Two for Tuesday: Money Honey

Two ducks in Los Angeles (my photo)

Today would have been my parents' 69th wedding anniversary, so it's only appropriate that I post about two love stories I watched over the weekend. Of course, the movies are fictional, and my parents' love was real, though you might not have known that if you witnessed their constant arguing. For decades, up until my mom's death in 2008, I wondered why they stayed together when they were so different, but I finally understood that they simply loved each other despite all the bickering, cold silences, and threats to leave. I vowed that my life wouldn't be that way, and it wasn't... until it was. Unlike my parents, I did get a divorce (two of them, in fact), and I never ended up with a great love like they had.

One of my parents' ongoing conflicts had to do with money, which I've read is a very common conflict, though neither of my marriages ended because of that. Both of the movies I'm reviewing have financial security as a central theme, which wasn't planned at all, but it makes this post more cohesive. 

1. Cocktail (1988) stars Tom Cruise, Elisabeth Shue, and Bryan Brown. It was written by Heywood Gould and directed by Roger Donaldson. Tom plays Brian Flanagan, who is straight out of the military and now thinks he should be able to land a high-paying job on Wall Street and make a million bucks without any experience or education. After being turned down repeatedly and told he needs a degree, Brian enrolls in college and takes a job as a bartender to pay the bills. Bryan plays Doug Coughlin, a philosophical poet of a bartender, who tries to impart his life's wisdom to "Young Flanagan" on the topics of (a) shorting drinks in a theatrical way so customers won't notice; (b) reciting poems on the spot to entertain the patrons; and (c) focusing on getting a "rich chick" to finance his future. Doug does get his rich chick, but he screws that up with bad investments, and Brian gets his eventually too ~ Jordan Mooney played by Elisabeth Shue ~ though her father vows not to help them because he doesn't like Brian (understandable from his POV). In order to get the girl, however, Brian first has to have his epiphany that money doesn't buy love or happiness. 

Critics hated this movie, but it was a smashing success with audiences and generated a huge payday. I liked it a lot (though I agree that some of the dialogue was clunky), and I particularly enjoyed the showmanship and banter between Brian and Doug. Critics complain that much of the story was "unrealistic." Yes, it's fiction, not a documentary of bartending. Critics also moan that the ending was predictable. Yes, it's a romance, and romances end happily, else they wouldn't fit the genre. This is my third or fourth rewatch.

2. Materialists (2025) stars Dakota Johnson, Chris Evans, and Pedro Pascal. It was written and directed by Celine Song. Dakota and Chris are exes Lucy and John who clearly still have feelings for each other and are both struggling financially to make it in NYC (the movie doesn't explicitly say that Lucy has money issues, but imo it's implied, and she does admit to making $80K, which isn't much in New York), and Pedro plays Harry, a super rich guy. Lucy works for a matchmaking agency, and she's perfect for the job: warm, nurturing, encouraging, etc., while brutally honest about "the math." In dating, the math means coming up with a formula consisting of age, income, background, politics, physical attraction, etc., before setting up a date. It's fun to listen to the ridiculous things people want and expect from a potential life partner while bringing quite less to the table. Reminds me of my good old days of dating and how traumatic it was to be considered and rejected, though I can laugh about it now. Lucy wants the math to work for herself too, which is why she begins a relationship with Harry, and like Brian above, she has to arrive at her epiphany moment before she ends up with the true love she craves.

Critics were much kinder toward Materialists than to Cocktail, but there really isn't much difference in my view. Both had unrealistic aspects and predictable endings. In Materialists, there's a surgery that the uber wealthy men can get for $200K that increases their height (breaking their legs and making them longer with extensions), but I don't see anyone panning that in my brief foray into reviews as they did the crazy bartending stunts. I enjoyed the film and wouldn't mind seeing it again in a few years. Dakota Johnson is one of my favorite actors, along with fellow nepo baby Kate Hudson. Hey, if they're good, I don't care who their parents are. 

I watched both movies on HBO. 

Kiss My Grits

Older painting by my daughter Diane

I’m participating in Joyce’s Hodgepodge this week by responding to the following questions.

1. What’s something you wanted to do this summer that you never got around to doing?

I planned to paint and bought new canvases. (I have a ton of painting supplies already.) As some of you may know, I used to follow Cinnamon Cooney aka the Art Sherpa for painting inspiration, but she passed away in December 2024 (age 54), and now I find inspiration from various other sources. I saved a bunch of ideas that appealed to me, and yet I never painted anything. When I had time, the mood just wasn’t there, and I can’t force it. Same goes for writing fiction or poetry.

2. Were you the student who sat in the front row or hid in the back of the class? If you could go back and take one high school class again just for fun, which would it be?

From the answers I’ve seen so far, it appears that those who loved school and were good students sat in the front. As usual, I’m different. While I enjoyed the learning aspect of school, though not the social, and I was a fabulous student grade-wise, I never sat in the front if I had a choice. My preference in any situation is to sit in the back, at the end of a row, and near a door if possible.

I would love to retake geometry (my favorite math class) and then immediately go on to retake more math and hopefully be able to go beyond where I stopped in college (advanced calculus) into theoretical math. That would be so cool! Assuming my old brain could handle it. 

3. What characteristics do you think are essential in a good teacher (this can be applied to anyone who teaches, not just classroom teachers)?

Good communication skills, kindness, patience, humor, and a flexible attitude toward unexpected glitches.

4. September 2 is National Grits Day. Have you ever eaten grits? Are you a fan? If so, how do you like yours? Would people describe you as “having grit?”

I don’t think I have ever had grits, and I’m not sure what they are. Like couscous or cream of wheat? If so, I would probably like them. 

I don’t know how people would describe me. Whether I have grit (courage, bravery, fortitude, determination) is dependent upon the situation. Mostly not, I think. 

5. What’s something you’re never too old or too young to enjoy?

Birthday cake, music, a soft cozy blanket, the soothing sound of rain or waves, and a snuggly puppy.

6. Insert your own random thought here.

“Kiss my grits!” is a phrase that the waitress character Flo used  in the TV show Alice. She was played by Polly Holliday, who passed away in September 2025 at age 88. The title character was played by Linda Lavin, who died in December 2024 at age 87. The older I get, the more aware I am of people dying and their age at death. I guess that’s only natural as we face our own mortality. 

Goodbye to Jackie

Jackie the bald eagle from BBV

I admit that I cried when I read about the death of Jackie, the famous bald eagle from Big Bear Valley, California. She died in care last week from various health issues after being rescued following a fight with younger eagles. While the fight didn't cause her death, I wonder if she was attacked because the other eagles sensed weakness. Animals will do that. People too.

I wouldn't say that I bawled over reading the news, but I definitely shed a few tears. It didn't help my mood to see that Jackie was 14, the same age as Gatsby when he died last year of kidney failure. Even though I absolutely adore my precious Inky, and she is probably the sweetest kitty I've ever had, I still miss my spicy little tuxedo guy. Gatsby was my soul-kitty, and we had been through so much together. Some of you may recall that the minute I broke up with Jim in the fall of 2011, the first thing I wanted to do was get a cat (he didn't like animals ~ red flag!). At my younger daughter's request, I waited until winter break when she was home from college so we could visit the shelter together. It's a good thing I did because she was the one who chose Gatsby! I thought I wanted an older female cat, but she bonded with him, and then I did too. She also chose his name ~ I was on the verge of going with Ringo. 

Unfortunately, I don't know how to seamlessly fit balled into this post because I don't want to copy my friend Fandango's hilarious post and say I balled up a tissue to blot my tears when I read about Jackie. I will say that it is always a source of amusement to me when people write balled when they mean bawled. In general, I do not have a 13 year old boy's sense of humor, but there are exceptions. Or at least this one.

Anyway, RIP Jackie. May her mate Shadow and all their offspring live long, happy lives. And may her memory generate respect for bald eagles and their habitats.

~*~

Written for Linda's Stream of Consciousness Saturday (this week hosted by Dan Antion), where we try to use bald, bawled, and balled.

Distractions

Inky inspects the sunflowers (my photo)

The day arrived when

I forgot to remember 

To cry over you

Broken hearts don’t fully mend

But they can get distracted 

~*~

Tanka written for Melissa’s Tanka Tuesday prompt of forgetting and inspired by the memory of my beloved kitty Gatsby.

Sharing My World

Gatsby, my soul kitty (my photo)

Hey, it’s been a while since I responded to one of Di’s Share Your World posts, and I couldn’t resist this one. 

1. What have you recently forgotten to do until the last minute?

I’m probably jinxing myself here, but my answer is… nothing! One of my main OCD tendencies is to make lists of everything and add reminders to my calendar for every possible minor deadline or even things sans deadlines that I simply want to accomplish. There are things I should do but haven’t done, of course, but that’s not because I forgot ~ I just don’t wanna do them.

2. How many blog posts do you publish on average a day?

I would say probably one or two. Blogger doesn’t show you highly detailed stats the same way that WordPress does, so this is just my “feeling.” When I first began this blog (or wiped and restarted it) in the summer of 2024, I vowed that I would not post just to post. My old WP blog had loads of filler posts that embarrassed me when I looked back at them. Back then, it was normal for me to post five times per day ~ I probably went three or more years without skipping a day! Now, I regularly skip days. Last week I think I skipped two days. 

3. How long have you been blogging?

Short answer: 22 years, with a few breaks. Skip to Q4 if you aren’t interested in the long, meandering saga.

I began my first blog in 2004 (Ultrablog from my then-screen name of Ultraviolet) because my writer friends were all starting them. Most of those friends have given up blogging, sadly, and their blogs lie abandoned in the internet graveyard. They still operate under the illusion that’s it’s possible to have meaningful conversations on Facebook. I despise FB! I’m only there for my book club now. The latest horrible annoyance is their refusal to hide/ mute stuff you request. They literally do not care how miserable the user experience is; they care only about the ads and business pages people pay for. 

Sorry, irrelevant rant. The 2004 Blogger blog got derailed over the Pit Bull War, my comments were “hacked,” and I deleted the whole thing in 2007. I began a new, quiet Blogger blog that focused on cats and trivia, but I became bored with it. At the end of 2007, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and I started a private Blogger blog to express my thoughts surrounding her illness and death. I think I invited 20 readers to commiserate with me. After my mom died, I archived that blog and took it down.

A year later, my divorce was in process, and I began dating a man who was supposedly going to leave his wife (ha ha). Since I was frequently depressed over my entire situation, I began a WordPress blog to post angsty song lyrics, snippets of poetry, and sad quotes. That ended up morphing into my long-running blog, which I paid for to eliminate ads and kept up for over a decade until I got heartily sick of it and of WP generally. I deleted that blog in early 2023.

But I still had this Blogger blog! This wasn’t my original blog or my trivia one, both of which had been deleted; this was simply my backup blog, which I used when WP was being glitchy to “hold” posts until WP behaved again. Anyway, I decided in 2024 that I missed blogging after seeing a movie and desiring to write about it, so I wiped this one and began anew.

4. If you had to rename your blog, what would it be?

Idk. I really like this name, but if I had to rename it, I’d choose something like Pointless Meandering.

Gratitude: I am thankful that I figured out how to give Inky her flea pill. She doesn’t go outdoors, but fleas are everywhere, and one might sneak inside the house, so it’s important to stay protected. This particular pill is very grainy and hard to stuff down her throat, so I gave up for a couple months, but Saturday I was determined. I put a dab of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on the pill to make it slippery. After making sure she swallowed, I put a tiny dab of it on her nose so she’d lick it off and swallow again. It worked! Yay! (I used to give Gatsby topical flea prevention meds, but those are icky, and I want Inky to be able to take a pill.)

No, I don’t have real butter in the house. I like butter to be fake and spreadable. Thanks for asking. Also, before anyone starts, the Chewy vet said this was okay to do.

Coral Kiss (flash fiction)

My mom’s engagement photo, 1957

I always visit my dad early Sunday. Mornings are better for him than evenings, when he tends to “sundown.” I can’t really hold a conversation with him after dark when he goes on about events from decades ago as if they just happened and struggles to find the right words besides.

Today he's sitting at the kitchen table “doing his taxes.” They were completed months ago by our CPA, but Dad likes to shuffle the papers around, stick them in the colorful folders, and pull them out again. 

I plop a box of donut holes on the counter, get a plate, and arrange a pile of fried balls. I find a spot on the table free from papers and put down the plate. I take the coffee cups out of the carafe and place one in front of each of us. "How's it going today, Dad."

"Good," he says. "I'm making progress on these documents."

I sip my coffee. It's strong and steaming hot. "That's great. Have a donut."

He takes one and stares at it. "Mom visited last night."

My mom has been dead for six months. Sometimes I play along with Dad's fantasies, but I am not in the mood right now. "Dad," my voice is soft. "You know that Mom passed away."

He nods. "Yes. We had some tea. Can you get me more at the store? I don't want to run out."

"I'll put it on the list. But... you know that Mom is gone, right? This was just a dream."

"We were sitting here," he insists. "She's worried about you. The divorce. Everything."

"It's all fine." I tell him, trying to change the subject. "There's a fun old movie today in the social hall. Smokey and the Bandit. I'll set the alarm on your phone so you don't forget."

"I'm not going to forget." He glances at me sharply. "I don't need an alarm. It's irritating."

"Okay, okay." I pick up his phone and set it anyway. 

We eat a few of the donut holes and finish our coffees. I try to tidy up a bit without disturbing his messy mountain of receipts. "I'll call you tonight," I say. "You can tell me about the movie."

He opens the green folder and removes the papers he stuffed in it a few minutes ago. "All right. I should get back to work now. Thanks for the cookies."

As I pass through the kitchen on the way to the door I glance into his sink. There are two cups sitting in it with teabags at the bottom of each. One cup has a lipstick mark. My mother's color, Coral Kiss. I pick up the cup and stare at it.

My father's voice floats to me across the room. "I'll do the dishes in a little while, honey. Don't forget to get more tea."

~*~

Written for the Great Minds Think twist challenge. Inspired by true events.

Disguise in Love

 

Lovers in masks image from Pixabay

For this week's Song Lyric Sunday, Jim (via Nancy) asks us to use a song from the Great American Songbook (GAS). I refuse to use Wikipedia any longer because reasons, though it is convenient, so I am relying on other searches and sources (including AI), which may be hypocritical because they probably grab their information from Wikipedia. Anyway, it appears that the song "This Guy's in Love with You" is in the GAS, and that's the one I want to use since it is personally meaningful. I am copying the lyrics and info from Musixmatch.

You see this guy
This guy's in love with you
Yes, I'm in love
Who looks at you the way I do?
When you smile, I can tell
We know each other very well
How can I show you?
I'm glad I got to know you, 'cause...

I have always thought that this song was super romantic. Not sure when I first heard it, but probably as a teen or even younger, as it's been around since the 1960s. Musixmatch says it was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David. Many singers have covered it, including Burt, though Google says that Herb Alpert first recorded this particular version in 1968, and it is the best known one. I haven't heard any of the versions with alternate lyrics about infidelity, though I have heard Dionne Warwick's "This Girl's in Love with You," which is also beautiful. When I was with my ex-husband on a business trip to San Francisco in the late ‘80s, the waiter told us that the lounge piano player was taking requests, so I asked for this song.

I've heard some talk

They say you think I'm fine

Yes, I'm in love

And what I'd do to make you mine

Tell me now, is it so?

Don't let me be the last to know

My hands are shaking

Don't let my heart keep breaking, 'cause...

The request got transposed from the table to the piano to "Disguise in Love," which the piano player had never heard of. As the evening wore on, I wondered why he'd never played the song. Finally, he came over to our table to say hello, and I mentioned that I'd requested a song. He apologized that he didn't know it. Didn't know "This Guy's in Love with You?!" When we realized what had happened, we all had a good laugh ~ and then he played the song.

I would like to say that this song became "our song" in a romantic sense and that we danced to it, but that would be a lie. My ex never danced with me, not even at our wedding. He simply refused to ever dance, and I don't know why (there was nothing physically wrong with him). "Disguise" did become a bit of a running joke between us though, which was better than nothing. We never really understood each other, even after 20 years, though we sometimes shared a weird sense of humor. We divorced in 2011, and he passed at the end of June, a little over a week ago.

I need your love

I want your love

Say you're in love

In love with this guy

If not, I'll just die

Tell me now, is it so?

Don't let me be the last to know

My hands are shaking

Don't let my heart keep breaking, 'cause...

Tanka Tuesday: Make Mine a Double

Pocket watch on the beach (AI image)

Forgotten moments 

Wash up on the shore of dreams

Blurry memories 

Battered by the changing tides

Unstable as sand castles 

No one knows the truth 

Even photographs can lie

Mona Lisa smiles 

Stories shift with retelling 

The foundation slides away 

~*~

Double tanka written for Tanka Tuesday Challenge #71 hosted by Willow and inspired by a recent death in my family.

No Plan is My Jam

Group photo of the Mamma Mia 2 cast 

Don’t read this if you’re going to get all offended that I have no plan to celebrate the upcoming July 4 holiday, other than the fact that any three-day weekend is cause for at least a little yippee.

My daughters and I are processing the recent death of my ex-husband (their father) last week and are not in a celebratory mood, not that we usually make a big deal over July 4 in any case.

Sometimes my friends and I go to a concert and/ or a fireworks show on the 4th, but most of these peeps are traveling this year, and I am not inclined to go alone, not that I could get tickets to anything at this late date.

It’s more than that though: I am very disappointed in the direction of this country lately, so I don’t feel like rah-rah-ing over its big birthday, though I will likely wear my red, white, and blue shirt and matching star earrings on Saturday because why not?

I’m looking forward to three quiet days of hanging with my sweet kitty Inky (and my housemate’s cat Autumn, though she isn’t super social), having a lot of reading time, working on a puzzle or two, maybe doing a little painting… and of course rewatching the Mamma Mia movies. 

I’m definitely not looking forward to drunken lunatics screaming all night and setting off illegal fireworks in the streets, but that’s the price of “freedom,” I guess.

~*~

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story using plan.

The Other Side (flash fiction)

Mysterious doorway image created by AI

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Of course I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I wanted something dramatic and spectacular, as would befit my superior status, not this slow, insignificant fade. I had always been vastly different from other humans and possessed an extraordinarily towering intellect, which generated heightened emotional responses to common situations. My giftedness had been a source of envy to many, and occasionally that resentment escalated to where I had been targeted, harassed, or shunned simply for being me. 

Nothing had changed at the end. People were too awed by my dominance to even bother visiting me, much less pay me the deference to which I was due. Obviously I had deserved a much greater degree of success than had been bestowed by the universe, but even the alleged higher beings failed to recognize my greatness! As far as the lower beings, I magnanimously forgave them for their lack of appreciation, for they were much too ignorant to even begin to comprehend my complex nature. Naturally, I would punch them in the face if I had the chance again.

Anyway. Enough dillydallying. It was time to go, and I wasn’t sure why I hesitated at this late date, as I would certainly not miss this wretched place nor any of these lesser creatures.

The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the doorknob, I felt afraid of what I might find on the other side.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 252 (this time as an ending) and inspired by recent events.

Father's Day Hodgepodge

Dad and me in 2011, RIP

I'm participating in Joyce's Hodgepodge again this week. Happy Father's Day!

1. Summer's here!  In the northern hemisphere anyway. If you're in the southern hemisphere substitute winter for the word summer. What do you love most about summer? What's your biggest summer pet peeve? 

I love that my commute gets better because school's out. I love the Orange County Fair. I love warm days and popsicles dripping down my hand.

Toward the end of summer, the beastly dry and hot Santa Ana winds return. Instead of wind blowing from the ocean, it blows toward the ocean, filling our coastal air with all the dirt and dust from Inland California. It's really disgusting and gives me a migraine.

2. What song always reminds you of summer? 

Anything by the Beach Boys, of course! 

3. What's something you remember about your childhood summers? Do you think kids today get to enjoy summer the way you did as a child? Elaborate. 

Going to the beach with my mom. Trying to learn how to draw dogs from a book. Playing Battleship and Clue with neighborhood friends. Pretending our picnic table was a pirate ship. Riding my bike to Dairy Queen for a Mr. Misty. Reading romance novels. Watching TV. Trying to get a tan. Spending a lot of time alone.

I'm not one who likes to wax rhapsodic about the olden days when everything was supposedly better. I think that's BS, honestly. I had a lot of lonely times, and I was bored a lot too. Maybe today's kids are scheduled a little too much, but overall I think it's cool that parents try to make sure they have fun things to do with other kids during summer, while also learning new skills and getting exercise.

4. We celebrate Fathers Day on June 21st. Do you favor your dad in looks or temperament? Tell us something about your dad. Or your husband as a dad. Or a son/son-in-law as a dad. Or your grandpa. 

As you can see from the above pic, I look a lot like my dad. My temperament is similar to his as well: I'm introverted, introspective, and wordy. Usually I'd make fudgy brownies or chocolate chip cookies for my dad on Father's Day ~ he had a big sweet tooth, as I do. I miss him.

5. Let's wrap up with a summer this or that:

flip flops or sandals

beach or pool 

watermelon or peaches

shorts or sundress

iced coffee or ice cold lemonade

amusement park or water park

6. Insert your own random thought here. 

My ex-husband, the father of my children, is dying in hospice. It's a tough time for us right now, and I may not post or comment much this week. 

Thanks for understanding.

Summer Reading Bingo 1

Reading challenge bingo card 

I've decided to participate in this bingo (25 books) reading challenge via my online book club. It's for June in our club, but I won't be able to finish it this month, so I've given myself the whole summer. I will be reviewing the books for each bingo square, five at a time. Here's the first set (note that I used the first three in another challenge). 

1. Short story or novella. Incantation by Alice Hoffman. This novella was about a family of Jews in Spain around the time of the Inquisition. Absolutely awful, yet fabulous writing. I'm glad it had fewer than 100 pages because idk if I could have read more about this terrible time. I gave it 5 stars, and I think it's important to be reminded about how evil humans are to one another, since we can become numb to the news. I haven't created labels for young adult or magical realism, but I think historical fiction plus fantasy will do for this novella.

2. Set during summer. Love at the Lake by Julie Milo. I gave this book 3 stars for attempting to tackle the weighty subjects of dyslexia and adoption in an otherwise fluffy novel set at a summer camp, but it didn't do either all that well because so much time was devoted to the fluff. I'm not one of those who hates "pure" romance novels (without any mystery or other element), but I need more of a plot than high school angst over whether or not a boy/girl likes the other boy/girl. Note: the characters were 23 years old, but still acted like teens.

3. Road Trip/Vacation. The Date by T.H. Murdock. Super fun suspense story! This one really kept me on my mental toes. Every character became a murder suspect at one point or another during the escape/ vacation to New Zealand, which is a hallmark of a good mystery. Lots of witty dialogue and unpredictable twists abound too. I can’t say that I was rooting for any particular character, as none were very endearing, but overall the book was a treat!

4. Standalone. The House Across the Lake by Riley Sager. I usually like Sager, but THATL is so slow for about half the book. It’s tedious to read about Casey getting drunk every day and obsessing over the other house. I am not a fan of alcoholism being either a character “trait” or a plot device. What did we ever really learn about Casey as a person without the booze? Not a lot. Then finally when the action starts to pick up, the story veers into ridiculousness. The things Casey accomplishes when drunk are completely unbelievable, and the entire plot goes totally into the weeds at the end. Two stars may be too generous, but that's what it got from me.

5. Flowers on the cover. The Mysterious Bakery on Rue de Paris by Evie Woods. This book didn’t seem to know what it wanted to be: romance, ghost story, historical fiction, magical realism? A novel can transcend genres, but this one just seemed confused, and the pieces didn’t mesh well together. That said, I really enjoyed Edith’s character development and the way she blossomed with self confidence and determination to help her new friends. As she came to terms with her grief over her mother’s death, Edith discovered she had a great capacity to love and live again. Also, there were delicious cupcakes involved! Three stars.

Gatsby on the Bridge

 

Gift from friends on Gatsby's passing

(This is an imaginary encounter between my darling kitty Gatsby who passed in May of 2025 ~ it would have been his 15th birthday today ~ and another kitty on the rainbow bridge. I wrote it for Missy's Mad Challenge where she asked us to use a particular line in our piece. I italicized the line.)

He wasn’t supposed to be there—but then again, neither was I.

I watched the grey and white tuxedo kitty hesitate on the rainbow bridge, his golden eyes confused and fearful. It was too soon for him, as it had been for me. We had been so well loved and pampered that no one expected us to go this early. Though our humans hadn't known each other, they both said the same thing: "You are going to live forever, sweet baby, or at least until age twenty."

Neither of us made it to 20, or even 15. As my gaze met his, we silently exchanged stories. His name was Gatsby, and his kidneys had failed before his 14th birthday. He had such a happy life with his human, and she was heartbroken as he became sicker, but she told him it was OK to go because he was in pain and could no longer enjoy his life. I had a similar story. I reassured Gatsby that he would be at peace now, and his treasured memory would live on with his human. She would always love him, and in his honor she would give another special shelter kitty a loving home. 

Gatsby began to cross the bridge again, his steps more confident and his eyes bright and alert. I could tell we'd become great friends and play together forever as soon as he finished coming over. 

Maybe we were both exactly where we were supposed to be...

Collecting the Tolls

Charon on the River Styx from Meta AI

Fault lines split; you take the hit,

A liar pretending all is fine.

Dark thoughts twist in a guilty mind.

Gather shells and cast your spells--

Take all the false solace you can find;

Blame the moon if you're so inclined.

Either way, with pointed swords or sighs,

Tolls will be collected on this ride.

~*~

Written for the Sunday Whirl Wordle 760, using tolls spell inclined mind find pretending sigh hit guilty fine fault liar (or slight derivations thereof). I don't know what inspired this poem... perhaps my recent and disturbing read of Incantation by Alice Hoffman.

Happy Birthday to My Mom

My mom's engagement photo, 1957

 

Miss You [haibun]

The grey days of winter crash and foam, one much like another. Memories sprout like tender green buds under a warm yellow sun. You thrived in spring, with your hands in the dirt, coaxing forth a rainbow of blossoms.

Anniversaries pass, faster and faster. It’s been 15 years since we went to the fair and even longer since we did a puzzle, played a game, learned a new craft. You never had the chance to meet your great-grands, but I know you would love them. As I near the age you were, time unspools into the past, and the good times shine like diamonds in my mind.

These empty blue rooms
Echo my silent crying
I miss you Mommy

~*~

This poem appears in my forms scrapbook Odds and Ends. It's now been 19 years since we went to the fair.

Flashback Friday: Gatsby

Gatsby and me, near the end

I'm participating in Fandango's Flashback Friday today with a post from this blog on May 29, 2025. I had just lost my sweet kitty Gatsby, and the grief was so raw. I still miss my little guy, but now I have Inky to love too. She's a doll. I forgot about that excruciating leg pain from sitting weirdly on the floor to put together my bookshelf. It lasted a long time!

PS: I have even more unread physical books now, but fewer TBR on my Kindle. I have also given up the idea of keeping a series on principle; I keep only the books I love. There just isn’t enough space!

Spoke Too Soon...

Yesterday I mentioned that my headaches have decreased in the past couple weeks; I speculated that this might be because of all the Advil I am taking for my leg pain. Welp, today I have a migraine so there goes that idea out the window. The good news is that finally today my leg is feeling a little better. Maybe a lot better, hard to say. It was super stiff and hurty when I first woke up, but by the time I got to work it felt OK. Still feels OK mid-afternoon. We shall see how it ends up tonight. 

Forgot to say yesterday that I received the sweetest condolence card from the Cat Clinic signed by all the staff and the doctors. Made me cry so hard. I just love them. Loved the peeps at the emergency vet too, but it wasn’t the same because they didn’t know us. They were super kind and gentle ~ I really appreciated them at such a sad time. They also sent a condolence card, but it was for Pistachio. No idea if that’s even a cat since they take doggos there too. Oh well. Sorry for those who love Pistachio… did they get Gatsby’s card? Who knows.

I put the rainbow bridge card from the Cat Clinic on my new bookcase. Definitely a keepsake.

*

I wrote the above yesterday afternoon with the intention of finishing the post last night, but life had other plans. My book club friend S stopped by last night with a bag of gifts. I thought she was delivering prezzies to all the club members, but no. I won’t be able to attend the next meeting due to my granddaughter’s birthday party time conflict, and they had all contributed to memorial gifts for Gatsby, so she brought those by. I keep tearing up over the kindness and generosity of these wonderful women. I posted a pic of the beautiful heart-shaped plaque on IG: it’s a pic of his sweet face with a “forever in my heart” message.

We chatted for a while, and after she left I rearranged my bookshelf to accommodate the new Gatsby-related items I want to display. Then I became obsessed with completing my book inventory and forgot all about this blog post. I am still overwhelmed by how supportive everyone has been over the loss of my little buddy. The grief isn’t linear, and sometimes hours can pass where I’m OK, but then it all hits me again. As I said, I don’t want to forget Gatsby; I welcome the grief and tears. He was such a large, loving part of my life (and his memory still is). He deserves to stay uppermost in my thoughts.

My leg was better last night, but I didn’t sleep well, and it’s pretty sore again this morning. Physical pain isn’t always linear either, though I’m trying to be optimistic. It seems to be improving overall. I’m still being very cautious and babying myself… not that I normally do a whole bunch of jumping around. 

If anyone cares, I have 81 unread physical books in my possession and 104 on my Kindle. That may not sound like a lot to a book lover, but until I joined the online club last fall, I had only a very small pile of unread books on a little shelf because I would read them as soon as I got them. This huge number stresses me out, especially regarding the dead tree books. I need to read them and get rid of them! A few I will keep, but most will be given away or donated. I keep poetry books, nonfiction (that I enjoy), and series. Unlike a Kindle, my home does not have enough space to store a massive quantity of read books!

My Wild and Crazy Birthday Week

Cupcake from coworker

Warning: very long and boring post ahead.

As some of you know, I had a birthday last week ~ one person called it a milestone birthday. Yeah, I guess, if milestone means Medicare then death. But anyway, let's not be morbid. My new Rx plan is fab! I paid $30 for sumatriptan instead of $45, woohoo! Then I bought more puzzles because that $15 was burning a hole in my cyberwallet. Here's the weird thing about all my birthday celebrations: I don’t particularly care about my own birthdays, nor do I go out of my way to announce them for gift-grabbing purposes. Hey, if you do, no issues. I just don't, that's all. In fact, I am so anti-gift grabby that I refused to have a wedding registry or baby shower/s. That's just me; I find it embarrassing. Others don't feel that way, including my own daughters, and that's cool. 

So, at the beginning of April, one generous friend decided we should have a party for me at his house on April 25. I was fine with that, as long as the invitations specified "no gifts." They did, and all was good there. We watched the musical version of Waitress, which was great, just like the reviews said, and then we had pie to go with the theme. Fun evening with good friends, plus I met the host's new doggo, a very sweet Golden Doodle.

On Tuesday, we all have lunch together at work courtesy of the partners, and since so many of us were there last week, one of my coworkers made adorable cupcakes in honor of my birthday, and they all sang HB. The cupcakes were supposed to be reminiscent of Sprinkles (RIP), and honestly they were better! You guys know how much I loved Sprinkles, but sometimes their cake was too dense and oily. My coworker's cupcakes had light, fluffy cake, which is a better vehicle for frosting because you don't feel as barfy afterward. Dense cake gets into muffin territory anyway, and we don't want to go there. 

That seems like enough celebrating of me, but no, not even close. On Thursday, my actual birthday, three (3) coworkers brought me bouquets of flowers. Each one was gorgeous, and I felt overwhelmed. One coworker bought my lunch (salmon bowl) that day too. I brought the bouquets home because I wasn't returning to the office until Tuesday and wouldn't be able to appreciate them if I had left them there. I set them around my living and dining rooms. Utterly gorgeous! I don't know why I forgot I was allergic to flowers, probably because I receive them so infrequently (how's that for passive aggression?), but Friday I went to see The Devil Wears Prada 2 at 10AM (more about that in a minute), and as soon as I sat down, I began to have an allergy attack. I figured it would soon pass, but instead it got worse, and I started to cry uncontrollably even though the movie wasn't sad at all. I took (what I hoped was) a Benadryl in the dark, and eventually I felt a little better. I refused to get up and go wash my face in the bathroom, as I didn't want to miss any of the movie, although I could barely see it at times due to all the tears. When I finally did go to the bathroom, I was horrified. My face and eyes were all swollen up like a melon. 

Inky and sunflowers from coworker

Still at the movie plaza, I treated myself to a healthy lunch at Boudin (delicious veggie sandwich), and then walked around for a bit. The area was full of flowers, and I began to feel yucky again, so I went off to the library and the grocery store. When I got home, I took another Benadryl and then texted with the girls. They informed me that the flowers were the problem, and I needed to put them outside STAT, which I did. It was sad not to be able to admire them inside, but I decided that breathing was probably more important. I watched a couple more movies on TV because I didn't feel like reading, took a Zyrtec, and went to bed. I was a little nervous about sleeping because my chest felt heavy after all those allergy meds, but I figured that if I failed to wake up and feed Inky at 6AM, she could munch on my corpse until my housemate returned from her trip.

Reader: I woke up.

On Saturday, I looked and felt relatively "normal" and non-puffy, but I thought it best to take it easy and putter around the house doing chores and stuff, which is what I did, along with starting a thriller for my book club titled He Started It (by Samantha Downing). Enjoyable at first with an unreliable narrator (I like those usually), but annoying in the second half with too many gotchas directed at the reader ~ two stars. I also decided to straighten up the hall closet, and a heavy game board fell on my foot. Ow ow ow! I iced it for a couple hours so it wouldn't swell up. Now, you would think my birthday celebrations had finally come to an end, but you would be wrong. On Sunday, my good friend Lisa treated me to a birthday luncheon at the Tea House on Los Rios in San Juan Capistrano. We had planned to take the train down and back, but we ended up driving because the road closures for the marathon made us late, so we'll do a train trip another time. We enjoyed our lovely tea and goodies, and we browsed around in the cute little shops. I love Old Town SJC! Such a perfect day! Also, some of the gals in my online book club sent me birthday books, and those are appreciated by me as well.

Eight days of birthdaying! It was like Chanukah! I don't get it, but I feel very loved.

At the Tea House on Los Rios, SJC

Spoiler (ish) for The Devil Wears Prada 2! Go away now if you plan to see it and hate spoilers.

Regarding The Devil Wears Prada 2, it was good but not great. I mean, the first one is an iconic treasure, and so DWP2 has big designer shoes to fill, so to speak. The plot is basically a repeat of the DWP1 with Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) reluctantly hiring Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) again at Runway 20 years later and realizing (again) how valuable she is. There are sneaky shenanigans re a corporate takeover, with Miranda outsmarting everyone, as usual. There are some funny moments, such as when Miranda, for the first time, is forced to go to lunch in the Runway cafeteria, which she didn't even know existed. There are also some cringe moments where Miranda says un-PC things to her staff and has to be corrected by her latest "Emily" ~ these verbal gaffes are simply not believable coming from the icy perfection that is Miranda. Emily herself (Emily Blunt) has a larger role in DWP2, and she's good. Nigel (Stanley Tucci) is his same suave, sarcastic self. Andy hasn't really changed, which I guess is the point; she has stayed true to her journalistic principles all these years. 

Nate Cooper (Adrian Grenier), Andy's boyfriend from DWP1, is not in the sequel, sadly. I get that it makes sense they broke up sometime during the past 20 years due to lifestyle and logistic differences, but I missed him regardless. Nate was a great down-to-earth foil against all the fashion superficiality, and we don't have anyone like that in DWP2. Andy does have a love interest in DWP2, a British luxury apartment developer named Peter ~ who stresses that he isn't the money guy, just the contractor, which is supposed to make him seem less gross, I guess. That's fine, except the romance mirrors DWP1 in that Andy treats him less than ideally and grovels to him at the end, similar to her mea culpa lunch with Nate at the end of DWP1. It annoyed me. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough for me to go, argh, why is Andy always apologizing to men? There's nothing wrong with Andy being less about finding love and more about her career, and you don't hear men apologizing for that, ever.

Also, and this isn't the movie's fault, I have a bit of "face blindness," especially when it comes to men. All white men with brown hair and scruffy beards look the same to me. Miranda has a new guy Henry, who is a white man with brown hair and a scruffy beard, just like Peter the contractor, plus Henry has a British accent similar to Peter's. I sometimes found it hard to tell them apart. I will likely watch DWP2 again when it appears on Prime or whatever because I didn't get the full experience due to my allergy attack plus the white guy/ brown hair/ scruffy beard confusion.

That's all.

Dad's Birthday Today

Dad and me, around 2011

I wrote a birthday post to my dad exactly 10 years ago today on my old WP blog. It's nice that I found it on the Wayback Machine to share again here, lightly edited. He would have been 96 today...

My dad would have been 86 today. He died a little over three years ago, without too much suffering, all things considered. I don’t miss the person he was at the end and rarely think of that person these days. It’s hard to connect the end-person with the man I knew my whole life as my dad. Alzheimer’s is such a horrible disease, shredding the person you know bit by bit into thin strips of nothingness. Even when you occasionally have a somewhat normal conversation with them you know they aren’t really processing it and won’t remember it. And they might not even remember who you are! But we did have a nice visit around Christmas 2012 with my daughters, and he seemed to know them then, so hopefully that was a shining jewel he kept in a locked treasure box somewhere in his tangled mind.

My father was a smart guy. He loved words and crossword puzzles. And he loved the New York Times. When we moved to California in 1983 he gave the LA Times a go for several years, but he eventually returned to the NYT because he missed it so much. Sometimes we attempted to do the toughie Sunday puzzle together, but we were rarely able to finish. He was no slouch at math either ~ he was a numbers guy, an insurance underwriter, manager, VP, and finally EVP. But his greatest strength was his love for people. People liked him and he liked them. They trusted him, and he was trustworthy. He was also a little innocent in some ways, believing that most people were good and they would do good if given the chance.

Dad had a sweet tooth ~ how he loved his desserts! Brownies, ice cream, cookies, cake. I definitely inherited that (as opposed to people who dislike sweets, right). He enjoyed trying new cuisines and new restaurants, but he was totally fine with a burger too. After my mom passed away in 2008 he learned to cook simple things and was very proud of his signature dish ~ shrimp with pasta. We’d usually meet for dinner once a week when he was living on his own.

While Dad loved (loved!) to read, he was not an introvert. He liked to socialize and mingle. He also loved to travel and take long drives to nowhere in particular. Dad was great at reading maps, but he was also fine without a map and didn’t stress about getting lost. He figured everything would sort itself out in due time, no biggie, and he’d see a new town or three in the meantime. Dad was a planner, but definitely not OCD. A big picture guy. Someone else could worry about the deets, and he would go with the flow. Mellow dude. I’m glad he got to go to the UK, his dream trip.

My father was liberal, Jewish, and agnostic. He liked the Doors and Jefferson Airplane and Bette Midler. He’d periodically nag me to read Ulysses, and I still haven’t ever finished more than a third because ugh. He taught me to play chess. (I wish we’d played more chess.) He taught me to love poetry by reading aloud and quoting the greats. He always had a book open and usually more than one. Dad had an intense interest in history and politics. He followed the news religiously. But never sports! We went to a lot of museums. Dad had an eye for art. He was a good photographer, a professional at one point early on while he was thinking about a career in journalism.

He was a good man. He took care of his family. And he was funny.

I love you, Dad.

Eternity (April A2Z ~ Misty Memories)

Sunset in Laguna, CA

Welcome to my April A2Z posts! This time, I am officially signed up on the challenge sheet and will be visiting other bloggers on the list. My theme is "misty memories," which will include a bunch of rambling about old stuff in my life, and hopefully some of it will be accurate, but if not, there's no one around to contradict me. Today we continue with E for Eternity.

I started thinking (obsessing) about eternity when I was 11 years old. It was summertime, and we were driving from Ohio back to New Jersey after a (rare) visit with my mother’s family. My dad was at the wheel, and his parents were in the backseat ~ it was so odd that they were there too. Perhaps my recollection is incorrect. Many of them likely have elements of made-upedness, which is why I call them “misty memories.” My good friend Asbestos Dust (RIP 💔) described how our memories change as we take them out of the mental box and examine them. I wrote a couple poems about this cool concept. 

Anyway. My mom was also in the car, of course, but I don’t remember where she was sitting. This was when cars were enormous, and three people could easily be comfortable in the front or the back on a lengthy trip. I don’t recall exactly where we were, though it was most likely somewhere in Pennsylvania, when it occurred to me that I was going to die. I mean, I was 11, and not stupid, so I already knew, but until this moment had been unaware of the related repercussions, the main one being an eternity of nothingness.

I was overwhelmed with terror. Nothing forever. Just a black blankness of no thoughts, no feelings, nothing. I had the feeling of my stomach dropping like I get when I look down from a great height. I still get that feeling now when I contemplate what comes after death and am envious of anyone who believes in any kind of afterlife. I tried to believe, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed a fantasy, intentionally designed to keep people from living in a paralyzing state of fear.

I didn’t sleep for a year. I know that’s impossible, but I have a (false) memory of not sleeping for the entirety of sixth grade. I lay awake, terrified, and tried to self-soothe by counting and making words out of words. In the daytime, I was groggy and awkward. No one knew. My grades stayed high, so my parents weren’t worried. I tried to discuss my fears with them, but they brushed me off. I have a few memories of these conversations, but I also wrote fiction about this, so my thoughts are once again jumbled up. After that, my father decided he was taking a job in Illinois, so we had to move, and I soon became consumed with moving logistics, which was a nice distraction from obsessing about death and eternity. 

This next thing sounds even more fantastical, but it seems I “forgot” about my fear of eternal nothingness for many years, decades even. How is that possible when it consumed me for an entire year?! I don’t know. Maybe my mind was trying to protect itself. Anyway, when I finally remembered, way later, in my 40s, the same stomach-dropping feeling occurred. But this time, I forced myself to keep focusing on the darkness instead of willing it away, until it lost power over me. Somewhat.

Just One More Thing… (flash fiction)

Someone had been leaving fresh flowers every day on his wife’s grave and Roger was determined to find out who and why.

Soon, people would quit paying attention to Roger and how or if he was mourning Hope, but it had only been a couple weeks since the funeral, so he had to keep up appearances. Roger liked to sleep in and drive over to the cemetery after a leisurely brunch, but today he forced himself to get there at 9am when they opened. It was weird that cemeteries had visiting hours, Roger thought as he strode to the stone. No new flowers yet—good! 

Roger leaned against a tree and opened a dating app as he waited. He couldn’t actually date yet—people would freak out—but he could talk to new women. There were plenty of pretty ones who were happy to get to know a wealthy man who no longer had to work at age 37. One of the prettiest had been eager to chat, and Roger told her all about what a horrible witch Hope had been and how relieved he was to be single again. Ah, here was a new message from her, titled “Good Morgan,” a funny phrase she used. 

Holy crap, what was Frank doing here?! Roger quickly stuffed his phone back in his pocket and walked over to the gravesite where the older man was placing a fresh bouquet. “Lieutenant?”

“Mr. Clark,” Frank stood up and greeted him. “How are you doing?”

“Good!” Roger said, immediately regretting it. “I mean, you know… under the tragic circumstances.”

Frank nodded. “Of course. And it was a tragedy, wasn’t it. You know that Hope was a distant cousin of mine, from the wealthy side of the family, obviously.”

Crap. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I was at the funeral,” Frank said. “In the back. Moving elegy you gave for your young bride, Mr. Clark. Poor thing, being an orphan, and now this. You weren’t even married a year, were you?”

“Not quite a year.”

“And drowning in the bathtub.” Frank shook his head. “Who would have thought?”

“She fell asleep.” Roger felt sweaty even though the air was brisk. He noted that Frank seemed perfectly comfortable in his rumpled old beige raincoat. 

Frank sighed. “So unfortunate no one found her until the next day.”

“Yes, I wish I had woken up to check on her. I will never forgive myself.” Roger began edging away. “Nice seeing you, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, one more thing, Mr. Clark.”

Roger turned around. “What?”

“Good Morgan.”

~*~

Little bit of Columbo fan fiction I wrote for Fandango’s Story Starter #238.