One More Chapter, One Old Chair

I thought I'd die...

I sat at my computer and edited and edited and cleaned things up, and soon all my thoughts and words looked and sounded very nice. And then I began writing fresh stuff. 

Good grief, sometimes I'm one heckuva lousy writer! I thought I'd die when I read what I'd written...

So, I have this chair. Let me share it's story:

I rolled my big van up to a yard sale a million years ago. I jumped out of my over-sized kid-mover and sauntered over to a chair that stood out like a sore thumb--the kind that looks like a hammer just hit it and it's going to hurt for a very long time. It was sitting on a driveway in direct sunshine, unfiltered by anything like tree shade or a house roof surrounded by walls and such--where most chairs should be sitting. It was just sitting out there under full strength UV decay. I had worked for an upholstery shop, so that kind of exposure was half a step away from blaspheme for an antique chair, in my rule book. 

I examined the poor creature. That's what furniture people like me sometimes do. My mind is silently thinking at this moment, "Hey, we just finished off our basement and something like this would be nice to sit on. It's a hot little (sun-heated) candidate."

Masking tape held the asking price of something like $50.00 or so on the back. I looked it over well. You see, it was in pretty good condition, clothed in fairly good quality fabric showing little wear, but it had a major flaw. A huge, ugly, glaring, can't overlook it, kind of flaw.

Over strolls the weekend store clerk. "You like the chair? It can be yours for $50.00."

My mouth was still hanging open as I stared at the flaw. Gasping, I said something like, "$50.00?"

Ah, the bargaining began without me even knowing I'd entered into it.

"Okay, $25,00. It's yours and I'll throw in the footstool."

I noticed the footstool--a very sad looking lump of wood and fabric.

"I don't want the footstool. And the chair... It's ugly!"

"It's been recently reupholstered. Nice new foam in the cushion. Grandma used it for only about a year before we moved her into a care facility. It's been sitting unused for 2 - 3 years now. She's gone, so we're selling everything none of us wanted."

Me, clearing throat, "no one wanted it?" I could see why.

"It really is a nice chair... blah, blah, blah... what will you give me for it?"

"I wouldn't even pay you $5.00 for it. It's so ugly!"

"Well, it's sturdy."

"Do you know how much it would cost me to recover it? I'd never dream of taking it into my house looking like that!"

"I can't let it go for $5.00, but if you'll take the footstool, I'll give them both to you for $10.00."

"I don't want the footstool. It doesn't match and it would need a lot of work and upholstery too."

"Okay, $9.00. You get them both." Suddenly I'm holding a huge scrap of leftover fabric from when the chair was upholstered. "Sold! Let me help you get them into your van."

"I don't want the footstool, and I especially don't want this fabric remnant."

"They're a set. You have to take them both or you don't get the chair."

My teenage son runs to the van and opens up the back door because the man asks him to. He's hauling the chair and calling for someone to bring twine to tie it in and hold the back doors closed because they won't completely shut. In the meantime, he's calling over his shoulder for me to grab the footstool.

I protest. "I don't want the footstool!"

"Get the footstool for your mom," the man orders my son. Off he trots.

I pull out my wallet and pay $9.00 for the antiques--a footstool that I don't want and a chair that is badly flawed--that according to my close inspection--I did the sewing on at least five years earlier, but that's not the problem with it. As we pull away I hear the man calling to his wife in celebration, "I sold Grandma's chair!"

I drive home, slunk way down in the driver's seat, hoping no one I know sees me bringing home this atrocity. No such luck. My next door neighbor sees me pull up and start unloading. She ran, yes, RAN down her driveway and up mine before I could get that chair into the garage and safely close the door to hide it. She's screaming, squealing, hollering at the top of her lungs to halt me from shutting the garage door. Please, can't it suddenly be night and this chair disappear in the dark? But no, it isn't, and it doesn't disappear.

My neighbor arrives out of breath. "I want that chair! I want that chair! Will you sell me the chair?" I move between her and my chair. This could end badly if she grabs an arm and leg because I WILL grab the opposite arm and leg and I'm sure horse-hair filling will fly as it's pulled apart--along with our friendship.

I crouch, ready to spring into action to defend my ugly chair. "No," I say, "but you can have the footstool."

She peers at the footstool, down her nose (imitating how I looked at it, too). "No. I just want the chair. Where did you get it? How much did you pay for it? Do they have another one? I'll give you $500.00 for it" She really didn't offer me that much, but it sounds good here. I think her offer climbed up to about $250.00. At that point I told her to go get a custom chair made just like mine.

My son finishes unloading the van and whips out the fabric piece. My neighbor nearly fainted. At first I thought it might have been to throw me off balance so she could steal my chair. But no, she lunged for the fabric, snatching it from my son's grasp. (Slight hyperbole there, sorry, I couldn't refuse.) And there it was. That's what the fuss was really about--the fabric, and not the chair. She loved what I hated. I snatched the fabric out of my son's hand (no hyperbole there) and begged her to take it. I shoved it into her eagerly waiting arms. I promised I'd turn it into throw pillows for her sofa if she'd take it away and promise I never had to see it again. She shoved the fabric back at me and told me to bring the pillows over when I finished them.

My neighbor danced off delighted with my promise that I'd transform her 48-inches of hot pink crushed velvet fabric. I closed the garage on my sadly abused baby. And then I stripped. The chair, not me. But not until I'd gone inside and made throw pillows and delivered them next door, along with every disgusting extra inch of that ugly fabric!

Moral of story: Do not ever upholster your antique chair in hot pink crushed velvet, and if you do, refrain from showing me.

2nd Moral: If you're selling and someone squeaks, "$50.00" over your price, don't jump to the assumption that they think you're asking way too much and reduce it. Especially to $9.00. When I spotted the treasure at a distance I expected to pay more, a lot more, and I gladly would have.

3rd Moral: If someone gives you a footstool, deal with it. If they give you ugly fabric, get rid of it as fast as you can!

Smoky blue was in style in the '80's, so my chair soon turned smoky. In the '90's it got the look it's still wearing. Until now it has always sat in my bedroom and been a piece of furniture NO ONE sat in unless I said, "take a seat" and waved toward the chair. Remember, I have 5 kid, and they all went through teenage years, and anytime they heard that invitation they knew they'd just been ordered into the electric chair and they were not escaping until they'd taken care of EVERYTHING. It served at my witness chair. My polygraph chair. My plead your case chair. My listen up until I'm done talking to you chair. It was the confession spot. Thankfully, I rarely made that invitation.

Back to my writing. I'm hereby putting myself in that chair. Grounded! I'm giving myself a lecture and making promises to myself. The conversation is going something like this: 

"Don't just assume that after such a long hiatus that you can waltz in here and assume you can write like an expert. If I ever see you producing something so sloppy again I'm going to make you reread the dictionary. Got that?" 

"Yes, ma'am! I'll think more and deeper and more critically and plot better." Then quietly, "can I now be excused to go do something a million times easier, like upholster a chair?"

"No, but you can go warm up your computer chair. Like for six hours. And while you're there, write something besides your novel. Give your poor brain a break from it. Your last 2 chapters stink. Badly. Stop tormenting your poor 'project' for a while. Then clean them up. Like next month."

I squeak, " Okay."

FYI: One of the most rewarding things I did was design and build my living room furniture several years ago. Many thanks to a master upholsterer and true artisan, Don Coy, who guided me through the process.

Running & Writing My Life

Running & Writing My Life

When I started this blog I had two purposes in mind:

1. Write about my running--a favorite passion
2. Write about my writing--another favorite passion

RUNNING:
Way back then I ran 3-4 times weekly, and most runs were approximately 5-6 miles long, with an occasional longer run every other week. On non-running days I might ride my bike or hike or walk with my husband. I eventually bought a camera to capture some of the interesting sights I discovered along the way. Being out on the streets and in nature in my Happy Little Village opened my eyes. Running might seem fast paced, but it is so much slower and more organic than rushing past everything in a car. By organic, I mean earthy and natural. I knew when barnyards thawed in the spring, if a deer had been hit by a car and lay decaying just beyond sight, and developed the skill of running without breathing if a dead skunk lay in the gutter. I saw weeds sprouting in spring, knew which direction the wind came from and understood chill factor. Along stretches of unfinished roadside I understood ground saturation and how much water sand, clay and gravel could hold and which was as slippery as snot when wet. I kept my eye on lightning and storms. I observed clouds, birds, garbage collection trucks, distracted drivers and knew school start and ending times. I wore red running gloves and short sleeves some days. In winter I frequently donned a lime green or red jacket for visibility. I never assumed a driver saw me, or if they did, they remembered they saw me the moment after they glanced away--which saved my life more than once. I accepted responsibility for my own safety, and it paid off many times.

WRITING:
Encouraged by family and friends, but more out of my own personal desire, I write. When I began my blog I decided it would be a way to express thoughts and ideas that would probably never find their way into my novels. I simply had too much to share. The blog would contain these tid-bits. At that time I worked full time and had very little time to write, but when I did, I focused on novels. But when writing 150,000 words, give or take ten to fifty-thousand words or so, it can be exhausting at times. My blog became my outlet to say something succinct (if I felt like it). But I'm way into blah, blah, blah, and I won't apologize for it, either.

CHANGE!
My job changed. Who lived under my roof changed. My health changed. My income changed. My responsibilities changed. My health changed some more. My husband's health changed. Everything close to my heart experienced a rapid, non-stop, unexpected journey into change. And all at once, it seemed. Ongoing change during about a three to four year period of time became the new norm. Nothing seemed to be excluded. It was like experiencing whip-lash over and over again. Yup, surprising, unexpected and sometimes with a quick fix and other times a little more painful for a longer period of time until I adjusted. In my suddenly turned inside-out, upside-down world that kept on spinning I put away many things in order to survive. Writing, along with all the joy it brought me, and many other hobbies went first. Running came and went until health issues forced it into a past tense passion. I abandoned my blog--kind of like stuffing it inside a coffin and nailing the lid shut. But I didn't bury it, or my manuscripts. Like seeds buried deep in mother earth over the winter, I hoped someday the sun would shine on my writing again and my desire to put my thoughts and ideas down would sprout and my little neglected blog and dusty novels would return to life.

TIME:
For maybe the past twelve months I have considered writing and posting again. During that first month I was so discouraged when nothing happened that I considered giving up the dream entirely. I want to comment on those feelings because it's important to understand that the first little tugs of desire are only tugs. They are not full-blown accomplishments. You see, sometimes goals and dreams seem so far away and unobtainable that no matter how hard you stretch, work and try, there seems to be no way to ever reach them. Not even halfway. Not even the first two steps along the way. Tugs are first little motions, and are miles away from the victory dances that begin later as you celebrate reaching goals along the path leading to accomplishment. 

When changes began in my life everything was turned into crazy chaos mingled with, among other things, an over-abundant dose of "entitlement" feelings. Let's look closer at what "entitlement" meant in my case: How many women in their mid to late-fifties, like me, are changing diapers and dealing with diaper rash and odors, and babysitting between one to six or more children on occasion, or planning dinner for an undetermined sized group of people, and doing this sometimes two, three, four or more times a week, and often doing these things late into the night? How many have crammed half their living space into the other half of their living space and remodeled a part of their home to add another family which they love and cherish, and given them privacy and autonomy under their roof, and then later crammed their own portion of diminished living space even tighter and restructured it again in order to house yet another three people--another portion of their beloved family--that needs love and security? All of this didn't last the whole three to four years, but is a part of the in and out, coming and going, and ongoing changes I've witnessed.

How many women in the empty-nest section of their lives, who have hopped on the back of a Harley and toured Yellowstone and Zion's National Park and toured Canada and many other areas, and have been free to come and go as desired for many years and as often as they wanted, desire to suddenly return to watching Dora the Explorer as she travels up one hill and past the blueberry patch to reach a fun destination? Or who is delighted to suddenly return to a full nest with cute little nestlings that need constant, don't-turn-your-back-on-them attention? Suddenly, leaving my home at will became impossible. I had to plan trips to the grocery store around a nap. Currently, if no one is home or available, I visit my hair stylist after arranging for a babysitter that I pay for. I can't even count back how many years ago I did that in my younger days. Maybe twenty five, or more? 

How many women who have run in Yellowstone, along Daytona Beach, in Hawaii, New England and San Diego suddenly relish the idea of running from one end of their house to the other, and up and down, to put out fires, prevent disasters, and grab a tissue, a diaper or a damp rag? I wanted to do all that running back and forth from bedroom to kitchen to bathroom and back, etc., for everyone, and do it well and with love because I'm a mom and grandmother and mother-in-law who loves my family and loves serving them. But I had no clue how to do all that again, or in a new way, and do it well at times, because I lacked experience in some cases, and things came up so unexpectedly, and some of the changes followed unpleasant announcements, like, "guess what, mom and dad...." that sent a knot into my stomach that made running both easy and hard, and lots of other tasks in between sometimes overwhelming and/or exhausting.

Being the weekend Granny who did those things when asked, when arranged for, when I offered, or when they needed me was one thing--a very happy thing, but doing them daily because crisis and change and needs hit my children and their family's lives, and in at least one case was thrust on them by outside forces, was entirely surprising and gut-wrenching at times. I knew how to put out short-term fires, and stop short-term floods, but I had no experience with longer lasting situations that had no ending in sight. Now, I'm happy to report, I'm learning that skill.

So when I use the term time, I'm referring to how everything in my personal timeline changed, and not because I scheduled in some exciting, highly anticipated short term or long term alterations, but because someone else needed and requested the changes, and there was nothing else I could do that I'd feel comfortable with. I altered my timeline. It was my choice.

I will admit that sometimes it felt like a prison sentence--but one that I chose for a specific reason. I know that sounds contradictory, but that is the best way I can explain it. Starting any new job can feel similar, so I'll use that analogy, even though it's not exactly perfect. Here goes: New Job: You want it, you have a desire to do it, you applied for it, and you're excited about it. Wow, you're ready for it--bring it on! And then the job starts. Wait a minute! You discover this new job takes time to catch on to--surprise, surprise! There are new routines, new requirements, new machinery, new equipment and new techniques you weren't completely prepared for. Your new bosses and coworkers have already settled into their work and like the flow and want you to catch up and keep up, but you're not sure what the flow is yet because you're the new one in the office. You give it your best and things are working pretty well--in your mind--but of course, you're also many times feeling like you're swimming against the current when in reality you haven't found the current yet. But you're looking for it, and you're not giving up. You have a desire to fit into the new job and work environment, be successful, and get to the point where you begin floating through each day--in that sweet current, which is not the same as frantically paddling or bailing and wishing you could see even a tiny hint of the shoreline. You know the feeling. You want few hitches and no, or at least less, unexpected glitches. When the new job becomes comfortable you discover you love it--just like you thought you would. It seems as if it was custom made for you. A perfect fit. Dream job come true! All the past unexpected and difficult things you learned and endured and struggled through at first have become easy, and those easy things now take little or no brain power to accomplish so you add flourish and your personal touch to everything you do as if they are your personal masterpiece in your creation. So fun! You've begun to enjoy singular and long lasting moments more, or again. Maybe you're thinking other thoughts, thoughts beyond those on how to finish a task and survive the new job. Now you're making future plans, preparing ahead, perfecting, and you're being who you really are as you go along--confident, capable, happy, energetic (you get the idea--any positive attribute fits here), without stressing out because your personality and inner core--your unique life sparks--can and are easily applied in those moments, rather than spending everything you've got on figuring it out and accomplishing something huge and unknown. Enough on that. The analogy basically works. In families it can be the same--you work at it, rework it, and if you keep at it you figure out what works best for happiness and a smooth flow, and once it becomes easier, pleasant times naturally enter the picture more often, and with more meaning and joy. Real life--the life you want that's filled with your individual life spark and your touches--begins in earnest because you're not struggling so hard over the basics. The basics are now second nature.
 

With the frantic sink-or-swim mentality reduced or gone, laughter comes more often without planning or bidding. Mini-vacations occur more often, taking place in the mind, around the dinner table, in the back yard, driving to or from the grocery store, while picking the little ones up from preschool, etc. Anywhere and everywhere. Mini-vacations are times when photos are seldom snapped, but happy memories are stored up. Maybe not stashed in the mind as wow and wonderful events, but complied into good feelings, inner joy, an aura of peace, and the feeling that all is well, good, and right in life. They are tiny vacations into the Land of Contentment and along the beach of "I've got this covered." Mini-vacations mean all is right in life, even when everything is not perfect. They are umbrellas during life's storms and the rainbow on the horizon that reminds us that things will be fine. Just fine.

Okay, this has been way too much to read for anyone, including me. To be succinct (I'll give it a go...), Too much different landed on my shoulders too fast, and many of my safety valves were put to the test and the umbrella wasn't sure it could hold up. In order to stay afloat, which I did by the way, I gave up many things in life that I valued because many other things I valued more needed every ounce of energy and devotion I had. You've heard the saying, "not on my watch." Well, I lived that. Daily. Under changing and sometimes difficult circumstances, and during times I didn't even know I could have or should have prepared for. Believe me, there is no real preparations that can be made in advance for some situations, except personal qualities of commitment, dedication, integrity, etc. Even though I made my choices, sometimes the consequences hurt, because sometimes changes hurt until they become familiar and comfortable. Like how sometimes new shoes that fit well in the store and for the first three hours of wearing them can begin to kill your feet two seconds later until they're completely broken in. Sometimes the changes I experienced were like hiking Mt. Everest in shoes like that, and getting blisters. Big, bulgy, ouchy blisters! Sometimes daily. But there was a mountain to climb, so there was no kicking off the shoes before reaching the summit. I could give a hundred other analogies, maybe even better ones, but they all mean the same thing--daily, constant, on-going changes with consequences, and occasional questioning and second-guessing and rethinking because what hurts, actually hurts. I continually reviewed my choices because I kept getting those awful hot spots that precede blisters. And I got a few blisters that popped along the way. But I felt the heat building and "changed socks or applied bandaids," so to speak, meaning, I studied it out (still do), and realized over and over again that changing many of the choices I originally made would hurt more--more people, more long term, and in more ways. Sometimes I found a way to make a change, or make many changes, that helped ease the hot spots--the way the shoe rubbed. No one ever lives alone in this world. Ever. And when you choose to dedicate your life to your family and those you love, you will go through the rough times with them, for them, and sometimes because of them. You'll witness their hurts as well as their joys. You'll sorrow with them, and cheer for and with them. You'll wear the shoes. You'll keep them on. You'll be okay, and better than okay along the way, and best of all, more than okay at the top.

Anyway, I plugged away at each and every change--that new job that I decided I wanted when it was offered to me--until some of the changes and newness associated with a job change lessened and the work load began flowing smoother and with fewer surprises. (Did I say zero surprises? Nope. Life isn't like that....) Anyway, that's when I could finally begin writing again. You see, my household number had dropped to half of what it had swelled to as one family moved on to experience their own successes and joys under their own roof. As for those still spending a portion of their time under my care: I've learned how to nap them, feed them, clean up after them, occasionally keep ahead of them, and honestly, the 1-year old is now three, and the nearly 3-year old will soon turn five, and those changes alone mean a lot. Constant diapers and naps and scrubbing out sour baby bottles has turned into reading and homework and other needs. It really doesn't mean I have more time, it simply means that I'm using it differently. Although, I will admit, sometimes it does mean more time because I can and have handed one Grand my iPad while the other Grand naps, and I can write for twenty or thirty minutes during the diversion. Taking my attention off the Grands doesn't equate to me paying for it later by spending three hours cleaning up a disaster. Yes, that happened a few times at first because I'd forgotten basic parenting skills, but it occurs less now. Can you see why I tossed writing out? People--my people--the family I love--matters more. And to keep the house standing, the Grands safe, my sanity intact, and a basic blanket of peace covering my household.

Finally, after all these years, my brain is no longer totally focused on what I need to do for everyone, or what I might be missing out on during these supposedly "entitled" years of my life, or weeping over what I used to know about toddlers and preschoolers that I've forgotten and have to relearn, or what sounds I really should be in-tuned to when all is quiet. It can finally begin snatching free seconds here and there to think my own thoughts and arrange them the way I desire, and maybe record them during spare moments.

I don't apologize for the length of this post. I've read short posts, stories and articles that said and meant very little, and others that meant a lot to me. I've come away either fed or famished. It was my choice. The same goes for long articles. Sometimes it was totally my fault for starving, and completely my credit for feasting. I offer the same outcome to my readers. It's that simple.

If you got this far, yay for you! I'm living a new life now--very different and unknown than the one when I began my blog. I've survived a broken neck, enjoyed a house bursting at the seams, lost a job I loved, retired from another which I loved even more, and given up a third. I've hauled my car home from a vacation on a trailer, had my fridge flood my basement and undergone major home repairs as a result, cared for and lost my father, and put my house up for sale only to remove it due to unexpected surgeries and health issues. I've gone from grand vacations to no vacations. I've gone from running to knowing I should never run again. Or ride a snowmobile, or a horse, or four-wheelesr or jet skis. I've experienced changes I never expected or planned, and I've planned things I've never seen come about. I live now in completely uncharted territory with an understanding that life can be like that all the time for some people, which is something I never even contemplated before, I'm sad to admit. I understand life and people better than I ever did before. I've seen more sorrow, more happiness, more hope and more loss. I've seen effects of actions and reactions. As for me, I'm navigating as best I can.

Back to my blog. I began to share more because I'd experiences more. And then it took a huge, unexpected twist when I posted my first novel, and then again when I posted the second. I NEVER planned on posting two novels. Ever! Because I've enjoyed it so much--sharing a gift I fashioned myself for others, I've decided to post another novel in the future. How soon, I don't know. My third novel in the series I've shared has been sitting in my drawer (actually an email) for a few years now. I've recently edited many chapters of it, but the manuscript is still unfinished. Good news: I've been working on it. Even better news: I know the direction it's heading--I've known for years. Best news: I'm planning on posting it. Bad news: unlike some other writers who post novels as they write each chapter, I won't begin posting until my work is 100% complete. I discovered I have a speed-demon mentality when I begin posting a new novel, and that doesn't work out very well if the last 10 chapters or so aren't written!

In the meantime, keep coming back. Skim or read my blog. Comment if you'd like. Ignore it for a while and then check back if that's your style. But please, if you liked the first two novels, come back once in a while. I will keep you updated on my writing progress and let you know when to expect the postings of my next novel to begin. While you wait, offer suggestions for the title if you'd like because that isn't set in print-cement yet.

~~ Leona

*Update. Due to unforeseen hitches which I will probably explain in a later post, I most likely won't post book three until next year. In the meantime, take a break or keep checking back!

Staging My House

Yes, I'm once again staging my house. 
It makes me want to cry. Not because it's going to be so pretty and clean when I'm finished, but because it takes tons of thought and work to accomplish, and I'm doing it on a shoestring budget with limited abilities. Honestly, I don't know if everything I put into it will make selling my home easier, faster, or at a fair market price. Most of it will be just plain work.

But it's also rewarding, because I love creating.

Ta-dummm, here is the sofa table I bought 'used & abused' that I had fun updating. It received a good sanding in places, all four legs were tightened, the drawer slider was fixed, and the pulls were replaced. Not all that went into creating this beauty was on the surface or cosmetic.

I love the little drawer pulls. They were so fun to choose and add. When I first saw the sofa table with my own eyes, overhauling the wooden pulls with something clear and crystally-looking jumped to the top of my list.

Remember the 'before' photos? My poor bedroom was seized and transformed into a paint studio. I kicked the table out as fast as I could turn it upright, and finished painting the top in the living room. I'm  happy to report the master bedroom is back to its little haven status again.

Back then did you think these pulls would look right? I did! I could see the magic sparkling inside them!

But before I could place the little table into it's new spot, I had to make the spot ready. I rolled back my massive carpet and trimmed it down nearly a whole 4 feet. Believe me, I measured twice and cut once because there was not room in the budget for mistakes.The sofa table needed to sit on the dark wood floor and add contrast, as well as take up the narrow space, but not overpower it. This room is very narrow and very long, and not especially easy to decorate or furnish.

So, while I'm working away, trying to remember to take before and after photos of the area as I go, my cute little Grand found the camera and said, "Say cheese, Grammie." I complied. She snapped away with glee, taking a ton of pictures, but only two turned out. The rest were blurry beyond belief. She's only four and not big on holding still yet. But maybe she's discovering a new talent to develop.. That would be fun!

When I got the camera back I snapped one of her. Actually, I took four. This is the only one where she's not a blur. Nope, she doesn't hold still often or long. It's fun working with my Grands around, even though everything takes at least ten times longer. I think she loved watching the transformations underway, she felt the excitement of change, and she was a big helper. I like seeing my Grand's delight while helping, discovering and learning. Their questions are insightful sometimes, and occasionally valuable.

I wish I took photos of my son helping me edge the carpet and then placing it where I wanted it. My son and daughter moved the furniture off the carpet, then on, then off and on again as I placed everything exactly where I wanted them for a pleasant balance.  My son is an amazing person--so patient. Having two kids living at home who are creative, inventive, strong and artsy helps at times like this.

It's crazy, but the sofa table is tucked behind a big leather sofa where it won't be seen much. That gives you an idea of how long the room is. Now it's waiting for something to hang above it. I'm undecided what that will be: clock, a photo from The Grand Tetons that my son took, a painting, a mirror, etc. We'll see what my scouting uncovers.

A huge question is whether or not I'll own the sofa table for long. It might not be something I can fit into my next super-downsized home. But don't worry, it will find someone who loves it and wants it. Most likely the brown sofa, and many other items will be put up for adoption too.

Inch by inch, and one closet, nook, cranny and room at a time I'm making my way through my happy little home in My Happy Little Village. I'm adding comfort I'm enjoying as I prepare my home for my son to take photos of it, and for my realtor to list it. 

Wish us better luck this time around!

(No broken necks or new knees, please...)

About the Author of Hidden Secrets:

About the Author of 

Hidden Secrets:

  Leona Palmer Haag

 Writing Stuff:

• I've been a writer since grade school
• Back then there were no computers
• And no dictionaries
• Just kidding
• I stole the family dictionary, so for the rest of the household, that was basically true
• Have you ever met a kid who reads the dictionary for fun? Me neither, but I did it anyway
• No, I don't have a huge vocabulary
• When I met a thesaurus for the 1st time it was love at first sight
• Same with my husband
• My first typewriter was electric. It was a hand-me-down after my mom bought a word processor. Remember those? Me neither
• My first computer was intended to help my kids graduate from Jr. High
• I controlled it and its black screen with orange print
• They still graduated from Jr. High
• Paper threaded through the printer in one continuous sheet with perforations where you could separate them
• I've written more novels than I can count on my fingers, less than counting on my fingers and toes
• One was written after someone said something annoying in my presence
• Yes, say whatever you want around me. It might spur me on, but not with a FB post.
• I have 1 article published and 2 short stories published
• I still dream of "being published," despite being published

True or False: (you figure these out if you can)

• I never cuss in my novels
• I stay up all night writing
• I'm a fearless editor
• My husband loves it when he finds me at the computer
• My kids are starving to death
• My kids have learned to cook
• My kids eat out all the time
• Most days I need to stop writing and do something else
• I write only about what I currently know
• I research stuff
• I never research anything but preferred names for characters
• I've been to all the places my characters visit, and then some
• I drag my husband to places I want to write about
• I write on vacations, preferably poolside
• I eat chips and chocolate and drink Dr. Pepper while writing
• I write on the back of my hubby's motorcycle
• All of the above are true.
• Most of the above are true
• None of the above are true
• I have no clue what's truth, therefore, I write fiction
• You can always trust a writer to steal your funny lines
• And snatch your funny experiences
• And twist them around to make them better 
• And never give you credit
• But you will know, and you can brag

People to thank:

• My husband for being patient and nice while I write, edit and scheme
• My husband and his sister for sending a cake swimming in a sink
• My daughter for being sassy
• My Grands for acting their ages and helping me remember
• My friends for encouraging me to write
• My writing class for blasting the ever-living-daylights out of many chapters that really did need more work
• My writing class who praised and encouraged me
• A writing friend who confided she was laughed at in her writing group for her plot revolving around an insurance agent that made me so mad I decided to create an insurance agent character of my own 
• My Computer savvy son who saved the computer and my sanity many times
• My husband who has listened to every plot and contradicted a few, which improved things
• My niece who has smiled and listened, although bored, I'm sure
• My daughter-in-laws for graciously putting up with my books
• Everyone who has had to wait for me to finish writing before I'll fix dinner
• Everyone who has taught me how to write better
• Everyone who has helped me see and express things better
• Agents and publishers who sent polite rejections

Things to thank:

• My computer for not crashing at key moments
• Me, for not killing my computer when it crashed at other key moments
• Wal-Mart for having the cheapest printer paper and ink cartridges
• Spell check. Delete Key. Backspace key. 
• Word for inventing copy/past and highlight/delete

Personal stuff:

• I love pizza
• I have a science degree
• I love driving my car
• I love hyperbole 
• I'm addicted to flowers
• My favorite color is green
• Greatest Wish: I could catch every mistake before I posted or published and correct it

  * Answers to true and false--but not in this order:

• Always
• Never
• Sometimes
• Maybe
• Can't remember
• Won't tell
• Possibly
• Unsure
• Yes
• No
• Ummm 
• etc.

 ~~ Leona
Come back for more of my running and writing...
  
 

My 2nd Novel: Hidden Secrets; Chapter 76 (END)

Hidden Secrets
Chapter 76

Hidden Secrets

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 76

Monica slipped into her chair across the table and her eyes surveyed Jenn. "Tell me, how does one little girl such as yourself get into so much trouble?" she asked.

Jenn squirmed under the evaluation. "I swear I don't start it."

Monica laughed. "Matt said you'd say something like that. But be honest, how exactly did you get involved this time? From all indications, that Mr. Turpin, as you call him, and the bat wing-eared man had no clue you were in Arizona. From what we've gathered, you happened to be living on the doorstep of something else they were working on. It's odd that when they lost you in Dallas they dropped you completely. I suppose it was because they received word that Nick was captured."

Matt said, "My theory is that Nick's dramatic kitchen episode pulled them away from Jenn. All along she was plan B. Their second choice or back up scheme. They must have figured if they had the wife they could easily reel in the husband."

Jenn shrugged. "We're never going to know, are we? Dead men don't talk. The only thing I've learned about business in your notorious office is that some facts are never fully known. Secrets are born, and some of them disappear without leaving much evidence behind. All that's left are annoying questions that can never be fully answered."

Matt smiled at Jenn. "Well put."

Monica wasn't done with her, though. "It amazes me that you have a knack for stepping into danger. How do you do it so naturally and to such a devastating degree?"

Jenn leaned forward and said, "It's one of those things where if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Monica's eyes flashed. "Give it a try."

"The killing or the telling?"

Monica laughed. "Both. Are you up to it?"

"Very. Tomorrow morning I'm going to finish the tile floor Kevin had installed but never bothered to seal. I’ve read up on the process and it's going to be a messy, on-your-hands-and-knees type job. Be there at eight. Bring kneepads. You can buy them in the glamour department at the Home Depot. I'll share all my secrets as we work."

Monica held up her hands. Wiggling her perfectly manufactured fingertips. "I don't do kitchen work."

Everyone laughed.

"You did well with your incarceration this time," Matt praised.

"Given the right amount of money, it looks like I can endure anything," Jenn replied.

Dinner arrived and talk switched to a new topic. Sports, to be exact. "I like the diamond," Monica said as the men discussed baseball.

"I like yours too. I'm sure mine is approximately the same size."

Monica smiled. "Possibly, but value is what really matters. I've heard about yours already."

Jenn leaned forward and returned the smile. "Let's hope the office doesn't discuss your diamonds someday, or I'll hear the truth about them too. I've promised Matt I won't bring a jewelers loop over to examine them myself. But I might. Lock your jewelry box."

Monica laughed. "That's nice, but not necessary. Bring one by tomorrow. We'll take a peek at all of them. You'll discover the meaning of the word genuine."

Nick patted Jenn's knee. "Someday I'll replace that little stone with something bigger, brighter and authentic."

"Come on, I'm not into weight lifting or blinding flashes of light," Jenn giggled.

"I'm glad you women are back together and on such pleasant terms," Matt said, keying into the competition and challenges.

Jenn and Monica both laughed. They raised their wine glasses and saluted each other. They were at their best with each other when they were one-upping and down-sizing. As they prepared to leave the restaurant that evening, Monica touched Jenn's arm. "I like your earrings. I really do. They’re very classy and stylish."

Jenn reached up and touched one dangling earring with tiny amber crystals. The pair had cost her less than ten dollars on a clearance sale. Monica pulled one of her diamond earrings off. "Trade me." She quickly pulled the other off and pushed them toward her.

"I can't. I'd probably get the better deal."

Monica laughed and her eyebrows raised. "Possibly."

"Mine don't match your outfit."

Monica glanced at her sleek black top and silky black pants. "Amber and black look stunning together, and I'll look ravishing in diamonds."

Jenn laughed. "That a joke. Cheap metal and glass with silk? And yours will overdress me." She glanced at her simple cotton top and black canvas pants.

Monica wasn't persuaded. "Diamonds go with everything. Trade me."

After more persuasion, Jenn reached for her earrings and slid them off and took Monica's in exchange. Monica put her new earrings on and pulled a tiny mirror from her purse and examined herself, tossing her head to make the crystals bob and dance in the light. She passed the mirror to Jenn. "We'll go jewelry shopping together after we do your kitchen floor. It will be fun."

Jenn frowned. "My last jewelry shopping excursion was memorable, but I'd never call it fun."

"Because you weren't with me." Monica took her mirror back and placed it in her purse. She smiled at Jenn. "Diamonds are precious, and friends are like diamonds, you know. I'm glad both you and Nick are home again."

Jenn caught the sudden symbolism and bit her bottom lip and blinked back tears. "I bet my earrings don't mean as much to you as yours now do to me."

"But they do," Monica said. She grasped Jenn's hand in a tight hug. "They do. This is now my favorite pair."

That evening as Jenn got ready for bed she said, "Nick. What happened?"

He rolled his shirt into a tight ball and tossed it at the hamper, scoring a two-pointer. "What do you mean?"

"The kitchen. Where were you? What were you doing? What happened to it?"

Nick grabbed her and held her in a fierce hug. "We've been home only three days and you're already asking questions?"

"My mind is still reviewing the past and I need answers."

He pressed his finger to her lips. "Not tonight."

"Tonight. I love being clueless, but obviously I need to be informed."

"Why?"

"Because ignorance is blissful death, which I'm not ready for. Education and knowledge mean life—and that's exactly what I want. Please start talking."

Nick sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her onto his lap. "I don't want to tell you."

Jenn traced a thin scab on his forearm with the tip of her finger. "I know. But I'm going to hear it all eventually anyway. I want it from you, not Mitchell, Kevin or Matt."

Nick took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I was captured, but not until after a good fight. You scored well because you’ve  got a new kitchen out of it." He paused.

"Then what? After the capture, what happened?"

He looked over her shoulder at nothing for a moment, then his eyes returned to hers and focused. "I was taken to a mansion that puts the one you stayed in to shame. It was absolutely magnificent."

"I want the truth," Jenn whispered.

He nodded. "I know, and that's the truth. I was kept in a guest room. Locked up tight. The light was always on and the camera never blinked. When I was released, I was given a dagger and instructions."

"What instructions?" Jenn urged when he fell silent again.

"Go. Apparently they were finished with me."

"And?"

Nick smiled. "I came home and here we are. Ready for bed now?"

"You skipped many things."

He shrugged. "Minor details. Nothing important."

Jenn placed her fingers on his cheek and caressed him. "Please fill in the gaps."

He slowly nodded. "Which ones do you want to know about?"

"The night you arrived in Scottsdale."

"It was morning."

"What happened the night before you arrived?"

He sighed and pulled her closer. "They retrieved the bodies you discovered, but you already know that. I arrived later. Around six in the morning."

"But you know what happened while I was hiding, so tell me that part."

He cleared his throat. "Jenn, knowing is my business. My job." His tone of voice added, and it's none of yours. It's better that way. Closed subject.

Jenn didn't buy it. "I know. But I was involved, so it's my business too."

He shrugged. "Okay. The General arrived to check on his man, Saymore."

Chills ran up Jenn's spine and she envisioned bat wing ears in the dark Arizona night beyond her windowpanes. She shivered.

Nick held her tighter. "But Saymore—your friend Davis—was already dead. You stumbled onto his body by accident and changed everything—to yours and Katie's salvation. Our basement men switched off every second or third day while you were there. I suppose you don't know that only the highest officials are allowed to use that house? You were the first, in case you're wondering."

Jenn shook her head.

Nick laughed. "Maybe I should call you Senator Washington or Governor Washington."

Jenn kissed his cheek. "Don't change the subject. Go on. What happened next?"

"Our agents made arrangements that morning for changing of the guard that evening. The man in the basement was going to leave early to meet someone, and Kirk was going to replace him about an hour later. It was going to be the first time they didn't overlap. Do you understand what that means?"

"If I hadn't discovered and reported the deaths, no one would have known the castle was unguarded. Katie and I would have been left alone. We might not have lived through the night," Jenn whispered.

Nick slowly nodded, then shook his head. "Possibly, but probably not. But there were other factors that may have kept you alive or prevented your capture. The doors and walls to that room are reinforced. You chose your bedroom well."

"I swung that door open and shut every day. I slammed it a few times. Nothing seemed unusual. Why didn't I ever guess it was a fortress door?"

Nick shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I might not have guessed."

"Will they send you to Baltimore for additional training if anyone finds out you might miss something like that?" she teased.

"Maybe. I could be in your next class. I’ll flunk and you’ll pass."

Jenn giggled. "I'd like that."

"Because of your little spurious hike and discovery, our agents were on alert. That night an agent stayed in the second basement, as you call it, and three more were in the house. One in the loft, one on the main floor, and one in the basement. You were covered."

Jenn shivered. "If I'd left the room to get my phone or gun, would I have seen them?"

Nick shook his head. "I doubt it. More than once you entered and exited a room where an agent was hiding and never caught them."

Jenn shivered even harder. "You shouldn't have told me that. Now I've got the creeps. You can bet I'll never go to another safe house. Not to save my life!"

"Okay, it happened twice. That's all. You remember the night you saw the vulture?"

"I'll never forget it—the dark omen of death soaring over me!"

"It was Kirk. He thought something felt wrong. He was investigating. He spooked it and it flew up. Our other man was in the loft watching him from the window when you emerged. You never saw him. He hid in a shadow until you left, then he hid in a bedroom until the coast was clear."

Jenn shivered. "What about the other time?"

Nick laughed. "You don't want to know."

"Was I in the shower? Tell me!"

"No. It wasn't anything like that. The day after you got your gun. Sunday. Our agent thought the coast was clear. After all, you'd left, right? Do you want to guess the details now?"

"Okay, here goes. I pulled out of the garage and shut it. I remembered I'd left Katie's sweater on a kitchen barstool, so I opened the garage and pulled back in. I raced inside the house, grabbed it, and ran back out. Is that the time? Where was he?"

Nick started laughing and didn't stop.

"Tell me!" Jenn demanded. "Just tell me!"

He snickered. "You nearly knocked our man over when you opened the door. His hand was on the handle and he was ready to pull it open. In you ran and he high-tailed it to a back bedroom like demons were after him, hoping you’re miss seeing him. He tripped on something. A set of measuring spoons or something on the floor, and almost fell. He almost swore too. You didn't hear a thing, probably because your heels were so noisy on the marble. After you left—really left for good—he pulled down the ladder and planted two cameras. But, because of the fright you gave him, it took him a good twenty minutes to catch his breath before he dared venture from the closet he was hiding in."

"Ahhhh!" Jenn said in frustration. "I can't believe it. I had no clue! But that ladder situation unnerved me."

"And him. He’s heard about that mess up. If either of you had had your timing two seconds off, either he would have been in the garage grabbing the ladder, or strolling through the kitchen with it when you came back."

"I would have freaked out. Katie and I would still be screaming. But that last night—three agents were in the house, you said. There was a break in. I head glass break. No one has said so, but I know there was a fight. And although I never said anything to anyone until now, I smelled the fresh paint that morning and noticed the new carpet in the loft. How do I properly thank the office for what they did for me and Katie?"

"When an agent knows he succeeds, that's usually enough. It's like a natural high. Capturing the General is thanks enough. And they should be thanking you too—you kept your head and never needed their rescue. And you found and identified Kirk, which saved many lives. Maybe you should get a gold medal of honor. A presidential commendation. An apology from Kevin at the least."

Jenn blushed. "I think it's the other way around. I owe all of them for my life. No one from the office died, did they?”

Nick shook his head. “And no one was injured, either.”

“Kevin Curtis put up with a lot from me. He doesn’t need to apologize to me, but I owe him about ten years of apologies. Maybe a chocolate cake too."

Nick chuckled, then grew serious. "Do you believe in fate, baby?"

Jenn slowly shrugged. "After hearing this, I probably should. But I don't know what I believe in, really. Except love, hope, families, Katie and you."

Nick kissed her. "I believe in those too, and I think I believe in God. It seems like despite all the terrible things I witness—all the death and drugs and wars—God is somewhere giving hope and peace. Maybe not peace to a nation or even to an individual, but peace in some small or great measure to someone who seeks it. “

“There is no peace anywhere, Nick. I never knew that until this past few months.”

“But there really is. While in captivity I thought a lot about peace and how precious it is. I kept trusting you were living in peace. It was all I had to cling too, and it gave me peace. I kept praying you didn't arrive home and see the kitchen. It was all I asked of God—your safety and not seeing what happened to the countertops. I never dreamed he'd grant my request. I kept envisioning your shock. Your cries. Your hopelessness. I'd shut those scenes out and pray you were safe and had peace."

Jenn melted into his arms and wept. "I kept trying to feel peace myself. As long as Katie was awake, it was fairly easy. But in the dark of night it was nearly impossible."

He brushed her tears away. "Jenn, because of my job, something like this might happen again. Promise me you'll reach for peace in the night, not just during the day, and not just when Katie is around. It’s too valuable to not claim it."

"It's impossible to have peace when I’m scared."

"It’s not, so promise you’ll try. You've got so much more strength than you think. You're so much sweeter, kinder and more loving than anyone else I know. You can do it. Have it while you’re home, at work, with me, and when I’m gone."

Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. "But it’s impossible. And I wasn’t entirely sweet with Kevin. I tortured him as much and often as I could, and I did it on purpose."

“You did the exact opposite with Katie. You did your best with everyone.”

She shrugged. “I thought I might kill Matt during one of his visits. He kept pointing at our fake family photos and saying we looked good together, and then he’d snicker. I knew he was teasing me and egging me on, but it infuriated me. I wanted to kill him—feed him poisoned shellfish or something like that and watch him keel over. He is so annoying sometimes. Can we please never ever have him visit me if I’m in hiding again—or better, can you change jobs and never work with him again so I don’t have to deal with him?”

Nick lifter her chin to so she’d have to look directly into his eyes. "You know I love my job, don't you?"

She nodded and wiped at her tears.

"Nick and I are partners, friends, buddies and that’s not going to change. I’ll talk to him about how he treats you and…”

“You don’t have to. I’ll talk to him.”

“And babe, you need to understand that this whole mess isn't over. We've only found our enemies domain, not eliminated him. What I do makes a difference in a lot of lives—the lives of people who are hurting and have no safe house and no one else to rescue them."

Jenn bit her bottom lip. "What about our lives? Me and Katie? You? Our family? We matter too."

He kissed her tenderly. "What I do even makes a difference in our lives. This is what we do as a family. We fight evil and wickedness in some of its ugliest forms—drugs, terrorism and all kinds of depravity. While I fight, you bring sweetness into everything you touch. Our home, our time together, and our attitudes. We're a team, and our individual efforts make up a whole that is incredibly good. I tear down the bad and you build up the good. It’s who we are and what we do. And together, we are good."

"I just want…" Jenn dissolved into tears.

He raised her chin again. "And you get it ninety-nine percent of the time."

"I want it one-hundred percent."

Nick hugged her tightly. "Me too. More than anything. That's why I do my part. Now tell me about Katie. How did she gain so much weight? Don't tell me I lost muscle because I won't believe you." He jumped up and swung Jenn around in his arms to prove it. The dark subject closed and a happier one opened.

Jenn giggled as she clung to her husband. His warm neck. Strong arms. Her cheek pressed against his bristling end-of-the-day beard. "She's growing up. I think she's ready for a big brother or sister."

Nick laughed. "Really? But she's a full-fledged two-year old. Hurricane Katie. Are you sure you want another miniature storm next year?"

"He—or she—won't start out as a two-year old. We'll ease into it."

"What about next summer? Should we give it a try again?" Nick whispered in her ear.

"Perfect. Let's plan on it."

End 

Thank you for joining me for Hidden Secrets. I've enjoyed sharing this novel with you, and hope you've enjoyed it too. It's been a fun adventure sharing two novels on my blog, and I hope to share another one soon. Of course, Jenn will have another adventure.

In the meantime, I've got a house to clean and stage, but check back often

~~Leona