Tell me and all viewing; what is your fondest memory of that very special Christmas morning? What was that one present or presents that made it the best day ever?

For me, it was a couple of things.  I asked for and really, really wanted a Holly Hobby lifesize doll. I don't know if anyone out there remembers Holly Hobby but when I opened that big box and saw her blue bonnet, flower dotted dress and long braids, I was in love. I got her sister also and for the life of me I cannot remember her name.  This was 1979 and the absolute best Christmas, I was 13. After the big Holly reveal, I came across (I have to admit, I peeked) my next favorite present; a little combination safe about the size of a volley ball but square, blue metal with a cool spinning combination lock.  For the next few years I put love letters from a teenage crush in Indiana in the safe along with some coins I collected.  Wish I still had that safe, it was so cool. 

What is your best memory? 

Has it really been since April? Unfortuately yes. My "catching up" includes posting a quick hello that I am still alive and our family has been through much--but more on that later.

We are "gearing up" for the holidays and due to a pinched nerve in my neck I was very late with and short on the Halloween decos this year. They did get put up but only about one week or so before the big night. That is LATE for me.  Feeling better now and actually able to type sitting straight up instead of reclined in a slouched position.

I also entered the WD Short Short Story competition. I entered two stories this year and we shall see what comes of that. Also already registered for Desert Nights Rising Stars Writers Conference for February 2013.

As for "stressing out".. well that is another story all in itself. Our youngest son, Avery who had his kidney transplant almost five years ago, is battling rejection again. We have both AMR and cellular rejection and we spent nine days in the hospital this time. Avery has one more treatment of plasma pheresis and IVIG. It knocks him down for 24 hours, terrible. He is my hero in more ways than one. It is a lot to take and that "perfect match" they said we had with my kidney... well-- not everything is perfect.

We will push through again!

It is Friday the 13th and before the night recedes any further into distant memory, I must get my latest revelation off my chest; I have also had a glass of wine or two.

Yes, my friends it is Friday the 13th and my day started out with a follow up appointment with my cardiologist. I can hear you all.... "How old are you? Why would you be seeking the technical knowledge of such a high grade medical professional?" I will tell you, heart palpitations. Yes, little beats that just don't seem to fit the normal pattern of day to day living. I actually wore a heart monitor for a month.

Well, today the good news is he said the monitor along with the ultrasounds were all great! You have the heart of a 20 year old (I am 46).  Fantastic!! Pour me another glass!  It IS working!  Shiraz does cure all!!  Take note my friends!!

Then... he scooted closer, brought the chart to my face, I could smell the paper, see the little letters and numbers, even the alien script writing doctors seem to develop and that is when he let it fly...

"The vein mapping we did...You said you have had leg pain in the past, right?"

"Well, yea once in a while. I am on my feet at work at times."  (I am a cop remember?  I tend to wear about 22 lbs of "stuff" around my waist and yes, I am on my feet.)

"Well you came back with Venus Reflux Disease." (go ahead, I know you want to Google it... go ahead)

Blank stare, lower jaw drops to floor... remember, I came in for heart palpitations.

"So....what does that mean?  Can I work on it?" (ie.. can I drink something, do an exercise, work out diffently, chant something repeatedly?)  No.. I am not into pills, so that option was out.

"Well, it will progress.  You are healthy, in good shape.  In 20-30 years though, it will become a problem and you will need to address it."

So he says....

Translation; I am going to have old lady legs.. Blood pooling around my ankles, swelling, ugly veins.. you name it.. Great..

It's Friday the 13th.. did I tell you that?

__________________

So, as I wallow in my misery, I get a collective hold on myself and realize---- this is nothing folks.  My legs look---- okay.  They are not like they looked when I was 24 but whose legs look like that 20 or so years later???  I work out, I eat right, I drink wine and yes a beer or two.

Then I was traversing the great wide world web and came across the Three Stooges Movie.. I LOVE the Three Stooges.  I am a simpleton and I needed something to lighten my mental load.

I know exactly what to do this weekend..

Take my two boys to see the Three Stooges.  And screw the veins..   Cheers

Hello my friends. If I have any left that is. July 2011, seems an eternity ago and now I found the inspiration and time to make a quick pitch to anyone out there who still may check in once in a while. Well.. what has been happening?

I dedicated myself to some serious writing and it did pay off.  I got an Honorable Mention in the Writer's Digest 80th Annual Writing Competition. My category was heavily attended (Short Story Lit/Mainstream) with over 5000 entries I believe (or best estimate). I got 43 out of top 100 for a fictional short story titled, A Moment for Rosalie.  "Ya shoulda seen my face when I opened the e-mail."  Better yet, you should have seen the little jig I danced around the house like a spastic cheerleader on Red Bull.

I am now heading to the ASU Virginia Piper's Desert Nights Rising Stars Writer's Conference, just a few weeks away. Last year I blogged about my experience and if you care to check in to see what I learn, please check back. This year I made the big leap to the "Master's Class" and have submitted 20 pages of my non-fiction, A Mother's Purpose, for review by a published author and 11 other aspiring memoirists. This should be fun and I hope to take all I can from having several writers read and critique my work.

I also have entered the Writer Mag's Memoir contest, soon to be announced March 1 or shortly thereafter. I have to say, I get a real kick out of entering contests. If you have never entered one, do your research, enter a quality one with a long standing. Polish up your work and take the leap. I find it very therapeutic in a "writerly" sort of way.

I am glad to be back. Please follow, please comment. I love to hear back from you and above all, if you have a blog/story to share, do so here.  I am also a member of She Writes but just cannot get the darn logo to attach!!!! 

More Soon!

I began this blog as a way to inspire more writing.  It has, it does.  The problem; not the right/write kind.  Thank you to those who have elected to follow, comment and inspire.  I have a goal to have a working manuscript done by end of 2011 for my non-fiction/memoir, yet I have found the blog to be.... well-a distraction.  I must however pat myself on the back for the determination to "blog regularly" as evidenced by my archive. (I honestly did not think I could do it)

So, I will temporarily sign off.  Some call it 'blogging without obligation' or just plain, "Got too much stuff going on and my priorities are a bit eschew." 

I will check in later but for now will focus on filling the pages of my well worn journal, filling another journal or two, transcribing complete chapters to the computer, revising and revising---(raising my two boys, tending to a busy husband, working full-time, taking care of our youngest son's health and being a hockey/music lesson mom.. oh, and finishing my Master's).  Of course, I will continue reading as inspiration.  I will push forward with my story I so want to tell.  Parenting, indifference, sacrifice, selfish human nature and of course, hope.  "A Mother's Purpose" (or TBD)

Bye for now.

Once in a while it hits me.  We are all here only for so long and damnit, you better enjoy every minute of it.  I think anyone who knows me would agree, I am a relatively happy, upbeat person.  I rarely am as you say, down in the dumps, sullen, blue or long suffering.  I believe my children are a big part of this and especially my youngest who has by far seen far too much "unhappiness" is his seven years. 

I must remain light on my feet.  I must be the one who "brings the party", the one who gives in to Top Ramen and cake for dinner, the one who reads just one more chapter of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and the one who is the first to know exactly when Cars 2 and Zookeeper are in the theaters.  My husband, is a great daddy.  He is ultimately the party in the pool where I usually am off in the play area or swimming around while he initiates his own game of "wrecking ball" with the boys- a rather fantastic sport where he dons goggles and slinks under water waiting for the perfect moment to catapult forward toward both screaming boys, their legs splashing with explosive energy.  He finds an ankle, a leg, an arm of a boy and drags him back where the wriggly victim is quickly consumed in belly farts and finished off with a toss in the air only to return for more.  What fun. 

I love every day.  Every moment and just this week as one of the employees in my building sighed, "Just tell me when its Friday", I stopped him and said, "Now what about the rest?  What about Tuesday at 1:26 p.m. and Thursday at 7:13 a.m. Remember, you don't know how many Fridays or Mondays or even Wednesdays you have left.  Don't forget.  Every day is Friday to me.  They're all good." 

He nodded and agreed I was right.  Our youngest son has taught us that every day.  Every day I line up his meds on the counter, one colored syringe after another.  The injections we give him weekly are expedited with a combination of a tactical stealth approach by my husband while he holds him down and I prep the spot, quickly sinking the needle into his soft skin.  This brief but traumatic event is followed up each time with much hugging and tears and "mommy is so sorry but we have to.."

And like today.  We will drop our oldest; his sensitive, attentive older champion brother, off at day camp and then head to the Phoenix Children's Hospital for an echocardiogram.  We need to check his heart.  His blood pressure has been creeping up. 

So enjoy your Friday, enjoy your days as they lay out ahead of you like balanced domino soldiers and appreciate every day you get.  Be happy  and above all love every damn minute of it. 

I am in between books right now and have decided that although I ordered THREE more, I owe it to myself to postpone the dive into another memoir and focus on writing.  I am reading through "Writing Down the Bones" by Natalie Goldberg.  I am certain many of you have heard of or have already read this inspirational and helpful book on writing.  

I have had this book a while and am determined to begin working on writing more seriously.  Enough wasted time, enough wishful thinking about empty pens or forgetting my journal at home.  It is true; writing is a painful, laborious and gut wrenching process.  My husband cannot comprehend how after all this time, I have produced little more than a few short stories.  Amazing, I SAY!!

Goldberg covers one particular lesson I am determined to focus on over the next several months; Writing as Practice.  Write whatever is working through you.  Write in the margins, back of pages, what you see, the smells, a thought, a memory.  You never know, that thought or sight may turn into a whole chapter leading from the load of laundry you just folded, full of little baby boy clothes to the first time you made brownies with your grandma. 

I owe it to myself to stop being so hard on myself.  I am so particular about every line, word or thought, I don't actually relax and just write freely.  I find that when I actually tell myself, "Okay, lets work on the next chapter..." I never even get to it.  Again, too much pressure!

So, I will relax.  I will work on just writing.  I will not put restrictions on what I write and will not write myself into a corner. 

We owe it to ourselves. 

Anything to get me to brownies....

Feeling a bit punchy, chatty and aimless-

I actually have a quiet house.  I am alone.  The house is cooling off, dinner has been made and served.......I have one child at a play date, the other with dad at hockey.... I should be writing.  I am writing right?  I am writing right now.  Okay, so yea it's not "my book" I am working on (can I even say that with a straight face?).  Am I working "on a book?" I read somewhere once (when I wasn't writing) where you should never say you are "working on a book" if you are in fact just "thinking about working on a book".  



Pretty Butterfly



I have had too many friends close to our family suffer the consequences of a mid life turned "crisis".  So, I had to write about it:

I equate life to a ship at sea.  We start out on our journey, a discovery of fascinating people, nature, experiences keen to our specific interests and desires.  Along the way this self induced current pulls us in our own un-charted direction.  The trials, tribulations and memorable encounters log into our psyche and build our own internal infrastructure along the way.  We become who we were meant to be; our character defined.

Somewhere along that self discovery, we enter the parallel of "mid-life".  I admit I have entered that point in my life at forty-five.  And that is perfectly okay with me.  In fact it gives me standing, a badge of recognition and a mentorship card for others who have yet to paddle these waters.  My friends, it will come. 

But.  And this is one big but.  You must use caution to catch the signs of this mid-life becoming a crisis.  A "crisis" is a very personal, internal and sometimes in some rare incidents, a vain thing.  Of course the "vain" part of this may be the perception of others who with some reasonable assessment of the problem, discover a lot of the panic, turmoil and chaos is the result of some very selfish desires and typical self discoveries. 

Your vessel in mid-life strains a bit in the hull but the masts broaden and fill, carrying you along.  Management of your vessel is necessary so as not to strain it along the way.  It becomes necessary to lighten the load, exchange your parcels along the way for items more easily carried on your journey.  A mid-life "crisis" results when you insist on carrying or in some cases returning to items you once had on your journey.  Stubbornly, you drag them along with you.  Eventually masts strain, the bones of the ship weaken even crack and the ocean begins to eat you up.  You drop anchor and watch in disbelief as others sail effortlessly past.  Sometimes, those passing ships are spouses, friends, children, family.  You are left with your very full ship, cargo up to your neck, dead in the water.  (and I mean that figuratively). 

So, my friends if this crisis is not caught in time, if our fruitless desires become our burdens and weigh down our ship, the seasons of our lives wilt on the branch.

Monitor your changes, they have not discovered the eternal life pool yet.  Assess your needs but do not forget your treasures.  Love your family, your spouse if you have one, your animals if you have niether and by all means, love yourself and your future.  Sail your ship to a wonderful life with only a thimble full of regret. 

Under the shade of a tan umbrella I part the pages of my book, pull the spare chair under my feet and call to the boys as they begin an underwater treasure hunt.

"Don't run and jump out far from the step!"  I say with a big grin as they dive underwater for treasures valued with assigned points.  Sounds clearly tinny and crisp to them above waterline are muffled to a dull silence as their little streamline bodies swirl and kick just below the surface. 

This time of year the sun screams from a cloudless sky and stings your skin awake.  A cool splash in the water is a blanket of relief and the time between wet slick skin and dry is only moments as the moisture is pulled back into the air.  It has a way of tingling the hairs on your arms back to attention. 

The rule; no water guns are to be discharchged at mom.  She has a book in her hands. 

Other than that simple rule, there are none.  Jumping is allowed, screaming most definitely, laughing without abandon of course and watermelon eaten in the pool is the only way to eat it.  The sticky juice pours down chin, across faces and down elbows.  The rind is tossed to the side and a dive down under and back up washes a boy better than any bath I know. 

The song of the cicada arrives in Arizona just after June 21.  Their song is a sweet reminder of the mesquite smell of the BBQ, the friends poolside and music filling the afternoon.  In the early evening once the quiet comes upon us and the sun has taken a break from its day, we sit still and hear the cicada song, its buzzing a cue to my boys to announce officially; "Mom, the cicadas!  Summer is here!" 

"Yes it is.  Summer is here in Arizona, in all its stinging, sticky, sweet glory." 

Why the title?  Well, go tour the Air Force Academy and then the US Olympic Training Facility and you will  know what I mean. 

I honestly asked myself, "What have I done?  Anything?  If only I was 20 years younger." (okay, 25 years younger......)

So, since I dont want to depress you, I will post some pictures of Breckenridge and Leadville CO:

Thank you to our olympians and to our armed services. 

The Garden of the Gods.  Beautiful!!  There were people carefully climbing the precarious cliffs believe it or not!!  I read this was donated by the property owner to the City of Colorado Springs in the 1900's by his family at no cost so everyone could enjoy the rock formations freely.  Very nice. 

A beautiful Edison phonograph in Leadville CO.  We toured a historic home built in the mid 1800's.  This phonograph was in the room of the third floor and she played it for us.  We actually have a gramaphone, which is a variation of this; enclosed in a furniture like piece and played with the horn in the interior.  What a wonderful sound.  I absolutely loved it.  This was primarily a boarding house.  At the peak Leadville was home to 30K people.  Now, 3K tops.  That was during the lead/gold rush. 

Thanks for hanging in there.  Off to Taos NM tomorrow!!

It seems my promise to "take a hit at travel writing" while on vacation in Colorado has taken a swift dump however, I do have some beautiful photos to display.  These were taken in Vail, Colorado a couple of days ago.  Just to catch up, we are now in Colorado Springs!  We plan on sending the older boy off to hockey camp at the Air Force Academy tomorrow.  Now that we have internet, I may be able to offer more insight into our travels over the next few days.  Until now; enjoy these:

A beautiful, very large flower taken just at the steps of the visitor center in Vail CO.  Wish I knew the name!  I had to take my turn capturing this beauty!!


Outside the Rock Garden also in Vail CO.  Gorgeous.  Several in shades of petal pink, white and purple. 

Thank you for hanging in there with me while on the road.  It is a bit challenging to travel/vacation with the family and keep up with a blog!  Time to hit the hay!

I was INspired today to write about what is OUTside in our backyard.  Please share your blog, post your take on everything glorious about the out-of-doors. 

This is our entertainment this year and a cause for a writing prompt; “OUTside INspiration”.  Our Arizona retreat is dappled with purple leaf plum, ficus trees, milkweed and Bermuda.  In between all that is a pebble tec play pool with a rock waterfall.  Surrounding the curved edges is a tropical array of palm trees in various sizes.  In all its glory, this lends too much pruning and care tending by my wonderful husband but on evenings such as this, it is breathtaking and resort-like. 

I checked in early this morning to The Mother Centurion and lo-and-behold my Followers have returned! 

I will be spending the day just relaxing with my boys.  Their choice for today includes taking on the role of "Mall Rat" and then some swimming later.  I will revise "Hands on Fire" and get it finished for submission tomorrow. 

If you are still interested, do not delay!!  You can still enter, late fees are waived.  The Writer's Digest 80th Annual Writing Competition. 

The latest books I have read:

Townie                                          by Andre Dubus
Reading My Father                       by Alexandra Styron

Both memoir and absolutely wonderful!!

Well, I am not sure what is going on with Blogger or my blog but I have some how managed to lose all my followers.  They are MIA from my page and I am heartbroken.  I love opening my page (which also has become difficult for some unknown reason) to the glowing icons of my followers.  Anyone else having this issue?  I have posted this problem to Blogger and so far no luck. 

On another note, the Writers Digest 80th Annual Writers Competition deadline has been extended.... again.. I have been working on several drafts and revisions of Hands on Fire and have decided to submit electronically.  I found some glaring errors and problems with the original drafts and believe with some TLC and a long Memorial Day weekend, plus an extra day off on Tuesday, I should be able to get it in via their electronic posting option. 

Hope all is well this weekend and again, if anyone is having some problems with their blog, please share!  I was worried I may have had a virus at first but it is on every computer I check.  I also noticed other blogs I visited were also missing their followers. 

More later! 

I cannot believe it has been over a week since I last blogged.  I have been so disciplined the first of this year.  Hopefully I am not wasting your time. 

I took a bit of a break after the short story submission to the Writer's Digest Contest. On top of that I had a final paper and a final exam to complete for school.  If that is not enough, I had a sick child on Monday and after a quick trip to the E.R. because of his 102.8 fever, we learned we had a very typical case of Strep.  We have to be very cautious of high fevers with a transplant.  We always worry about rejection or something else sinister lurking within.  So when the quick swab down the throat resulted in a positive for Strep, I let out a little yelp of relief and applauded openly. 

Mother's Day was a "mama's choice" which involved taking 4 children (two mine) to see Rio in 3D.  I love the movies.  Then my hubbie made stacked enchiladas complimented by cocktails by the pool with friends.  Very nice. 

I continue to read aggressively and am writing journal-style with a particular sway toward the continuation of my memoir.  Now that I am done with school for this semester (only 2 more to go), I have the summer off.  We have a trip to Colorado planned in about 4 weeks, so I am focusing on my writing. 

I am debating on signing up for an on-line writing course.  I just do not have time to go to "school" so I must explore the virtual world. 

How about some discussion on On-Line Writing Courses?  Let us educate ourselves and discuss. 

I will report what I learn in a few days.  Check back!! Give me some insight, ask questions, offer suggestions!

On Monday I had the perfect opportunity to get my final draft done.  I had the cable guy coming....

Dun da da daaaa..

You know... the "We'll be there between 0800-1200" thing.  I figured this was the perfect opportunity to have the house and computer to myself and get it all done before I had to get to work. (I found myself hoping he would actually be late..)  I could even do a "reading" in the living room.  Well, I did.  The reading however took place in the office....

I stored my story, "A Moment for Rosalie" (3,242 words) along with the cover page away on my thumb drive.  I paper clipped my postcard, check and entry form together then headed to the Kinko's to get it printed.  (yes, I am out of ink). 

Once I had my envelope, double checked the contents and printed the address neatly, I headed for the post office. 

"This just needs to be postmarked today.  When will it arrive?"  I asked the nice woman behind the counter.  I felt like a little kid picking out my favorite baseball glove on the season before tryouts. 
"Does this one break in pretty good?  How's the leather? I gotta make sure I get the right one." 

"This will arrive regular delivery by Friday."  She said.

"That will work, as long as it is postmarked today."  I said, leaning over slightly checking the postmark ever so nervously and a bit "micromanagerially".   Is that even a word?  I highly doubt it. 

I had to chuckle to myself as I left.  Much like after cramming for finals week and walking out of your final class on Thursday afternoon after it is all over.

"Well that's that!" 

Now on to another project.  The memoir.  Enough procrastinating.  I live vicariously through others but every once in a while it is nice to actually accomplish something.  What happens now?  Who cares!!  The act of writing, revising, revising some more then letting it go is enough!!  

Remember the lovely green path from the other day?  This is what I came across.  (In my dreams)

So, it is the night before May 2, 2011.  I have a third and a half revision done (does that even make sense?).  A lot of penciled and penned X's and slashes; blood on the page.  I have my entry form filled out, my check carefully attached and my SASP (postcard) all packaged and ready to go (I want confirmation it arrived). 

I have a scheduled appointment for the cable guy to be here between 8-10 tomorrow.  I have texted my boss and let him know I need a couple of hours in the morning.  I plan on going for a 20 minute run, home to get my lovely kids ready for the bus, walking my wonderful dog, then working on my final draft while I wait for the cable guy.  I have new ink cartridges so I can print from home (yes, I am sending hard copy.  Call me old fashioned) and then head to the post office for mailing.  Postmarked May 2, so the rules state. 

Are you ready??  I am a mess and a firm believer no work of writing is ever done, only abandoned.

Sweet Dreams..  This is where I want to be......

Journal Enty: April 28, 2011

I took the freeway to save time.  The call was simply; "A guy passed out at the rail platform, 44th Street and Washington.  Any unit to assist?" 

"Phoenix PD to OCC, I can respond."  (the OCC is the control center for rail operations.  This was not a dispatch call but rather an administrative call for assistance.)

I had to pull my car up a few hundred yards past the east end of the platform to stay out of traffic.  Kept my lights on, engine running.  A far distance, little farther than I would like but I could keep an eye on it. 

I found him at the far east end.  Slumped over in a half sitting, half prone position.  His head was wrapped with what looked to be a blue pillow case, another around his waist.  He had on a button up shirt, striped with red and white.  Something any business type would wear.  His jeans were tied with a belt, the holes worn out or not enough to cinch tight around his trim waist. 

I kicked at his feet lightly at first then a bit harder when just for a moment I thought he may not actually be breathing.  My brief confirmation that he may quite possibly have left the living, was a fly that sat stationary on his lower lip.  Something about flies, they send a message of end of life, dead things and non-movement.  When things cease to move, flies find safe refuge.
 I have to admit, I had a little adrenalin rush for just a moment.


He finally stirred a few good kicks to his feet later.  His eyes peeled open, light brown and seriously captivating.  Not eyes I would predict for a person of his condition but rather beautiful. 

A stash of folded papers peeked from his shirt pocket and every first form of business for police work is to "know who I am talking to." 

I searched through worn citations from Tempe, court orders, plea agreements and found one I could read with his name.  Theodore, maybe Ted as I would imagine but I referred to him as Theodore. 

"Theodore! Hey partner.  Wake up.  You can't lay here.  Wanna go to LARC? (a rehab clinic for drunkards.)

He mumble something or other. 

He was directly in the sun, heating up with the day and that happens quickly in Arizona. As I filtered through the paperwork and cleared for a wagon to pick him up, I was approached by several rail passengers.

This particular platform is one visited regularly by riders to and from the airport.  Phoenix Sky Harbor is a short few miles from downtown.  One of the few cities with an airport so close to downtown and on this particular day at this particular time, I became not only the "rounder up of homeless intoxicated citizens but also the information police." 

"Is this the way to Phoenix?"  One particularly nicely dressed couple asked.  They appeared to be fresh off of a flight. 

"We have some time to kill before we head to our hotel and we were looking for the Body Works Event at the Museum" 

"Absolutely.  I would love to go to that myself."  I turned from my friend Theodore who reclined silently snoozing in the heat, while I addressed new visitors to the area on the whereabouts to the science museum.

"Yes, take the train and get off at 3rd Street and Washington.  You will then need to double back east to around 7th Street to the museum." 

Another group of about 5 women stood patiently waiting their turn.

"Is this the way to Central and Indian School?"  One woman asked in a bedazzeled denim jacket. 

"Yes, it is and the next train should be here in about 10 minutes."

"See, I told you!!" One of the women announced to the group.  They all had a good chuckle over that and Theodore shifted his weight at the disturbance. 

I had about another 10 minutes to wait for the wagon.  One of my sergeants showed up to keep me company and Theodore decided at that time to relieve himself.  A small circle in the front of his well worn jeans expanded into a flowing pattern of dark blue reaching from front to back.  He asked at that point as he stirred if he could have a seat on the chair at the platform.  I will never sit on another platform seat again..

He proceded to blow excrement from his nose, spit and make any number of gutteral sounds until I finally advised him to save it until he was picked up.  He was polite, repeated he was not violent continually and all in all was cooperative.  His one profound statement as he cleared a brief window of haze and re-entered the land of the living ;

"I've been homeless for 12 years." 

He was a 46 year old male, homeless for 12 years and only recently, so he says, began drinking. 

The wagon showed up shortly after. 

"Teddy!  Hey, how you doin'?"  One of the employees said.  She was a very petite woman, short blonde bob cut who recognized Theodore immediately. 

"Regular, huh?" I said. 

"Oh, yea." 

Teddy had been saying some good things about the people at the drunk tank, how well they took care of him, gave him clothes and so on. 

Too bad Teddy could not accept the one thing that would really help him.

Sobriety. 

_____________________________________
I have my draft done.  Working on revision #2 and will be dropping it off at the post office on Monday.