CONTEST: The Elfess and the Sword Short Story Contest

Elfess and Sword

"She has a story to tell," a friend commented on the above drawn I had just completed.  And that inspired this contest.  I'm looking for a 500 to 1,500 word short story about the Elfess and the Sword pictured above.  Submit your story in the body of an email to: jc_hurst  at  comcast.net  In the Subject line - put CONTEST. 

The winner will have their portrait drawn as an elf or elfess by yours truly.  Contest Deadline is January 1st, 2011.  Winner announced January 30th, 2011. 

And the winner's story will appear on my blog and website.  So, get writing. 

Thankful for Samoa, Indoor Plumbing, and My Bed

You may be wondering what the three things in the title have to do with each other and my blog theme of the Kitchen Table. Well, I'll tell ya. This coming Thursday is Thanksgiving, a day we think about everything and everyone we are grateful for and give thanks for those people, things, events, etc. that have graced our lives.  And we eat a huge meal at the table - well, most of us do, I'm sure.

I know that I have a lot to be grateful for and indoor plumbing and my king-size platform bed are just a couple of things I am truly grateful for. I count myself exceedingly blessed with these two luxuries.

In Samoa, our bathroom was a 6'x4' concrete-block structure located about ten feet from the back door. I dreaded to go inside and avoided it as long as I could, but there was no alternative unless I wanted to go out into the ocean across the road. Not very practical.

My daily routine while I lived in Samoa was to march outside armed with a five foot long broom handle, and throw open the bathroom door. I thrusted the end of the broomstick inside and banged it around, making sure to smack the pastel pink toilet a few times, and tap the shower head on the other side of the partitioned room.

Inevitably, large frogs, 6 - 9 inch long centipedes, and hermit crabs in discarded tin cans would scramble outside. I had already jumped up on an upended bucket and let them pass, except for the centipedes which I consider the most vilest, evil insect on the planet.

Once the bathroom was cleared out, or, as much as could be cleared out since the roaches dived for cover in the broken mortar between the concrete blocks, or under the cracked toilet base, I reached in and jerked on the pull cord for the small single bulb hanging through the corrugated tin roof above. It's dim light did little more than illuminate a small circle of the concrete floor of the shower. I tried not to look at the black mold that stained the concrete walls where slower moving spiders and millipedes still scrambled to find shelter.

I stepped into the shower in my flip-flops and lava-lava (a length of thin cotton fabric used like a towel) and turned on the faucet. There was only one temperature setting and thick brown sludge gushed out of the pipe with choking, gurgling sounds. It took several minutes before the water ran clear. Sometimes, there would be body parts of crabs that would shoot out of the pipe and flop to the concrete floor. I used the broomstick to flick the decimated creature out of the bathroom.

Showers had to be quick,because you never knew what else would come out of the pipe. So, I'd hang my lava-lava from a nail on the door (there was no lock), and scrub down as fast as I could. I think my best time was just under a minute.

Wrapped in my lava-lava, I would hurry back inside before any of the teenage village boys could see me - but there was a clear view of our backyard from the village's basketball court where the boys played "jungle ball" (a rougher version of your standard basketball).

Then would begin a full day of just trying to survive. At night, we would drag out our beds, which were little more than body size pillows stuffed with batting. Mine was a fat purple one with little white flowers on it. We all (nine kids)slept in the living room, while my parents slept in their own room.

It was wall to wall bodies, and we'd switch our places around depending on who we had disagreements with during the day. I never slept in the same spot twice - but my favorite spot was in the middle of the bunch. It was the safest from midnight attacks of roaches or centipedes, or frogs who liked to cozy up with one of my sisters for some reason. But, the person slipping in the middle wasn't immune to geckos falling off the ceiling. Most times I had to sleep in front of the door, where several gaps around the door allowed roaches and mosquitoes entrance. When we first arrived on the islands, we were a delightful feast for the nasty, tiny biting insects. Over time, I suppose our blood got too salty for them and they left us alone.

When I got my big pillow where I wanted it, I'd spread my lava-lava over it (yes, the same one I used for my shower in the morning), and then used either another lava-lava or bed sheet (if I was fortunate to get to it before another sibling) and pull it over myself, careful to tuck it under my body all around me. Then, I put my smaller pillow over my head to protect my face and ears from curious insects in the night. I slept in one position the whole night, because I knew that if I moved from under my layer of protection, I'd wake up with some large bug trying to crawl into my ear, or 'squitoes biting me, or, mercy, a frog sitting on my chest.

Without the experience of Samoa, I don't think I would be as grateful as I am today for the luxuries which I enjoy. So, yes, I am thankful for my luxurious bathroom with jetted tub, and separate shower that emits soft drops of crystal clear water. A toilet that doesn't moonlight as a hotel for icky creatures, and a tiled bathroom floor with golden flecks that sparkle in the sunshine, and clean white walls.

I'm thankful for my king size bed that can sleep five and doesn't smell like old onions.

I could go on for pages and pages about all the things I'm grateful for. But most of all - I'm grateful for my husband. Words cannot express the love I have for him and what he means to me. I am a better person because of him. I love my children and am grateful for them - I couldn't imagine my life without them. I'm grateful for my family, friends, and those who invented indoor plumbing and beds. Thank you.

Tofa soifua!

Just Published: A book to help raise money for autism.

Just Published
This is just a quick note to let you know about a book I helped create, WIND AND SUN, RAIN AND EARTH, for the benefit of Clear Horizons Academy - a school for autistic children to help expand their program. 100% of the proceeds from sales of this book will be donated to the school. Just click on the button below to be taken to the online store where you can purchase a copy.

Thank you for your interest.

Spaceships, Spiderman, and a Super Mean Boss

Alright.  The title of this post is a little bit of an exaggeration.  My boss wasn't mean - he just wasn't fully aware of the situation.  But I can write about it now because I don't work for him anymore.

Once upon a time I worked from home.  I had two small children and a crazy notion that my situation was idyllic.  I started working for a real estate development company when my children were 3 and newborn.  Things were manageable as my newborn slept alot and my 3 year old could entertain himself for hours.  But things changed radically once my youngest became mobile.

To keep my children entertained, I would convert the kitchen table into a spaceship right after breakfast.  I'd pull out the chairs and turn them around and then drape blankets over the table and chair backs.  I'd fix them snacks and put them in the "Food Processor" for when they were hungry later.  I gave them an old keyboard and mouse, cardboard "control panels" and several little balls that they could put in #10 cans for "Fuel" for the spaceship.  I'd stuff pillows and blankets under the table for them to sit on to be comfortable and once they were situated, I'd dash off to my office in the next room to make phone calls, return emails and process paperwork.

Kitchen Table Spaceship

One morning, my oldest son decided he was tired of the spaceship routine and wanted to do something different.  Being resourceful, he climbed up on a stool and found the huge spindle of kite string I had just purchased in anticipation of kite flying weather in the hall closet.

While he was doing this, I was on the phone with an irate vendor who demanded to know when she would be receiving a check for the products my employers had purchased from her company.  Since I was the liaison for the accounting department, I knew full well the financial situation of the project and there simply wasn't any money to send to this woman.  So I stalled.  I told her I would contact the accounting department and get back to her as soon as I could.  She was not happy with that response - but I had nothing else to offer her.  Once we hung up, I called the accounting department to inform the Controller of the call and ask if there was anything we could do to mollify this vendor.  No such luck.  The funds were not available.  Sorry.

As I sat there trying to figure out something to say to the angry vendor, my phone rang and I saw that it was my boss calling.  Oh good, maybe he could give me an idea of what I should say to the vendor.  I picked up the receiver and cheerfully greeted him. 

"I have [irate vendor] on the line with me," he began without preamble.  I cringed and spent the next few minutes listening to him and the vendor discuss the project and when she was going to get paid.  From the outer edges of my hearing, I detected a strange noise coming from the dining room where I thought my children were playing.  I sat still for a minute, pulling the phone away from my ear and hitting mute to listen closely to the strange noises coming from the other room.  My maternal instincts instantly went to red alert.  Without knowing what or why, I knew something was very wrong and I dashed out of my office and found something completely unexpected and surreal.

Every square inch of the dining room and adjoining family room was covered in an intricate web of kite string.  In the center of it all, my four year old was jumping up and down in a panic and when he saw me, began wailing at the top of his lungs "He is ruining my web!"  To my horror, I saw that my eighteen month old was completely entangled in the web.  He had managed to get so tightly wound in the string, I feared he was choking because his face was red.  But, once he saw me, he also started wailing. 

It still amazes me to this day that I was able to keep calm as I listened to the irate vendor holler about not getting paid on time, my boss trying to calm her down, and me trying to save my baby from near death, and quiet my four year old all at the same time.  I was so grateful my boss hadn't asked me any questions while I frantically unwound my baby from the web and urged my children to be quiet.  But the baby was still upset and inconsolable.  I trotted to his room and dropped him in his crib and then ran back to my office and closed the door against the continued shouts of my 4 year old. 

And then, my boss asked me a question. I unmuted the phone, answered the question.  That set off another tirade from the vendor.  I muted the phone and dashed back out to mollify my toddler and get him situated with a snack in the kitchen while I listened to the faint cries of my baby.  And to my dismay, my boss asked another question before I could get back to the office and so I answered him while pouring juice and making shh signs to my child.

Eventually the vendor calmed down, satisfied with my boss's solution to the problem and after she hung up, my boss said to me, "We really need to keep up a professional appearance.  I know you work from home, but our vendors don't know that.  We don't want them to know you work from home and have children because the image that they will have is diapers on your desk and toys everywhere." I could only imagine that he must have heard my baby crying in the background when I was in the kitchen and had to answer his question.  I bit back a sarcastic reply and agreed with him.  Once he hung up, I put my head on my diaper-free desk in my toyless office and cried.  A few moments later I retrieved my children, sat on the couch and cuddled with them as we read stories.  I didn't answer the phone for the rest of the day. 

I decided then that I needed to hire a nanny.  Working from home was no longer my ideal job. But that is a story for another time.

Until then, Eat well, Be Well and Be Happy.

Guests At My Table?

My Husband and I have been exploring the idea of becoming Foster Parents for about 10 years now.  A month ago, we decided to actually call the Foster Care Agency and find out more about their program.  We learned there were classes that were required in order to become licenced Foster Parents.  We would also have to go through background checks. 

Last Monday as we were on our way to attend the third installment of 8 four-hour long classes, I couldn't help but reflect upon the time I was pregnant with our first child.  My husband and I attended 12 once-a-week classes on Natural Childbirth and Infant Care in preparation of becoming parents.  Though the content of these Foster Care classes are immensely dissimilar to the childbirth classes we attended, the concept is the same.  To prepare ourselves for the caring of children. Except this time, it won't be for a new baby of ours, it will be someone else's child we will be bringing home, and it won't necessarily be a wonderful experience for all.

Sometimes, children that go into Foster Care are brought there after a drug raid and their parents have been arrested.  Sometimes, Social Workers remove a child from homes that are filthy and unsafe, or because parents are neglecting them.  Many times drugs and alcohol abuse are involved.  Many times these children have been abused.

My husband and I have anguished over this decision for weeks now.  Sometimes I feel like I can do it, then other times, I feel weak and unsure and think I can't.  I hear horror stories, then I hear amazing stories of change and hope. 

It only dawned on me during our third class that adoption was part of the Foster Care program if reunification with the biological parents were impossible.  I hadn't considered that at all and now I'm in turmoil.  These kids have been through a lot.  And they come with a lot of baggage, and I don't feel strong enough to deal with it.  I wonder if I expect too much of myself, as I try to wrap my brain around what it will be like caring for someone else's child 24/7 - or even adopting their child.  The closest thing I can compare it to (from descriptions given by other Foster Parents and Social Workers), is when I brought our dog home for the first time and spent 6 months dealing with very destructive behaviour from a dog that suffered from separation anxiety.  Our dog destroyed hundreds of dollars of our personal property before he finally figured out that we would always return home. 

I realize that comparing a dog to a child is a poor example, but if I can tolerate my book chewing, garden destroying, kid nibbling, pencil shredding dog, I can probably deal with a troubled kid. Hopefully.

And so, as I sit at my table, I realize that I need to pull it apart and add the extra leaf, and purchase a few more chairs. I'm going to have a few more guests at my table soon, and the stories that are shared across its marred and stained surface will be scary, sad, funny, and most likely change my life forever.