Musicians who dare greatly

What’s not to love about a symphony variety show?  A place where musicians play fiddles rather than violins; everyone sings whether professionally trained or no, conductors wield bows instead of batons; and pure silliness is allowed from folks who are usually, well, a little staid and classical?

I took myself out again last Sunday night.  I went straight to Moss Performing Arts Center, plunked my plastic on the ticket table and said, “One please.” The ticket seller typed my name into the computer, charged my card and replied, “We’ll let you in if you promise to write something good about us.”

Oh. So I have a reputation? If you don’t already know, I have a habit of attending concerts, snapping photos and  writing  about them.  I love to focus on the good things happening in my hometown. The visible growth of  Grand Junction Symphony Orchestra  is definitely a good thing. I went to the variety show on Sunday night expecting to enjoy good music – hopefully of many genres. The most impressive take-away, however, was the display of courage.

In her book,  Daring Greatly,  Brené Brown maintains that vulnerability, “Sounds like truth and feels like courage.  Truth and courage are not always comfortable.”

Every participant who took the stage has amassed years of experience and education in performance or communications. Through constant use, and honing of skills, they have, to all appearances become perfect. Perfect or not, even under normal circumstances it takes courage to step on a stage and reveal your inmost self through music.  But a variety show is not normal circumstances.

For this variety show, each musician aspired to something out of their comfort zone.  Some picked up a secondary or tertiary axe.  A   conductor  used to being “an elegant figure on the podium,” relinquished control. Laying aside the tails, he donned a costume and became  Dick Van Dyke  vulnerable  – just to give the audience a laugh. Two trumpeters who have garnered awards and accolades willingly tooted shower tubing and plastic funnels while attempting classical cadenzas. Tell me this, if you knew perfection was at your fingertips with three valves and designer brass; would you submit to the uncertainty of plastic funnels and shower tubing?  Thanks Judd and Scott, it was most impressive.

Most satisfying moments?

  • The lyric mellow cello on Saint Saëns,
  • singing along with down-home harmonies on Amazing Grace,
  • a classic jazz combo.

A variety show, a fund-raiser, music thoroughly enjoyed by all, but an emotional act of courage, none-the-less. Wild crowd cheers and a thumb’s up to those in the musical arena: Alycia, Jeremy, Kelly, Kirk, and company of musicians.

Forgetting Awesome, Extinguishing Desire

I work in a location of incredible natural beauty. People spend their vacations and their money to come here, yet I am here five days a week courtesy of my job.  Amazingly, the beauty is so magnetic, I often head to my place of work on my days off just to hike and enjoy and know it better.   The words; breathtaking, inspiring, centering and clarifying come to mind.

But sometimes I forget.   Not a senior moment type of forgetfulness; rather, a crowded out by cares and worries kind of forgetfulness. If I work long hours – say dawn to dusk – and then rush to visit extended family, or shop for groceries, there is no time to hike.  If I have been on my feet all day and my body is screaming for dinner; chances are I will sink fatigued into the car seat and hurry to my next appointment – perhaps at a laundromat – with nary a glance at the grandeur.  After a few days, I feel vaguely dissatisfied. I forget the awesome. My desire is extinguished.  Just like that, the beauty that once drove me mad with desire; delirious with abundance of joy is snuffed out.  The honeymoon is over.

I worked the early shift today. The great outdoors was so alluring when I exited the office, I could not resist the urge to pull on my walking shoes. It was too chilly to change to the cropped off athletic gear I always tote perchance of adventure, so I added layers to my work clothes and took off down the trail. The cold was invigorating. Half a mile later I was gobsmacked by the beauty.

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To think, fatigued, hungry and driven, I almost hurried to my car and on to the next item on my list.

As I walked I mused how all of life is like that.  In the crush of the mundane, I allow myself to slowly reel in the desire.  I pack it on ice.

In other words, after a few days of inattention to the beloved; after the interruption of a 40-hour workweek; perhaps mounting tension on the job or with the budget, the motivation goes away.  Through lack of use, desire is extinguished. The thing that used to be my emotional life-blood becomes ho hum, why should I exert myself?

And that is why in every avenue of endeavor we need to be constantly reminded;

Every day, tell her (him) you love her (him)

Keep the romance alive

Write a little every day if you are a writer

Are you a musician? Sit down and love that instrument every day.

Does beauty and the great outdoors nourish you? For heaven’s sake, don’t neglect yourself.

Quit being a martyr for expectations and the mundane. Feed the need. Nourish your desire.  Only then will you be wholehearted enough to actually give your best on the job.

 

 

Hobbled

Ever wonder how a horse feels when it is hobbled? No visible fences or barriers. Freedom as far as the eye can see, yet still hampered in forward progress. A horse with traditional foreleg hobbles can really go anywhere it has a mind to – except up the side of a mountain – it just takes more effort and a lot more time.

Lack of money such as not being able to buy groceries, gasoline, or pay the rent can severely hobble the creative energy of an artistic person.

As an aspiring writer who took a full-time day job to be free of just such financial hobbles, I could let myself feel reciprocally hobbled by the duties and demands of that very full-time day job. Thankfully, I work a job that includes the word bookstore; so it’s more like being hobbled in paradise. Besides, there is plenty of writing for me to do at the office, just…perhaps not fiction.

I love my retail job. There is variety at work. I feel competent. Rising to the occasion, drawing on my analytical ability or putting the strength of past experience to use builds confidence. Then, there is the natural environment at work. Sunshine, wildlife, ever-changing weather and scenery – pretty heavenly to enjoy while earning my daily bread.

I have noticed that the times I feel hobbled or frustrated with my job have to do with a negative attitude – either my own or a co-worker’s. For a few days recently, I was overwhelmed. Some of that feeling was due to wallowing in my own reactionary attitude. The balance of my overwhelm confirms the need to hire another co-worker.

Having first made every effort to corral my negative attitude rather than allow it to hobble my success; I turn my thoughts toward the qualities I wish to hire. Skills and integrity are essential. But, chemistry on the job is more vital than I would like to admit. It can make the difference between dreading work or looking forward eagerly to each day.

Just like the Banks children in Mary Poppins; I am searching for someone practically perfect as I flip through my mental file of acquaintances and leads. I want the best people possible staffing the store I manage. Optimum customer service hinges on a willing spirit; the ability to anticipate the needs of customers; and a clean, neat, tempting environment free of negative energy.

What are some traits that manifest a negative environment?
Insolence,
Chauvinism; gender, religious or political
High-maintenance, needy or demanding
Eager to help you to my opinion,
Disparaging of others or of merchandise,
Know-it-all, autobiographical garrulousness

You can bet as we search for an additional employee I’ll be looking for someone who anticipates needs of visitors, has a spirit of willingness to help, and improves the environment. Dream teams have chemistry.

Golden Oldies

It was perhaps the best I have ever played, though it would still take two hands to count the mistakes I know I made. I laid down a nice rhythmic groove and kept with it, letting the melody and dynamics breathe the words of well-known and well-worn standards for a solid hour.

I could not have asked for a more responsive audience. Some hummed. Some sang. Some merely mouthed the words. Many brightened perceptibly at up-tempo tunes, a boogie woogie accompaniment, or old hymns. At one point, a hall wanderer drifted by and commented with delight, “Look, you are putting them to sleep.” Sleep too, is responsive. It is my intention to play music that soothes and calms–to awaken sweet memories of long ago.

Yet it was bitter with the sweet; a very melancholy loving of the ivories. I sense it is the last time I will play for this audience. I grow older and so do they. In an ever changing group of approximately 50 appreciative listeners gathered there, only four were male. The reality is, women will travel more years single and alone than as partners, couples, or families. Performing music is a vulnerability that bares the soul in so many ways.

The highlight of the trip?

She has always been attuned to the great outdoors; so I took her camping.

She likes concocting from scratch in cast iron griddles and wood-fired ovens; so we made fajitas over an open campfire.

She used to build little villages in tree trunks and wooded areas; so we spent one night sleeping in a tipi.

Her degree is in cultural anthropology; so we spent 48 hours roaming Hovenweep, Mesa Verde and Canyon of the Ancients.

She designs one-of-a-kind knit and crochet apparel; so we visited a museum featuring a hands on rug weaving exhibit.

She writes and draws. There was ample time and sunshine to sketch and journal at will.

We love to hike and explore; so we hiked in spring snow to view petroglyphs etched a thousand years ago.

As a young adult, she is often my best friend; so we had plenty of philosophical girl talk.

We even visited two candy stores and sampled treats.

And what was her highlight of the trip?

Hearing the whistle blow and watching as the coal-fired Durango Silverton narrow gauge train rushed out of town.

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DSCN7189cherryhackberryruin

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Self-talk about choices

Self? I think it’s time we have a little talk about choices; specifically the choices you made today and what we can glean from them. First off, I’d like to point out the positive choices you made on this, your last day of vacation. Though the day appeared sunny and I-70 was clear, this time of year it was a good idea to drive directly through the tunnels and over Vail Pass without stopping to dawdle.

From the trail to Hanging Lake
From the trail to Hanging Lake

Once safely over the passes, it was an even better idea to stop and hike to Hanging Lake. Hanging Lake is always a memorable experience. I know you are an experienced hiker. I also know you are in better shape than any of the previous four or five times you’ve made this 1000 ft ascent. The day was warm down by the parking lot and you contemplated changing to shorts and a tank. I commend you for making the right choice. Jeans are tough and made to last; never mind they also absorb and retain water quickly – particularly snowmelt. Smart Wool socks are also essential this time of year. Good job, Self! Tossing your black hoodie in the car seat and donning a black Loki jacket is also worth points. Not only is a Loki jacket versatile – what with the built-in mittens, adjustable hood and pull-down face mask- a Loki jacket also gives you credibility with the serious outdoor crowd.

But Self, I have to ask what you were thinking when you left your hiking boots under the seat and laced on your aging hiking sneakers. The promoters who quipped, “bald is beautiful,” were not talking about tennis shoe treads. And another thing; what is the purpose of keeping your Yaktrax in the car if you don’t tuck them in a pocket when you set out? Of course you needed nothing of the kind for the first fourth mile of paved bicycle trail.

The trail to Hanging Lake begins with a stroll on concrete bicycle path along the Colorado River
The trail to Hanging Lake begins with a stroll on concrete bicycle path along the Colorado River

Nor did you think to go back for boots and ice grips when you saw the rating of difficult at the trailhead, or began to encounter snow a third of the way in.

DSCN7255bridgesnowpackedYou did not give up. You pressed on, picking your way over rocks and increasingly long icy patches. What have you learned from this?
You made it to the top. You enjoyed the magnificent view.

DSCN7264hanginglakeapril5But on the way down?

You learned to stop trying to save your butt and to let your butt save you. Forget about dignity and walking upright. You embraced the most useful ranger advice you ever heard; don’t be afraid to sit down if you need to. As a result, you protected your elbows, knees and skull from fracture. You sat down at will instead of unexpectedly. You used every last miniscule muscle in your body. And you made up a new winter sport, sliding down snow packed trails while paddling with your hands That was a full-body workout, Self. Congratulations, you are in better shape than you have ever been. Today, your feelings are alive. You are self-aware–of every muscle and bone in your body.

My word for 2014 is enough

Enough.

I have decided. Enough is my word for 2014.

Enough is as good as a feast.
Enough food.
Enough sleep.
Enough exercise.
Enough books.
Enough beautiful location.

“If you are lucky enough to live in the mountains, you are lucky enough.”

Enough is such a useful word.
When things go wrong, I can throw up my hands and cry, “Enough already!”

Out with the idea that I am never;
perfect enough,
or pretty enough.

I only need enough to get me through one day at a time.
I am enough.

I can hike under blue skies in the bright spring sunshine and sigh, “It is enough.”
Enough to get me through that day.

I have lived to hold grandchildren in my arms. It is enough to have experienced that moment.

The beauty of a sunset, or a sunrise; the harmony of a song well performed, is enough to make life worthwhile.

Enough to get me through that day.

And when unwanted challenges come?

I will be enough.

Not Often a Serial Writer

When did we start flinging words, bandying them about? Dangling participles and cliffhanging plots on shreds of scrap paper?

Working in radio is a dance of words anyway. In the low-budget spirit of non-profit, I repaired the worn corner of an office chair with a corduroy patch. Thinking to lighten the insult of frugality, I also embroidered the letters, patch cord, so no one would miss the message. Not every professional radio announcer can sew, though the ability to stay on-air through all challenges is essential.

It was in the olden days of two turntables, three reel-to-reels, a cassette tape deck and an 8-track player. Editing was done by hand with a tape snipping block and tape. Spinning platters and cuing tapes accurately made for a clean sound and no dead air.

The Sunday afternoon a second reel-to-reel player went down was not to be born without proper mention. An out-of -order sign was obligatory. The word choice was mine: consider the abilities of this reel, it toileth not, neither doth it spin.
A day later, someone added: Yet, Solomon, in all his glory was not dismayed by one of these.

Life became punny at work. The paper trail grew a tail like a kite all the way down the corner of the production room window.

As I said, it was the olden days, so these were not post-a-notes. Each added missive was a torn piece of scrap paper, attached to the previous with a morsel of transparent tape. Our station manager dained not to participate. A pity, for he was a consummate wordsmith.  Every so often the night guy would throw in a pencil drawing of a smurf or loony tunes character with a caption totally off-track the general thread.

Those were my early days of serial writing, but I had completely forgotten them – until I began following the group writing activity at Novel Matters. Today, it’s my turn to contribute. What do you think? Has my writing improved? Or am I just the night guy throwing a wrench in the plot?

Revisiting Failure

So, how long do you wait to revisit failures? Is ten years enough? And when you do revisit – after you have changed, matured, honed your skill and your character – are you still embarrassed by the past failure? Are you able to shake it off? Laugh it off?

When you review the performance, replay every beat and detail, suppose you see an abundance of excellence – maybe 95% excellence; does the five or four or three percent, or even the one mistake, one sour note, negate the whole and make it worthy of discard?

Yes, one loss demolishes a perfect record.
But does it have to destroy your entire future?

How long do you take to let it go? To retire the failure? To move on?

Here’s my story
An entire cadenza – avalanched. 1,000 copies stamped out and distributed. A huge fail permanently etched in polycarbonate. It took me 10 years to revisit and listen to the CD. It’s still bad. I can never fix it. The mistake cannot be erased.

Finally, I gathered courage to play in public again. This time, with more confidence, to a different audience. I am a richer musician; but, I still make mistakes.

During the opening ceremonies of the olympics, I was reminded by the announcer, “now entering the stadium are the best athletes in the world.” Gold medalists set a new standard for perfection. Silver medalists or bronze are not quite as perfect. What about those who compete but do not place? Surely their imperfections are showing. But, they are still among the best athletes in the world. I wonder; how long does it take them to get over their mistakes and failures? Some things cannot be undone. When is it time to revisit the failure, replay the recording? And when is it time to move on?

A Precious Journey: Chapter 2

In Chapter 1, My Precious Left Me, Traveler stumbles on a cave and meets the Man.  You can find and read Chapter 1, on the pull-down bar, Precious’ Journey.

Chapter 2: Traveler goes to the city

Now the traveler had become curious to know more about Precious. He was heading through the City anyway, so he stopped at the bakery to inquire if anyone remembered her.

He could hear the chatty voice before he pulled open the heavy glass door. “Yes, it was a trunk showing and everything was half off!  Half off, I tell you! And they wouldn’t take a credit card.”  Obviously, she caught sight of him because she turned away and checked her hair in the reflection. “ Te he. Isn’t that awful?  Well, gotta go.  Someone’s coming in.   You know how Mr. Baker gets if I don’t greet the customer right away.  No, it’s a he not a bride. Call me later.”  She whirled her chair around, and stood, self-consciously smoothing a skirt that would not have been out of place on a high school ingenue – or perhaps just two inches longer.

“May I help you?” she emphasized each word separately.

“Ah, yes.  I hope so,” said the traveler.  “I am looking for information about someone who used to work here – a  woman named Precious.”

“She left her Man.”

“So I heard.”

“I knew him first – before he met Precious.  He was pretty good looking in high school. Hey, but that was 20 years ago. I’ve been thinking about running up to the cave and checking on him – seeing if he needs anything. ”

“Do you know why she left him?”

“I don’t know.  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t any of the reasons I wanted to leave my man.”

The raised eyebrows of the traveler gave her permission to continue.

“No.  Precious didn’t think I had grounds. It was something about tough love. Oh, she listened to me; I mean she listened to me on break.  Precious frowned on girl talk when we were supposed to be working.  Said something about an honest day’s work for wages or excellence and best effort – those kinds of words.  I didn’t get how not talking was honest.  I like to get it all out there. I’m honest about my feelings. She must have been on the side of the boss.  Come to think of it, I think she was in cahoots with the boss. Cause she got the boss man to give me a second chance after I messed up on the wedding cake orders.  She must have sweet talked him something fierce. Anyway, Precious, she says, ‘Phyllis, I talked to the boss.  I told him I thought you would be a fast learner if I took a little time before work each morning to show you how cake decorating and ordering work.’

So, I asked her, ‘how do you know all that?  About sugar cane and powdered sugar? And white cake flour coming from wheat?  Did you learn that because of your man being a horror culturalist?’  She said she learned all that – that she learned how to cook and how things work when she was still living at home in high school. Can you believe it?  She actually cooked while she was in college. And, she baked bread to earn money while her man was in grad school!  That’s how she landed the job at this bakery.  I guess she even did a wedding cake for one of her friends.”

“Did you say the husband of Precious went to grad school?”

“Yes, that’s what he did.  In high school, he always wanted to be a botanicalist.  But then he changed his mind and became a horror, horror…” “Horticulturalist.” prompted the traveler.

“Anyway, but, he didn’t finish.  At first, I thought Precious said he didn’t finish grade school.  I knew that wasn’t right on accounta me knowing him in high school. She explained to me the different levels of schooling.”

“So you met Precious at this job?”

“Hey, it is just about break time now! I’m really glad that phone hasn’t rang while we were talking.  I’ll take a smoke break even though I don’t smoke. But you could buy me coffee. I don’t have any money – my man took away my debit card – but you can buy. You don’t mind, do you?  He didn’t say I couldn’t drink a latte, he just said I couldn’t buy more than one a week.”

“And ya know,” she said, patting the traveler’s arm. “It would be good for me to be seen with you. I wouldn’t mind, not one little bit.” The traveler acquiesced.

Tall latte. Short iced mint.  The traveller collected them from the counter and sat down in the moulded booth across from Phyllis.

“So, you don’t think Precious left her man for the same reason you wanted to leave yours?”

“Nope.  No way.  My man took away my Old Navy and Macy’s charge cards!”

“You don’t say.”

“He told me I had to quit shopping and start cooking.”

“You didn’t cook?”

“Are you kidding? I went to secretary school.  I know how to type. I was trained about proper office at tire. Then, of course, I have to have something fun to wear when I’m not at the office.  We go to baseball games on the weekends. So I was always busy shopping the sales for the best deals. I didn’t have time to cook.  I work so I can shop. After the stores close, I stop for carry out on the way home.”

“Your husband got tired of carryout?”

“Yeah, I thought that was the real reason.  I think he was trying to control me into coming home after work and cooking dinner. He said it was because I had charged more than I made that month. My Old Navy card was maxed out.  He said he had paid my store cards.  But if they were paid, what’s the harm in me shopping?  I think he just wanted a homestyle meal.”

“So, he took your charge cards and insisted you come home after work and cook?”

“Can you believe it?  Always before he was okay with having dinner late.  He didn’t get home until nine anyway because he was working an extra job. I was ready to leave him.  Next day, I was asking around work for a roommate. Then me and Tiki and Precious went on break.  Tiki, she’s the one that got me this job in the first place.”

“So you met Precious at this job?”

“Well, yeah, we came at the same time, but, I really got to know her better when they were going to fire me.”

The traveler raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it, since I had been to secretary school?”

The traveler nodded just enough to nudge her forward.

“It was the wedding cakes.  I still don’t see why they should be so expensive.  I was just trying to help out the brides.”

The traveller murmured appropriately.

“The wedding cakes, you know, with three tiers? Well, they are three or four hundred dollars.”

Again the traveler nodded.

“But, on the next page over – it’s the third pull down tab on the website – there are all these cakes separately. 6” two layers for $10.  8” for $12.00.  10 inches for $18.00 and that big one on the bottom?  only $30 bucks for the round one or $35.00 for the square!  So, this one bride came in, and she was really on a budget, poor really.  And I added up the total and was telling her to buy them all separately for under a hundred dollars!”  She laughed.

“Did they have frosting on them?”

“Now how did you figure that out?  Are you a baker? That’s exactly what Precious explained to me.  I don’t know how she did it, but Precious knew how to do just about everything. She could type and she didn’t even go to secretary school. She could write the wedding cake orders and she wasn’t a baker.”

“So, Precious was pretty smart?”

“Yeah, Kiki said she was fastididus, fastdious,

“Fastidious?”

“Yes, only in a good way, not a bad way.”

“So, Precious thought it wasn’t a good idea to leave your husband?”

“Not Precious and not Kiki.  Kiki said you’re just supposed to stay together no matter what.  Marriage is for life.   The only reason you should leave your husband is if he hits you or if he is, you know, having an A-fair with someone else.”

“Many people feel that way.”

“Precious said it sounded like maybe my husband was doing an invention, an indevention,”

“Intervention?”

“Yeah, that’s the word, tough love or something.”

“He paid off your cards?”

“Yep.”

“And then he said you couldn’t use them anymore?

“Yep.  Boy, was I mad. I said I wasn’t going to live anymore with a man that mean.”

“What did Precious say about that?”

“She said maybe he really did love me, cause after all, he paid off my charge cards.  She said maybe he just wanted to get my attention about overspending. I said I didn’t see how taking away my charge cards was loving.  She asked did he give me some grocery money for the cooking.”

“Did he?”

“Not any cash!  All he gave me was a grocery card with two hundred dollars on it.

A grocery card! Just thinking about it made me so mad I started bawling again. And then Precious said, she said it was a waste of energy to cry.”

“So Precious didn’t show any sympathy?”

“She said, ‘why cry when you can do something about it?’”

“Did she want you to get back at him?”

“She said I should do an experiment.”

“A science experiment?”

“Yes, sort of.  She wrote me instructions.  Go to the Grocery store.  A list of things to buy. How to mix the ingredients and put them in the oven.  There was supposed to be enough for that dinner and some left-overs for my lunch the next day.”

“Did you do the experiment?”

“Yes, and I gotta say, it tasted real good. My man thought so too.  ‘You did good babe, real good,’ he said. He said he was proud of me.  He called me his little kitten. Then he told me some other things that would make you blush if I repeated them.  And we, well, we kissed and made up.”

“So, he wasn’t being mean after all?”

“Naw, he said he was sorry he had to take my charge cards and I couldn’t have them back, but he would try to make it up to me by adoring me,” she giggled delightedly.  “So Precious, each day she wrote me an easy recipe.  She told me I could still keep on shopping as long as I did it in the grocery store.”

“So, you said Precious didn’t ever cry when she could do something about it?”

“I only saw Precious cry just that once.”

The traveller raised his eyebrows.

“It was that same week.

We were on break again and Kiki was saying how married people should always stay together no matter what. She started telling a story about how her parents stayed together. And Precious, she acted really funny.”

“Did Precious agree with Kiki’s story?”

“No, I don’t think so. But, I didn’t really get why Precious was crying.  It was just a story, something about a man who ate and ate.  It reminded me of the joke where the doctor tells a man to watch his weight and the man says, ‘so I just got my weight out here where I could see it,’ he he.”

“So, a story about a fat man made Precious cry?”

“It was Kiki’s dad.  He got fat while her mom was getting thinner and thinner.”

The Traveler tipped his head to the side and waited.

“Kiki was home-schooled.  That way her mom saved a lot of money on clothes. They were poor so her mom cooked a lot of beans.  Kiki says her mom was a self sack official for the kids.”

“Self-sacrificial?”

“Yes, that’s it.  So Kiki’s mom just ate a little bit and she divided the rest between the kids and made sure there were lots of beans in her husband’s lunch.  Later on they found out Kiki’s dad was just going to McDonald’s and buying himself a hamburger for lunch after he finished the beans.  Then, at night, he would run errands and buy himself another hamburger.”

“He was starving his wife and kids and getting fat himself?”

“Yes.  Isn’t that awful?”

“What did Precious say?”

“That’s what was so strange.  ‘Cause Precious, you know, she’s the one who says, ‘There’s no use crying over something if you can do something to fix it.‘  She was crying. Without making any noise.  The tears were just running down her cheeks.

”And then she said, real quietly she said, ‘I think neglecting someone to the point of starving them while you got fat – might be a good reason for leaving.” Kiki and I both stared at her.  Then she stood up because it was time to go back inside.  And she said something else, but it sounded like maybe she was talking to herself.”

The traveller leaned forward attentively,

“Do you remember what else she said?”

“‘It’s not always about food. There are other ways to starve a person.’ What duya think she meant by that?”

The traveler stroked his chin thoughtfully, and rose.

“Say, it’s about time for me to get back to the office.  Would you mind getting me a refill? One for the road, so to speak.”

He walked Phyllis back to the stoplight, saw her safely across the street.

“One more question,”  he said.

“Do you think Precious left her man to become a Goblin Princess?”

“What?  Precious?”  she sputtered.  She tossed her head coyly, “Well, now, I might think of becoming a Goblin Princess – ‘specially if someone was to give me all the gold and jewelry I wanted.  But Precious?  What would the men see in her?  Precious is more steady and self-sackaficial like Kiki’s Mom – only she dresses nice.”

Note:  in Chapter One, the Man accuses Precious of leaving to become a Goblin Princess.  You can read the first chapter by choosing, Precious’ Journey from the tab at the top of this page.

 

Putting One Foot in Front of the Other, Hiking for Life!