blogforth

The sushi chef bowed his head in thanks as he handed me  my platter of eel and salmon.

When dining solo I always sit at the sushi bar, so I can watch the knife action.

“What’s that you’re mixing in the soy sauce?” I heard from my left.  A remarkably pretty blonde in short shorts was looking at me over her menu.

“Wasabi, you mix it with the soy to make a dipping stuff.  You have to be careful - it’s pretty high voltage.”

“I don’t know my way around sushi too much.”

She was smiling but her eyes were not.

“I love the stuff, especially salmon and eel.  The salmon I dip in the wasabi-soy mix; the eel is broiled and has a barbeque sauce on it.”

“Definitely ordering one of each and a California roll.”

“Most everybody likes California rolls.”

She smiled again, then turned her head again to catch her breathe.  I knew all she wanted to do was burst into tears.  When she turned her head towards me again I said:

“Not having a good day, huh?”

Her baby blues filled up with tears, and she caught her breathe again.

The waitress oblivious to it all came to ask if she was ready to order.  I did it for her.

“One piece sake, one piece unagi and one California roll.”

“Anything to drink?”

My new friend gave her head a tiny shake.

“Water’s fine.”

“Okay thank you.”

The waitress handed the order to the sushi chef, and went to answer the ringing phone.

The restaurant was nearly empty.  One young couple in the corner sat giving each other tiny pecks on the lips over and over again.  Young love.  I was almost jealous.

Turning  back to Baby Blues I gave her a quick head to toe inventory.  A pretty little thing.  Perfect little figure in shorts and a top from one of the big name gyms.  Her running shoes were no more than a size six.  He hair was naturally dirty blonde like mine, though heavily highlighted.  I guess-timated her to be no more than thirty two.

At least one full minute passed.  The look on her face said she was about to unload.  It happens to me all the time.  I hear more hard luck stories and true confessions than the priest down the corner church.

She sighed and began.

“My attorney just called.  My ex is doing everything he can not to settle.  He’s gone to China on business, and I’m barely getting enough out of him to pay my rent.  I’m working as a trainer while the kids are in school to make some extra money.  Shouldn’t even be spending money having lunch out but I couldn’t stand being in that place one more minute.”

“Training hard work?”

“It’s okay, but some of the women give me a hard time.”

“It’s because they’re jealous.  You’re a magazine cover, and you’ve had children too. Personally I want to snap your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.”

Despite the tears she couldn’t help but give a little chuckle.

“Even the judge brushes me off.  Everyone thinks that I’m going to marry a rock star and live happily ever after this.  They’ve got to be kidding.  As soon as men hear I have a three and four year old they can’t run fast enough.  Both my kids are boys and really hyper too. I won’t medicate them no matter what.  I’m in the principal’s office every other day.  The school is half a blck from the gym.”

“I only had one, but I remember what work it could be to keep her occupied.”

“Why is the judge brushing you off?”

“It’s not like she is saying or doing anything.  But when I talk about my financial needs and stuff I can see she thinks I’m just a whiny bit of fluff.  That’s what his mother told me I was ‘a whiny bit of fluff.’ He freaking threw a chair at me over the remote control.  She knows he drinks too much.  But it’s all my fault because I didn’t want to give him the remote.”

“Why didn’t you want to give him the remote?”

“It was past two in the morning when he finally poured himself through the door.  He wouldn’t lie down and sleep it off, no he wanted to turn on the TV full blast.  I wouldn’t give him the remote.  He threw a chair at me, and then took the remote and threw it out the window.  I hid in the kid’s room until he went to sleep.  Then I dressed the kids, packed some bags and went to a motel for a few days.”

“What about your parents?”

“Dad died last year.  Mom is no help at all.  She wants me to go back to him.  Keeps telling me ‘look what you are leaving behind.’  The bastard makes a good living, but what good is it if I’m scared tio death all the time?  Mom says I want too damn much.”

“What do you want?”

“I want the dicorce to be final.  I want a decent amount for child support.  I don’t need alimony because I can work.  I’m working on a couple of ideas for aerobics classes that could really do well at the gym.  Another relationship is probably not going to happen.  I never ever want to get married again anyway”

“Well, why don’t you wait and see on the never ever stuff.  You never know an actual decent sort of guy could turn up.  Stranger things have happened my dear.” 

I threw her a wink.

She laughed again.

The chef bowed as he handed her her platter.  Blue Eyes held her hands up to accept it with a smile.  She poured soy sauce carefully into the little dish, then she scooped some wasabi up on her chopstick, and began to mix it exactly as she had seen me do.

In the corner the young couple had were holding hand, and stick doing the little kisses thing over and over again.

I felt like yelling “get a room!” like we used to do in high school.  They were so damn cute.

Blue eyes was carefully dipping bits of California roll into her wasabi laced soy.

My cell phone pinged - an email - I shuffled through my bag to find it.

My journal is just next to me.
The cover is neutral.
Supposed to go with everything,
Unlike me.
Is it more autobiography or accident report?
What would you think if you had a chance to thumb through it?
Hidden genius? Outright lunatic?
Why can’t she be like everyone else?
How I hate those lyrics.
That neverending song.
I tried the one size fits all dealio - it just didn’t fit me.

The first image on my mind’s screen is the holiday meals that Grandma used to make.
Thanksgiving Dinner was a blend of classic American and Italian dishes,

Antipasto (cold)
Chickarina Soup with Tiny Meatballs
Lasagne
Meatballs, Brasciole & Sausage with Gravy aka Spaghetti Sauce
Capon with Sausage & Mushroom Stuffing
Capon is a castrated rooster whichs grows big as a T-bird. If you want a really good one head to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, where they are affectionately known as Italian turkeys,
Roasted Yams
Baked Ham with Pineapple Rings & Maraschino Cherries
Roast Beef
She used to make sure I got a rare slice, and my brother a very well-done slice.
“One eats it raw. The other eats shoe leather,” she would say every year.
Dessert was pumpkin pie. I can still her accent sayig pumpamakinn pie.
Oh and how could I forget the fruit cup?
Grandma would buy a fancy canned fruit cocktail ad serve it in little cups. She saw it at a party once and thought it was classy.
Perhaps it was the dinner where she stole the Chicarina Soup recipe. But that will be for another Scribble.
Ciao

As soon I read the prompt an image of my college psychology professor flashed on my mind’s screen. Dr. W was a tiny little thing that favored ankle boots and men’s clothing. She must have shopped in the boy’s department. The woman truly resented her brother; every class came with yet another story of how her parents favored him.

She also graded on a curve, and for me it worked out beautifully.

The next image that flashed is me at 18 holding a tape measure, and looking quite unhappy.

I had been on a very strict diet for three months, and lost a lot of weight. There I was a hundred pounds lighter, and still not satisfied. Why? Because I didn’t have an hourglass figure - how I longed for a curvy waist that flared out to perfectly round hips. My boyish hips were barely a few inches more than my waist.

Give me that same weight loss today, and I would dance a non-stop jig.

Now I’m thinking of Atlantic City, there’s this big curve in the road right before you get there. My hands start itching as soon as we hit it.

It’s actually the only curve in a road that doesn’t make nervous. A non-driver I’m one of life’s very nervous passengers.

Oh gosh now I’m thinking of that crazy curvy straw I loved to drink my Nestles Strawberry Quik with as a child. It was actually called a Krazy Straw. Did you have one? Do they still make them? I’ll have to google and see.

Funny you look at a simple word CURVES, and suddenly you’re whole life is flashing before your eyes.

Have a wonderful week.

– posted from my T-Mobile Sidekick

Welcome to the return of blogforth, My last post was on April 30th my daughter’s 25th birthday. It was the final post for April NaBloPoMo; the theme was letters.

During the first twenty days of that month I reintroduced a character I had created for NaNoWriMo. Her name is Bianca, she’s 17 and loves getting into heavy stuff. I decided to leave everything up in the air, and switch to more general posting during the last ten days.

After NaBloPoMo ended my creative energy kind of fizzled out. During May I worked on some of my other blogs.

Photostroll got a new template available here at WordPress.com called Monotone. It’s hot - try it. On The Go Blog went from Blogger to Typepad, and now it’s blogforth’s turn.

I went with a pre-made WordPress template for now. It has a full moon in header, and I love a full moon. They are very lucky for me.

This past week I discovered that I could blog by mobile device via http://m.wordpress.com. This is great help for me because I tend to get stuck in rewrite after rewrite when I creatively blog the conventional way.

Before I go I want to thank the people who checked in here on a regular basis to see if anything new was up. I’m looking forward to sharing with you, and everyone else who leaves their link.

Wishing you peace, love and lots of creativity.
Frances D

should be ready to go within 24 hours