Spicy Language

August 9, 2017August 17, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

“Morning mom.” Karen stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and stared. Her mom, lost in the pages of a book, hadn’t heard a thing and her coffee sat untouched in front of her. Karen stepped back into the shadow of the hallway. Her mother didn’t move except to turn the page and with each turn, her face flushed a deeper red. It looked to Karen as if she wanted to crawl inside the book.

She couldn’t remember a time, at least in recent years, she’d seen her mother looking so … happy? Content? Moved? No! Excited, that was it. What the hell was her mother reading? She squinted and leaned closer in an attempt to read the cover. Mr. Tubs slipped up behind her and rub against her leg. Karen yelped and stumbled into the room.

Her mother sprung from her seat as if bitten. She grabbed the chair to keep it from toppling and slapped a dish towel over the book. “Heavens, Karen you scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry,” Karen said, “you can thank Mr. Tubs for that, he caught me by surprise.”

Her mother carried her untouched cup to the sink. “Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.” She opened the cupboard, “Cream and sugar?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Karen lifted the corner of the towel. “Whatcha reading?” Her mother spun around and grabbed the covered book from Karen’s grasp. Her face flushed crimson. “Nothing you’d like.” She stuffed the book in a drawer. “Gladys gave it to me, and I can’t imagine why. It isn’t very good.”

“Really?” Karen bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Why’s that?”

She handed Karen a steaming cup of coffee. “The language is a bit spicy for my taste.”

“Couldn’t tell it from the look on your face when you were reading. Fifty Shades of Grey, mom?” Karen snickered. “Spicy indeed.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

The Heavy Weight of Perfectionism

August 7, 2017August 17, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 8 Comments

My name is Sheila, and I am a perfectionist.

The experts say this personality trait comes from one’s childhood. For me, that’s probably true. My mom, God rest her soul, taught me, from an early age, to do things right the first time. Or, do it over until I could do it right the first time. Want to know the best way to clean windows, grout, baseboards or window seals? Gotcha covered, but that’s another post.

Even at this late stage in my life, I continue to struggle with having everything “perfect.” This is especially true as it relates to writing. That’s why my WIP, 40,000 words in, is still unfinished. This is not a trait of which I’m proud. Striving for perfection will suck the life out of your soul if allowed to run unchecked. At times it weighs me down, and I miss out on being present with the people and life happening around me.

Robin LaFevers from Writer’s Unboxed shares an excellent essay on the topic. The Perils of Perfection. It is well worth a read and thoughtful consideration.

“Strive for Progress, not Perfection.” Click to Tweet

What about you? How many on her list could you check in the affirmative? Are you a perfectionist? Me? I’m ready to ease up and relax.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

I Can’t See a Damn Thing in This Fog

August 2, 2017August 14, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 12 Comments

Daily Post Prompt: Foggy

Funnyjunk

Crystal pulled her glasses off for the third time and cleaned them. She tried lens wipes, spray, Windex, and soap and water; which left the worst film ever.

Her husband, Roger, watched impatiently from the comfort of his recliner. “What are you doing? The movie’s about to come on, and you’ve been fooling with those damn glasses for twenty minutes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning them.”

“Looks to me like you’re rubbing a damn hole in the lens and eww.” His face wrinkled in disgust, “After everything else you’ve tried; you think your spit’s gonna do the trick?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t see! They’re all foggy and blurry. My eyes were just fine this morning.” Her shoulders drooped. “I give up; something’s wrong, Roger, I know it.” Her hands dropped to her lap. “I bet it’s a brain tumor, like moms.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Crystal; you don’t have a brain tumor.”

“I have been having more headaches lately,” she said.

Roger pushed the electric recliners up button. “Hand me the damn things, let me have a look, and stop sniffling. We’ll figure it out together.”

Crystal handed him a lens cloth and her glasses. “I could see fine this morning.”

Roger ignored the whiny, pitiful sound coming from his wife of forty years and studied the glasses. The lens sparkled, then he spotted the numbers on the temple of the glasses. He pulled himself, grunting from his favorite chair and shuffled to the other side of the house, muttering under his breath. A few minutes later, he returned. “Here, that should do it,” he said, extending the glasses to his wife.

Crystal put them on and broke out in a grin. “I can see! You fixed them!” She reached for his hand, but he’d already pushed the down button on his recliner and was moving out of reach.

She settled back on the sofa, ready for the movie, and started giggling. “And I thought it was a brain tumor.”

“More like dementia if you ask me,” Roger said, picking up the remote control.

“Well, how in the world did you fix them?”

“I didn’t; you had my reading glasses.” Roger turned up the volume loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Now, hush, we’ve already missed the half of the movie.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

Thank God We’ve Evolved

August 2, 2017August 14, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

DAILY PROMPT: Toothbrush

A typical chew stick. This one is from the plant Glycyrrhiza glabra (licorice)

I can remember as a child, my mother quizzing me, “Did you brush your teeth?” Twice a day and nothing less was the rule in our house.

It was a practice I carried over to my children. I wanted them to develop the habit of brushing early and be proud of their healthy beautiful teeth, but not all kids bought into that philosophy or the habit.

Getting some kids to brush is more difficult than tying a string to a door knob and pulling the little suckers! Waking up to a surprise left by the Tooth Fairy is much more enticing. Can you imagine what it was like for those parents trying to get their kids to brush using the first toothbrush?

According to the Museum of Everyday Life, The Chinese (imagine) invented the first bristle toothbrush during the Tang Dynasty (619-907) from the very stiff, coarse hairs of the cold-climate hogs inserted into holes of either bone or bamboo.

I can see it now. Junior’s mom thrusting a hairy bone out to her son. “I’m not gonna tell you again, brush your teeth.”

Thank God we’ve evolved.