For twelve years I chose one person to be my best friend, my soulmate, my boss, my partner, my colleague, my teacher… my lover.
It was a lot of jobs to put on one person’s head. And he placed just as much, if not more, on my heart. We were each other’s world and universe. We were each other’s family, and each other’s everything. Continue reading Family…→
Ally screamed with delight when she saw me walk in. She dropped everything, ran for me, jumped in my arms and nearly knocked the wind out of me. “You’re getting too big to do this Ally!” She giggled. We both knew this wasn’t the last time…
I dropped my backpack by the closet. She yanked my hand and pulled me up the stairs “Come see my room, I’ve got the coolest thing!” As we ran up the stairs I could hear my sister yelling for me from the kitchen. Ally giggled and showed me the shush sign, she pushed me in her room and slammed the door.
I turned around and oddly enough I was alone in the room. “Allyyyy?” The door opened, she walked in with a towel wrapped around her head. “I am Ally Baba,” she said with a comical accent “sit on my magic carpet my child. Sit, sit, hurry, we are wasting much time. Much time indeed is being wasted.” Her left eye twitched. She pointed down “Now!” Twitch-twitch.
I sat down and she forced my legs into an indian position “Do the motus pose,” she said and I stifled a giggle. She sat in front of me, facing me with the same pose. “I will take you to many places,” twitch “close your eyes and make a wish.” I asked her what kind of wish she wanted and she answered with a twitch as her fingers slid down my eyelids.
I secretly peeked and watched her as she neatly tucked her towel back into place. She rubbed her temples and started to chant. I closed my eyes and wished for warmth. I wished her carpet had been blessed with some form of magical alchemy that could keep her forever young. I wished she were my daughter. “Pick one wish my child, Ally Baba can make but one wish. Keep the last one, forget the others.” I opened my eyes and in shocked amazement I watched her eye twitch.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
NOTE: I wanted to play on the fact she called it a motus pose and called herself Ally Baba (like her name) when it is in fact Ali Baba. Kind of like if she could correct her aunt “No, not Ali… it’s Ally!” although the pronounciation is the same, it’s just a spelling thing. But I clocked in at precisely 333 words…
There’s always too much pressure surrounding January 1st. It’s just too much. Too many expectations for a better year. Change. New beginnings. Self improvement.
There’s been a medley of sad news and sad affairs close to me. I won’t even dip into what’s happening around the world. But there is pain close to home. I have zero teflon on my skin. Everything sticks. If somebody I love is in pain, then I am in pain. It’s as easy as that. Deadly disease for a dear old friend, romantic break-up and heartbreaks.
Although I could easily look at all of it with a different perspective, with the escape of a “oh well… it could be a lot worse!” Because – duh – it could always be worse.
But thinking of how much worse it or anything could be: just doesn’t fix it for me.
It could be worse… or it could be better. I just want my loved ones to be happy. Is that too much to ask? Can THAT be my new year’s resolution? If I love you, then wham you’ll be happy. End of story.
No matter the shit, the heartache, the state of your health – you whom I love will be happy. You will be at peace with yourself. But wait, there’s more! You will love yourself. You will look into the mirror and smile that special smile you reserve for that special person.
I want you to start easy and repeat after me: I AM HAPPY. The rest will follow.
Today, she didn’t eat. Not for lack of food. And it wasn’t for a desired weight loss either. She cooked and fed her family. She sat with them at the table as they ate. They passed the mashed potatoes. The gravy boat sailed across her face too many times to count. She got up to serve seconds and thirds. They ate the delicious food she cooked, the delicious food she made with her favorite secret ingredient: love. She poured cupfuls of love in every meal she made. Yet she didn’t eat. Nobody asked her why. Nobody even seemed to notice the lack of plate in front of her.
She smiled as she watched them eat. They licked their fingers. After seconds and thirds they asked about dessert. She cleared the table of its dirty plates and pulled a chocolate cake from the fridge. She asked her family who wanted ice cream. She offered vanilla, rocky road and moose droppings. They wanted fudge drizzle. More, they always wanted more. Yet, still nobody asked why she wasn’t eating. She didn’t offer unwanted explanations.
She watched her family and she smiled. She loved cooking for them. She loved holding spoonfuls of medicine when they coughed and loved putting to good use the sewing skills she’d earned from her own mother to mend torn clothing she bought and they carelessly wore.
She was the mother. The provider. The giver. She loved them without conditions. She asked nothing in return. And in return they offered nothing. They were the family. The receivers. The takers. They didn’t understand the concept of unconditional love. After the last bite of cake, after the last piece was chomped down by a hungry pack of wolves they noticed something different.
She offered a warm loving smile at her family. They suddenly took stock. “For mother’s day I decided to offer myself something special this year” she told her family. It suddenly hit them, she didn’t eat a bite. She didn’t complain about their demands. They suddenly realized it was her one and only day of the year to be celebrated. Instead they asked for more. The youngest one, the bravest one, spoke first “What’s that mommy?” “The special ingredient I made your cake with!” “We all know what your special ingredient is mommy, it’s no secret you but bottles of love in everything you make!”
Again, she smiled. She ran her hand on her youngest’ hair. She loved doing this. Most times when she gave it was almost selfish. The soft cheeks, the angel hair, the happy burps from good food. This was heaven to her.
But today was mother’s day. Her day. Her spoils. Her secret desires she knew only could be met by herself. “Yes sweetie, I always cook with love. But today I added a new secret ingredient to the cake.”
She pulled out a box and waved it in front of her family. They gasped and hiccuped. Again the youngest and bravest was first to speak up “What’s Ex-Lax mommy?”
“I think I’ll go soak in a nice warm bath” she replied…
This is a Magpie Tale. I totally wanted to go full Edgar Allan Poe’ish on this piece. But I just couldn’t do it. Instead I fell upon one of my favorite topic without ever mentioning it, not even once: poop. Oops! I just said it!
When I grow up I will run away and join the circus…