial ton of bricks, and to further the cliche, it came out of nowhere.

She had been involved with him for 8 years.  For the most part, their relationship was one of close friendship, but there were times when it deepened.  There was no question of the feelings involved-at least not on her part. She had always been straightforward and sincere in her feelings. She had never been one to play games. She could not be coy. She did not know how to be anything other than what she was-open and honest.  So there was no question he knew her feelings.  He had expressed his own in such a way that left her with no doubts.  Until that one ugly day.

Her telephone rang and, even though she had no reason to expect it, she felt a darkness about to smother her before she ever answered that telephone.

Twenty minutes later, she was on the floor, on her knees, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.  Out of nowhere, he had told her quite simply “thank you for your friendship. I have met someone else.”

She had a loud ringing in her head and she couldn’t stand.  This was not the man she had always known.  This was not the man who had expressed affection for her only a week or two before.  He had been dishonest with here then…how long had he been so?  How long had his “other” relationship been going on?

As time went on, she thought of so many things he had said in the past, so many of his actions and so many of her own.  Had she truly been that blind?

Finally, she was able to calm her emotions enough to try and look at her situation with a more reasonable eye and a touch of logic.  What she came to realize was that she had spent years of her life being in love with someone who did not exist.  She was certain she had placed him on some sort of pedestal and he did not belong there.  No one did.

She had held him in such high regard. She had respected him and admired him. She had been devoted and sincere and loyal to him. Even now, she looked for extenuating circumstances to explain his unusual behavior.  But the fact was, he was not the man she had always thought him to be.  That knowledge all by itself was the devastating blow.

She was sad that he had betrayed the trust they had seemed to share, of course, but to find out she had spent so long caring so deeply for someone who simply didn’t exist, tore her heart apart.  It tore apart her trust and her faith in people.  If he could turn out to be one who would turn so easily, what would strangers do?  Was there such a thing anymore as trust and faith and loyalty?  She doubted it. She questioned it.  And with each doubt and question came one more step to loneliness.

Being alone does not make one lonely, that she knew from experience. It was having no one who cared for the simplest things she did or said that made her lonely. It was having something monumental to share-and having no one with whom she could share…no one who would sit and listen to what mattered to her or to what upset her and offer a consoling hand or a shoulder.

She knew lonely, now more than ever.  It was this far side of loneliness that would define her now, she was certain.

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Just a quick idea…

This is a quick paragraph or two of an idea…  please tell me what you think.  

The air felt thick. She breathed heavily while walking across the old street. Weeds grew up through the cracks in what had once been a busy roadway-before The Fall. She looked down the street at the rusted shells of vehicles that were also-slowly-being claimed by nature. She had been alone for so long she had forgotten the sound of other voices. She regularly spoke aloud so she wouldn’t lose her own ability to speak. She spoke to buildings. She spoke to plants. She spoke to animals and she spoke to nothing.

She vaguely remembered others. She vaguely remembered being with other people, the sound of their voices and she remembered, more vividly, The Fall and the resulting terror and panic.  Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. And she was alone.

She seemed to remember being called Abigail. She called herself by that name just in case it was the right name.

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Time for stream of thought

I am working on my third book, but I just don’t feel it tonight. But I needed to write something…anything.  I started a couple of things-short story-character sketch-whatever came to mind, but nothing really inspired me to continue , so here I am doing a bit of stream of thought writing. That normally clears my head enough to concentrate on my projects.  

I have shared my habit of doing stream of thought with those who ask about my writing habits. I am told it was helpful to them also and I am glad for that. All I know is that I must write SOMETHING.  Every single day, something pours from my brain-sometimes it is decent and begs to be expanded and worked on, while other times something comes out that is pure crap.  That happens more than I would like to admit.

Speaking of crap, I recently looked through some notebooks from about 30 years ago. It is writing that I hope no one on this planet EVER sees. I don’t even know why I am keeping it except, perhaps, to show me how far I have come. Maybe it is to remind me what NOT to do. Maybe it is just that somewhere in there is a spark of an idea that, if handled properly, could be something to share. I don’t know. I just keep all those blasted notebooks.

I keep too much stuff, I think. I have kept every paper I wrote for every single class in college. Why am I keeping all those things?  Ok, I have no papers from the algebra classes, but I was just pleased to pass those things without imploding. Math is NOT my thing.  But I have several papers from my various psychology classes that I won’t ever part with because they not only came from a lot of research and they are subjects I want to remember, but they are also inspirations for characters to come.

Then there are my philosophy papers. I loved, loved LOVED philosophy.  My professor and I had some wonderful exchanges. I admired him for his intelligence and his broad scope of interests which were shared in the class, but I also admired his willingness to accept ideas and philosophies with which he might not agree. In fact, he encouraged free thinking and abstract opinions. He encouraged thinking outside the norm and coming at a subject from a completely unusual perspective. I loved that about the class.  I could think my own way. I could explain my thinking and my perspective and not feel I was being judged or graded for it.

Beyond that, of course, I dearly loved all my English classes-except, perhaps, the grammar part. I will never understand about diagramming sentences.  I learned it all and passed the tests, but once the class was over, it all flew out of my head.  I wonder why that is?  Probably because, as I believe, our brains retain those things that interest us.  That may be why I remember so many goofball trivia things-especially where history is concerned.

I suppose it just matters that we have interests, right? We all do. We have interests and passions that drive us…each to our own end.  Maybe the trick is to realize what our own passion really is, then follow it. Do what is necessary to reach our own personal goals.

Ok, that is my ‘sermon’ and my stream of thought pile of nonsense.   Try it sometime.  It helps to clear the cobwebs.   ~N~

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Letters to Sarah-Book Two RELEASE

Letters to Sarah-Book Two is set for release DECEMBER 15!

Book One is available at Amazon.com or can be ordered through your favorite bookseller.

Copies of Book One PURCHASED DIRECTLY FROM ME will be discounted until December 14!!

Read Letters to Sarah-Book One to meet Mary and her family.. then follow their lives and happenings in Book Two. Each book also tells us of our own history and we see how Mary and her family adjust and adapt to the ever changing world.

Book One covers her life from 1910 to 1919.

Book Two covers the 1920s..

Mary and I look forward to sharing that world with you.

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HandeeMade Pals pt 2

“She’s coming back, I know it.”  Layla moaned.  “We have been sitting here like this FOREVER!”

“Nooo. Layyyla, she has gonnne awayyy for that looong time.  Sheee didn’t opppen those looong things overrr therrre , seee?  Ittt isss stilll dark innn heeere.” Copernicus shook back his mane and stood up on all four legs.  He stretched and whinnied.

“You’ll get caught, you know.”  Layla declared. “One of these days, you are going to SAY she is gone and she won’t be and she will catch you. THEN where will we be?  She will KNOW!” Layla stood and stretched her arms out to her sides.

“I wonder why I don’t have those things on the end of my arms like that woman does.” Layla studied the ends of her arms.  They were round and flat.

Copernicus sighed.  He was used to Layla’s complaining.

“Beeecause you arrre a dolll.  She maddde you and you arrre stufffed.” He explained for the thousandth time.  Layla never listened, but he kept explaining.

“Do you think I could get off this bench?  Just once?”  Layla leaned over the side of the white bench to the tiled floor.  It looked to be a very long way down.

“You coulddd falll offf.  Howww woulddd you commme back uppp?”  Copernicus questioned.  He was always thinking.  He never-well, almost never-over reacted and he was never upset or angry.

Layla, as usual, didn’t pay any attention to her partner’s questions.  She only continued to lean over the side of the bench and marvel at the tiles.  She imagined what was under the bench and she wondered what was in the rest of this place the woman called ‘home’.

“I think I am going to explore.  The woman goes in those other places over there.  I hear her in there singing sometimes.  Sometimes I hear her talking and I wonder who else is in there. Who is she talking to?  Those other humans who come in that door don’t stay.  They go back out the door and don’t come back. Who are they? Where do they go?”

Copernicus just shook his head.  Layla made him tired.

“Ifff you gettt offf this bench, Layyyla, you wonnn’t be able tooo gettt back onnn.  The wommman willl come backkk and she willl catch youuu.”

Layla seemed to hear him for once.  She looked at him for several moments, but she always did as she pleased without being sensible.  Before Copernicus could say another word, Layla jumped off the edge of the bench.  Copernicus heard an “ooof” when she landed.

“Arrre you alrrright?” He asked her as he dared a peek over the edge of the bench.

“Of course I’m all right. I’m a stuffed doll, remember?  Anyway, this is interesting!”  Layla slowly stood and glanced around.  There were two of those things the woman wore on her feet sitting under the bench.  There was a box of something sitting at the end.  She barely glanced inside.  Whatever those things were inside, had a flower on the front.  Layla knew what a flower was because the woman had once had a bunch of them in her hand when she walked in that door.  Layla thought flowers were nice, but this one wasn’t real.

Layla began to carefully make her way across the tiles until, suddenly, she was standing on something that wasn’t tile.  It was soft and it was a different color.  Layla stepped carefully until she was sure it was safe.

“Layyyla, you shoulddd come backkk herrrre.  You arrren’t suppposed to be dowwwn therrre.”  Copernicus worried.

“Oh, be quiet, Horse.  This is fun. You should jump down here, too.  Look at these round things over here.” Layla reached to touch a ball of something red.  “HORSE! This feels the same as our skin!”  Layla was fascinated with the balls of different colors.

“Layyyla, thattt’s becaussse we arrre maddde of that stufff.  The wommman callls it yarrrn.”

Layla shrugged her tiny shoulders and continued to explore.  This ‘home’ promised to have many interesting surprises, she was sure.

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HandeeMade Pals

“I don’t think she put enough stuffing in my head.” Layla poked and prodded her own head, causing her frown to shift to the left.

“Layyyyla! Your stufffing is fffine!” Copernicus hunched his back to adjust his saddle.

“I don’t know.  Is my face truly this…round?”  She ran her fingerless hands around and around her face, still poking and prodding.

“Layyyla, please stoppp. She knowwws what sheee is doooing.  She hasss stufffed sooo many of ourrr frrriends.”

“Copernicus, you don’t know what you are talking about. You are only a horse. I…am a lady!”  Layla seemed satisfied with the shape of her face.

“Layyyla, you are a dolll!  You are a stufffed cudddly dolll!”  Copernicus shook out his mane.

Layla dropped her head and sank to the bench.

“We are always going to be on this bench. You know that, don’t  you?  We have been here FOREVER!”  Layla whined.

Copernicus was obviously accustomed to her behavior. He merely shook out his mane again and turned away.

It was at that moment the pair froze.  The door was opening.  They could never let that woman who created them know they were living, moving creatures.  She was usually so intent upon what she was doing they could get by with some movement even if she was in the room, but they had to be careful.  She was no dummy.  She often turned when they had been moving a bit, but she hadn’t really caught them..yet.

The woman walked in and dropped her bag next to Copernicus on the bench. She reached out and patted his head. She always did that as though she already knew he was alive.  She reached and moved Layla’s hair from her face.  The stuffies were sure the woman knew, but they couldn’t take the chance.. so they remained still.

The woman kicked off her shoes and began to hum a happy tune. She did that a lot.  Layla often said that the woman made happy toys because she was a happy human.  The pair wondered what the woman did when she went out that door.

The woman walked out of the room, so Copernicus turned just a bit so his nose wasn’t pressed against the arm of the bench. Layla wiggled a bit to settle the red dress the woman had made for her.

“Layyyla, she is commming baaack.”  Copernicus whispered.

“No, she isn’t. She is making that noise in the other room. Listen.  What is that noise?” Layla leaned so she could hear more.

“I hhheard her say it wasss whissstling.”  Copernicus yawned and leaned against the back of the bench.  He needed another nap.

The woman returned to the room and sat down across from the bench. She wasn’t facing the pair, but if they moved, she might catch it from the corner of her eye, so the pair settled in for a rest. The woman would go to bed soon and then they could chatter and play with the Love Birds and the newcomers who didn’t look like bears.  The woman said they were “squatchie”.  The stuffie friends had watched other stuffies come and go, but they stayed on the bench.  They weren’t sure if they were happy about that or not.

Where did those other stuffies go?

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Patience

Patience is that elusive fairy that taunts us by flying in and out of our reach as IT sees fit with no concern for our needs.

It is necessary in our lives to develop and nurture patience because we will need it in every area.  We will need patience in our social life. We will need patience in school. We will need patience in the work world and we will need patience, most especially, when dealing with other people, no matter the circumstance.

We each tend to believe that our way of thinking and our way of doing is the right way-perhaps the only way, but we would be mistaken.  In life, there is no 100% right way of thinking and acting with regard to everyday circumstances.

We all come to our decisions and our actions from our own unique perspective.  We learn from our parents, our teachers and our peers. All of this input guides us toward our own way of thinking.  To think that our way of thinking is the only way would be to negate all the input from parents, teachers, peers and even strangers that brought about our thoughts, opinions and actions.  So what do we do when we disagree with others?

We remember that we must allow others the same rights and freedoms we, ourselves, claim as our own. We must allow that everyone has an opinion AND the right to it.  Even when the next person’s opinion or action offends us or goes against the social norm, it is not our place to judge or condemn.  We must use patience.

Here, we can get into a deeper issue of what is socially acceptable, etc., but for the purpose of this article, we center on that basic thing that keeps us from ripping pillows apart and throwing remotes across the room.

Patience.

With patience, we don’t attack the other driver because they don’t know how to change lanes or park properly.  We remember to drive carefully and keep our eyes open. We remember that those people do, eventually, receive their due.

With patience, we don’t slap that coworker because they are lazy and leave work for everyone else. We remember that we must be responsible for ourselves. We must remember that our responsibility is to do our OWN job to the best of our ability.

With patience, we don’t assault our children because they are stubborn or disrespectful. We remember that they are simply finding their way as every child does. We remember they learn a great deal of their actions from us.

With patience, we remember that we live on this rock with billions of other people-each of us with our own personality, our own opinions, our own deficiencies, our own talents and our own mistakes.

Each of us must be allowed to be the person we are [excluding extreme behavior] without fear of judgement and condemnation.

Patience reminds us that we are all one family of humans.  Patience allows us to live together and patience reminds us that we don’t know everything. We do not know the future and we are not meant to be perfect.

Patience is the key to a calm life so take a deep breath, let it out slowly and move forward.

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