Stay hydrated. If I may ask, when did the phrase ‘stay hydrated’ become so common? Honestly. I live in my own world. A co-worker scared the be-gee-bees out of me the other day because I was in my own little world. 🤭
I don’t like water. But I’ve tried to add more of it into my diet. I have this really bad habit; every time I reach for a container, it’s EMPTY. Pop, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, the water is gone and all I have is ice. Come on! Can we revisit that ‘wish’ prompt? One wish would be for whatever container I’m drinking from to always be full.
Water is important. About 60% of the body is water. The Water in You: Water and the Human Body Completed – USGS.gov So yeah, water is really important and pretty amazing. But why can’t it taste like Mt. Dew? Water flavor packets cost money. This doesn’t work with the cheapskate in me. Most of them have calories. Ain’t I trying to eliminate those? So I just fill my glass with ice and consume Mr. H2O. Long sigh.
As they started to eat, that voice tormented him. Talk to her. He finally gave in, “Tell me about your family.”
“Well,” she stared at her plate for a moment. “My mom died when I was three from cancer. Then when I was five my dad committed suicide. So my grandparents raised me.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Heel, Oscar called himself.
He watched a smile light up her face. “You know it’s okay. I have very few memories of my parents. All I really have are pictures. And stories gram and pap told me.”
“Are they still alive?”
“No, I lost them about seven years ago.”
“Forgive my ignorance.”
She smiled, “all is forgiven. What about you? Is that wonderful example of humanity all you have in this world?”
He ran his fingers through his hair as he let out a long breath. “No, my mother is still alive. There were a lot of years between my parents. My dad has passed away.” He got up from the table leaving the room.
She cleaned up the kitchen then found Oscar sitting on the back porch. She handed him a piping hot cup. “Tea, I found it in the cabinet.” She sat down in the other chair. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Oscar’s voice was full of pain.
“About?”
“I’m sick Esther. My mental anguish has manifest itself into physical ailments with very real symptoms. Chet is right, you know. I don’t eat right. Since you have been here, I have eaten more than I would have in a week. I don’t know how to fight anymore. I have been losing this fight for the last ten years. I’ve been to doctors. I’ve tried their medicines and it’s always with the same results. The medicines make me sick and I’m left,” he stopped talking. He didn’t hear her get up. But he did feel her put a blanket around his shoulders. “You must think I’m a coward?”
“Why would I think that?” She sat on the table in front of him. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What happened ten years ago?”
He stared out into the night. A blank stare into nothingness.
“Measure a man.” He whispered
She looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. “I don’t follow.”
“If you measure a man through his deeds and works, I have none. If you measure a man by the size of his family, I have none. Through the size of his bank account, the number of friends in his circle, the notches on his bed, how do you measure a man?”
“Is this a rhetorical question?”
“No.” He whispered.
“I measure a man through the kindness of his soul: the words that pour from his heart and the deeds that follow. The size of your bank account, your family, or your social circle is a measure of what you have accomplished on this Earth. It is not a measure of who you are. The fact that you tried to get Little Billy help even though nothing was done; that wasn’t your fault. The fact that you came over to help a stranger unload a moving van, but ended up having a huge snowball fight, that was the biggest stress reliever I’ve had in a long time.” She wanted to reach out and touch him but dared not. “The fact that you invited this stranger into your home, flaws unknown, because you felt it was the right thing to do is the true measure of your heart.”
He wanted to pull her onto his lap, snuggle is nose anywhere against her and just cry.
She moved to leave. He reached up and held her arm. “No, don’t.” Perhaps he held her a little too long?
She leaned over, her nose almost touched his. He got a good whiff of the cologne she was wearing and it excited him. Was that honeysuckle?
“Oscar, I’m cold.”
He finally realized that they were outside, in December, with snow on the ground. “Of course.” He let her go and they both retired into the house.
Esther spent another night in the guest room. Oscar had been so kind toward her. She was starting to see why he didn’t have a close relationship with his family. And why he couldn’t share that kindness with them.
The next morning, she made it to a dollar store and he made it to work.
I consider this ‘my favorite’ of stories I’ve written. This is a repost. The dates have been changed. Time marches on. And the story has been broken into chapters for easier reading. I hope you enjoy reading New Earth as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Posted: 10-9-2022
Revised: 9-10-2023
Reposted: 11-14-2023
New Earth
2,030 marked the first human mission to Mars. Scientists were on this trip; people who were in charge of setting up the first ever base camp.
Ground Y had already launched two BFS’s (Big Florida Spaceships) to Mars, full of cargo for the base camp. Earth held its collective breath as the big crafts landed perfectly.
Something happened to the camera system on the second ship. Using telemetry and lots of computer data, Ground Y was able to ascertain that the ship had landed; intact they hoped.
We watched every minute of the 2,030 launch. Earth’s data field was maxed out. Everyone live streamed the event including the months spent in open space. We worked, slept, and ate MARS. We watched as NASA announced BFS 3’s safe landing. People rioted in the streets, burned cars, buildings, and of course the ceremonial couch. The people of Earth were no longer a single planet species.
Ground Y’s founder, Edward Mosque, made the official announcement. Instead of the pompous speech everyone was expecting, we got, “hot damn I made it.” He ranted for a good half hour about all the doctors who had advised him not to make this trip. He said lots of colorful metaphors that I choose not to repeat.
2,032 was when the next BFS was scheduled to lift off. It had a few more people and what seemed like a shopping list from Mr. Mosque.
He wanted a televised lottery for one average person to go on this flight. Can you imagine the heart pounding excitement of getting to go to Mars? I could! So I threw my name in the hat along with 5 billion other people. I knew there wasn’t a prayers chance in hell that I would be chosen. I was going to try anyway.
The day of the big drawing had arrived, 6 months before the lift off date. Everyone was glued to a media source. An asteroid could have hit and no one would have cared. The most important event in this moment was the person’s social security number that was announced. It was mine!
Wait. What? Mine? Yes! Mine! It was immediate. My Kentucky home was surrounded by media crews, helicopters, black SUV’s filled my yard. I got my first death threat three minutes after my name hit the data field. I was offered obscene amounts of money for my SS number. I received 250 marriage proposals from people that wanted to take the chance that my spouse would be allowed to go with me.
The caravan was stopped 6 times by desperate people wanting to take my place.
After we made it, the following months were filled with training. I was allowed to keep my dog right up until the moment of lift off. I don’t know if it was true but everyone fell in love with Chico. I was told he was going to be the official mascot of Ground Y. It was a sweet parting memory.
The day of our launch had arrived. I was excited. This was to be a new chapter in my life and I was ready to meet it head on.
Lift off was like starting up a wooden roller-coaster. Shaky and rough. I barely noticed. I was too consumed with taking in what might be the last time I got to experience Earth.
The trip was going along as planned. Only after I got so tired I couldn’t stand myself did I fall asleep staring out into the void of space.
For those of you old enough to remember, there was a t.v. show called ‘Chico and the Man’ 1974. I didn’t (haven’t) watched it. I am only aware of its existence.
The phase of my life since Chico has lived with me can be subtitled ‘Chico and the Woman’.
Honestly, I never wanted an indoor dog. And THOSE people that took their dogs EVERYWHERE with them just upset me greatly. I not speaking of service animals here.
My how times have changed. Chico doesn’t go everywhere with me but I don’t want to imagine my life without him.
He has been good for me overall. He’s part of most of my work. I have to get off my butt and take him out. He likes to cuddle. He’s soft and warm. I once dated a fellow who said to me getting Chico ‘softened me’. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was God through him.
Local dog park.
Chihuahuas come with a list of issues that cause people not to want them. I sure do love mine.
She moaned waking herself up. Someone had put a blanket around her and a pillow under her head. How sweet. The book she had been reading was at the foot of the bed, which pulled her attention to the fact that he was up.
He was standing in the hallway staring at a picture.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
He looked sad and sick at the same time. “My grandpa. My dad’s dad. Everybody called him Matty. I have no idea if that was his real name. Dad didn’t even know.”
“How could your dad not know his dad’s real name?”
“Didn’t care to know I guess?”
The man in the picture looked remarkably like Oscar. He had the same large nose, and rail thin face.
“What about your dad? Any pictures of him?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Esther raised an eyebrow.
Oscar finally walked away. “Are you hungry?” His voice cracked as he talked.
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. This didn’t startle Oscar like the noise of his brother being at the door did. She remained in the hallway out of sight.
“Hi,” Esther thought it was the sheriff, Chet.
“Come in.”
“How ya feelin’?”
“Like crap.”
“Is Esther still here?”
“Yeah.”
“I had asked her to ask you to give me a call when you got up.”
“I just got up.” There was a brief pause.
“Oh, well. We got worried about you and fixed you supper.”
“That’s very kind.” Oscar’s voice remained dry.
The other voice cleared his throat. “Look, I’m worried about you. You’re my best friend. We’ve known each other for a very long time.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You’ve been sayin’ that for the last ten years.”
Esther moved into the shadows so she could see what was going on. Oscar was standing looking out the window. The other person was the sheriff.
“I’m not a doctor and I don’t pretend to be; but this can’t be good for your heart. I’m talkin’ physically. You don’t eat right. What health problems will this lead to in the future?” He walked toward the door, and then stopped. “Just so you know, Esther found you this mornin’. She already had your breathing under control and everything.”
Chet was gone. It seemed as if he took the warmth in the house with him when he left. Esther didn’t know what to do or what to say. Finally, she worked up enough nerve to step out of the shadows. “Do you want me to leave?”
He didn’t move. “Quite to the contrary.”
She thought the least she could do was take the covered dishes into the kitchen. “Your friend took all your papers to school this mornin’.”
“I can’t wait until you get to know him. He is a great person.”
“He seems to care about you.”
“We do.” Oscar followed her into the kitchen and rooted around in the fridge for salad dressing. He left the door open, “pick what you want to drink.”
“Thanks.”
Before they ever sat down, that familiar rattling came to the door knob. Oscar hung his head as he took a deep breath. “I don’t feel like dealing with him.”
“Do you want me to answer it?”
The rattling turned into pounding. Oscar jumped. “No.” He had barely opened the door before Oat was in his face.
“I seed that cara-van this mornin’. How’d you git portin’ ‘nough to block traffic?” Esther stood in the kitchen door watching.
“Sees what happs when you good to,” he pointed out the door. “Chair-a-dee begins at home.”
Oscar stared blankly out the door. She envisioned him reaching out and choking Otis.
“And how would I show you charity?”
“I need new wheels. Pussy’s with child again.”
“And this is my problem how?”
“Give to family. Not city trash.”
“And what have I given her?”
“You got money. I need van. Som’em BIG.” He put great emphasis on the word big.
“I’ve got money?”
“Damn straight.” He waved his arms around, “fan-cy nest. Fan-cy wheels. High-flo-luten ed-u-mcation.”
“Get a job and you will have nice things too.”
“I gots a job. Bein’ a paw.”
“And I’m sure the goberment pays you well for that.”
“Christian my ass.” Otis stormed out of the house.
The sound of squealing tires filled the quiet void. Oscar fell to his knees in the open door. Esther felt so sorry for him. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped.
“Is there anything I can do?”
The sound of her voice was such a comfort. Talk to her, that voice inside of him instructed. Tell her.
Not what? Great! You’ve killed the joke. Take me to the dishwasher or you’ll come back to work with sour gnats and a funky smell at your workstation. I’ll make it so stanky, everyone will hold their noses as they walk by just for being a Joke killer.
🥣🥄🍴
Authors note: one of the things about enjoying to write is that it spills over into every aspect of your life. Part of my job is to make sure the dishwasher gets ran so the cleaning lady can unload it. This was my reminder Friday for staff the ‘bring out their dishes’.
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
I had the perfect answer; my house. But no, it can’t be my house. Or my car. Well shoot. So what’s next?
That would have to be my cell phone. It’s the most expensive thing next in line the (I) paid for. I don’t have internet at my house. I have a laptop but rarely use it.
My phone is a multi purpose tool that I use for a lot. Flashlight, phone, camera, internet, calculator, timer, calendar, typewriter 😉. Not to mention all the other things this technological marvel can do.
It would be easier to list the things it can’t do.
Yesterday I saw the prompt below. After I reread the rules, my work doesn’t qualify since I did fix my error. However, the prompt did inspire me. Thank you.
I’ve been playing with blackout poetry and I guess blackout art?
Cry me a river
So, you got your little heart broken?
Nobody cares.
Cry me a river.
~
So, you had a bad day?
Suck it up.
Nobody cares.
~
Oh, you’re sad and don’t know why.
Nobody cares.
Cry me a river.
~
Someone yelled at you and hurt your little feels.
Cry me a river.
Nobody cares.
~
You’re finally able to admit you get lonely sometimes too.
Bully for you.
Nobody care.
~
All the problems in your little world have crashed down around your little door.
O – boo hoo.
Cry me a river.
~
Cry me a river.
Nobody cares.
I’ll meet you at the confluence.
Authors notes: while I had the book open bringing the picture ‘cry me a river’ to life; I used sticky notes to write the words. I’d draw a minute. Write a line. Draw some more. Or color as it were.
Poetry & More 