The Outcasts continued... In the City

So, this is one of the things I have been working on. I didn't think I would write this part of the story. But the story started to tell itself, so I listened. It is a really rough draft. There are a lot of inconsistencies and unnecessary sections, because I'm still figuring out how the details fit into the larger story. Anyway, this section introduces a character that has been part of this story since near the beginning. Was I inspired by reading Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, full of dashing men in military garb? Helena would like Jane Austen. And she dreams of a man in a military uniform. What would happen if she really met one?

“Helena! Time to go. Are you ready?”

Helena folded Will’s letter and shoved it under her pillow. It was beginning to rip where it had been folded. Any day now she expected him to be in the city. She guessed Ariana and Max were around somewhere, but they wanted to stay hidden until they got their paperwork figured out. And if she recognized them, it could blow there cover. As she ran down the stairs to where her mother and father were waiting, she thought, “But Will would be different. Someday, he’ll walk up to my doorstep in his beautiful dress uniform and ask for me,” although doubt flickered around the edges of her dream.

Tonight was a military dance. Her father, as mayor, was invited, and she loved going with him. The men in their dress uniforms were so handsome, and although the women were allowed either their dress uniforms or ball gowns, she was often the belle of the dance. 

****
“Miss Helena, I don’t think we have ever had the pleasure of being introduced.” A Lieutenant led her to the dance floor. “I’m Lt. Aaron Burton. I believe you know my cousin, Marcus. And perhaps you have met my uncle also.”

Helena didn’t know how to answer, so she just smiled and looked away. A slow waltz began. Lt. Burton was a fine dancer and Helena enjoyed having a partner who actually knew what he was doing. She wondered if she had met the hermit, would she have made the connection that it was his uncle? Should she acknowledge that she thought she knew who he was talking about, or pretend that he meant Marcus’s father? Or maybe that was who he did mean? Maybe he was just mentioning people she might know? But then why did he not mention his aunt, Marcus’ mother too? She glanced up at his face to see if it would give away any of his intentions, but he was looking intently at her.

When he saw her glance he said, “You know, it would be helpful to know if my patrol should be looking for undocumented citizens to help with their transition.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Helena looked away again, but as she felt a blush rising, she evaded, “This doesn’t quite seem the place to discuss patrols.”

“Perhaps you are right.” The Lieutenant paused, “Perhaps you would be more comfortable with me telling you how beautiful you are?”

“It would be more expected.” Helena wanted run back to her father. Why hadn’t they managed to leave before this dance. She glanced again at his face.

“I’ve never liked the expected,” He frowned for a moment, then the gentle smile returned. “But if your father thought that is what I was telling you, I would be able to visit you as often as I liked, wouldn't I?”

Helena was frantic, “No, please, I’m not interested.” How could she get away? Why couldn’t the music end?

“I’m not interested in that way either. But I am also not interested in your father hearing your answers to all the questions I have to ask.” Helena paused and missed a step, causing them to stumble together. “I thought asking you in a dance would be easier on you than an inquisition room.” He steadied her, and continued the dance.

A Big Change Ahead

Our house is going to be sold. The landlords don't want to kick us out and are taking their time with it. And we knew that it was a possibility for awhile now. But the reality of the matter has felt like a shock.

First came the frustration and anger. "This always happens. I've make the house what I want it to be, and now I have to leave it." Last house it was organizing the kitchen in a way I liked it. This house, I finally feel like I have a plan to make good use of the space. On top of that, I have friends here, good neighbors. It is hard for me to reach out to people, but when you can't leave your house without seeing them, it is a whole lot easier. Babysitting is convenient; the post office is convenient; there is a park just down the road.

Then came the feelings of chagrin and instigation. "You know you don't get anything done until you have a deadline. Well, here's the deadline. Get stuff done, sweetie." We've been talking about moving, talking about getting rid of junk, talking about getting organized, talking, talking, talking... well, now we have to put a lot of that talk into practice. It isn't as if I haven't been working on it, just working slowly, and now I need to work a lot more quickly.

Then came a sense of freedom and adventure. "Who knows what will come next? Maybe now would be a good time to try something different?" The world is a big place. There is lots to do, lots to explore, lots to experience. We don't have this house holding us back, maybe it is time to do something; I just don't know what. I have so many dreams, most can be done anywhere, what now?

Now it is a combination of all those things with a tiny bit of overwhelmed-ness and apathy mixed in. However, we built bunk beds yesterday, I planted flowers today. And then we had pizza for dinner. So tonight, everything is ok. Tomorrow may be something different, but I will rest tonight. No worries. No need to have a plan. God gives grace for the next step and grants sleep to those who love him.

Write what you know

I have stories always flitting through my head. Sometimes it is a character who struggles to deal with their lot in life. Sometimes it is more in depth with many characters all trying to figure out what life is about and where they fit in the world. Although usually these stories peacefully cohabit my brain with my daily life, occasionally one distracts me from my tasks. It then makes my daily life seem either incredibly dull or completely out of control.

Today, there was no story floating in my brain. My brain resided in the fog of congestion and exhaustion. I could barely think. When I folded the clothes, my hands were moving out of habit at a normal speed, but my brain was watching from two shirts behind. When I climbed the steps, I was at the top, but my brain was still trying to persuade my feet to move. On top of this, little monsters were running around my house, at least they seemed like monsters to my congested brain. Sometimes they were good little monsters roaring their love for me. But most of the time they were crazy, mischievous little monsters leaving destruction and chaos in their wake.

In the middle of all this chaos and distraction, I curled up in my bed, hugged my phone, and texted my husband a plea for help. I couldn't think, but as I put life into words, the fog began to clear. I ranted, I questioned, I whined. Then there was silence.

Usually in silence, a story pops up. But this time, it was a quiet voice saying, "Write what you know." I had no energy to protest, nor energy to write. So I huddled under my pillow, neither listening, nor telling, just feeling immensely sorry for myself.

In this silence, a text buzzed. It was a sad face. How can I explain what happened next?

In that moment, I felt a hug. Not a physical squeeze or a mystical sensation, but the inner calm that you comes when you are given a good hug. Was it the weight of the blankets and the smell on the sheets? Could it be the feeling of being listened to, loved, and accepted? Maybe he kythed a hug to me. Whatever it was, I got a hug via text that was just as satisfying as a real one.

See, this is the problem with all my stories. They are mushy and unbelievable. Or bizarre and suspend disbelief too much. And stories are supposed to reflect real life, right? I can hear critics saying, "Kything/telepathy, really?" or "a sad face that felt like a hug?" "Stick to the facts, sweetie, write what you know."

Little do "they" know. 😀

July 1

It is already July1!

This year has flown by. As my mother says: long days, but short weeks. I have so many things I was supposed to accomplish by now, but I have barely started. Where did the time go?

Both my little boys have been little men recently. Eamon delights in helping, as long as I phrase it in manly terms like, "Will you be a big helper and sweep under the table?" not labeling things as "doing chores" or "cleaning up." He has made their sandwiches a few days (and gotten peanut butter all over the place) and regularly swept up the crumbs under the table. However, in his little world, picking up toys is "Mommy's job." Malcolm alternates pretending to be baby (and wanting to sit in a high chair, or suck his thumb) and a big man (and thinking he doesn't need help with anything.) Their high point of any day (besides TV time, when I allow it) is story time. Eamon informed me tonight that we need 2 or 3 more story times during the day. The pleasant weather has allowed a few park trips and we hope to make those trips more regular in the weeks to come.

I had my sister here for a few days this past week while her husband was at a conference. She was so helpful in starting to organize my attic and helping me think through things. I have a renewed vision and purpose for the attic and the playroom, and helpful tips for getting it done. It was also just nice to be together, listening, talking, living, playing with each other's child(ren), making meals, planning, etc. So many of my weaknesses are her strengths and vice versa. However, after she left, I have had an introvert crash and needed a bit extra quiet processing time. I am so thankful for family and friends who understand and support my alone time rather than being offended by it.

Thomas got a cold this past week. Poor guy, he was miserable. It is hard for me watching children suffer through a sickness, but it is even harder watching my husband suffer through a cold. And since I had the cold just a few weeks ago, I know how miserable he felt. Fortunately, he is feeling a bit better now, so hopefully he is on the mend.

We are now half-way through the year. Next Christmas is closer than last Christmas. School will start again in two months. In four months I will be 35. Time keeps flying along.