Story-A-Day May: In the Cut.

Today's story, in its own post.


  Her eyes had been closed for much of the surgery, but now she opened them and was immediately shocked and nauseated by the welling of blood and its hot iron smell.

 They had promised she wouldn't feel a thing, under the influence of this new drug, and she didn't-- her hands, her usually stiff back and her legs had held up fine. She didn't feel the slightest push as the sharp scalpel moved in and out of the appropriate organ like a hot knife in soft butter. Just the nausea, as fleetingly irritating as it was unexpected.

 Watching the progress of the operation with a happily disconnected interest, she felt her stomach lurch, wanting to heave, and tried to avert her head with a quick movement.

 "Doctor Lynch," the nurse beside her asked, " are you alright? You look green."

"I'll be fine," she answered, " just need to look at something else for a moment."



 © By Mari Kozlowski, May 3, 2013

Story-A-Day May: Two for the price of one!

I did write my story yesterday, before midnight even-- after I came back from my writing group. I was just too tired to post it, so here it is, with a little polish of editing to shine it up since I had the time. The second will follow later, so if you should happen to read this early Friday, please come back tonight for the rest.



Guava and Lime

 Under the sick white glaze of overhead fluorescents, her knife rocked in well-controlled pace, firm, a natural part of her hand extended over the onions being reduced to ever smaller particles. Minced so fine that their juice ran off the side of the wooden board, they gave surprisingly little smell. The cook had first halved them then steeped them in lime, before patting them dry for the final cutting. She used them for flavor, not bite; a trick she’d learned on an island paradise she had no intention of returning to, in this career-- in this lifetime.

 

 Meanwhile the hob behind her heated to smoking hot, and in a moment the tiny confetti of onion would be thrown into a dry pan over that blaze, to scorch and char briefly. Then the cook would combine them with chilled guava chunks, a sprinkling of spice and more lime— a salsa for topping her signature dish of broiled filet. The authentic recipe called for a cut that wasn’t available in the states, and even the guava was a poor stand-in for its island self, but few of her customers would discern the differences. They raved over the intriguing tropical tone of her offering, whose true origins she kept to herself and thought of only rarely during her daily prep.

 

 The fruits on that island were sweeter, riper, more complex in flavor than any grown on any large continent she had ever visited, and she had visited many. The meats, wild or farmed, had a tender lushness to them, almost a creaminess when the flesh was properly cooked, and the local rum was as freshly delicious and easily consumed as springwater. Its sweet urgings had contributed to an array of bold, thoughtless nights and rough mornings during her long stay. Those nights, if she allowed herself to remember them, could still make her blush, make her knife-hand shake as she used other lessons learned then to tantalize and tease, comfort and challenge the palates of her guests. Just as her own tastes once had been teased and challenged— but certain flavors, some exotic fruits, could never be had very far from their source. Some delicacies, you couldn’t bring home.

© By Mari Kozlowski, May 2, 2013.

Story-A-Day May-- The Drabble That Didn't

   I changed my mind (woman/prerogative) and decided to throw myself into Story-a-Day May with Marta, whose stories will be better, I assure you. This one proves it. As I'll be getting cut apart a little at the end of the month, I may miss the last few days, but c'est la vie!

 The writing prompt for the day, which one need not adhere to, is a Drabble-- a hundred word story that focuses on a moment, a happening, between two characters or less.

 And I blew it from the start, going over a hundred words without trying, and not wanting to abandon the intriguing Shan, who created the story around himself. It needs to be longer, longer than I've made it, and someday I'll re-visit the tale, but for now, here it is:


Baker Man
  

 Evening air had cooled the kitchen, finally. Shan went through the room closing windows with a satisfied smile. His baking adventure had gone well and his wife would be thrilled, come morning, when presented with perfectly golden tarts topped with a fine, vanilla-scented crumble, bursting with plums. She loved unexpected tidbits, and he had cleared the house of hints; not the faintest whiff of baked fruit or buttery pastry remained to spoil her surprise. He could picture her face, mouth open, eyes wide and hunting for a motive, then her lips stained with the dark juices as she bit into the treat.

 Fresh Plums were hard to find in spring, but Shan was a master at sourcing. He found sweet, melting strawberries in December, and the best oranges of the year in June. His skill at obtaining such treasures was part research, part charm-- when Shan tracked down a likely source, he schmoozed the point person mercilessly. Rolling his voice to a silken ripple, he’d flatter just subtly enough to make the person feel special and appreciated. It was a habit he'd picked up in the music industry, where artists and moneymen alike needed their egos salved regularly.

 Now, house-husband to a wealthy businesswoman, he found ample use for his sales techniques; and the commission was quite a bit more interesting than mere cash. Their time together was pleasurable but erratic, and often brief. It wouldn’t be true to say that he loved his wife, but she did give him certain satisfactions, along with freedom to pursue his interests as widely as he chose, and unfettered funding of any and all dreams. 

 Almost an ideal life, he knew.


--------------------
© By Mari Kozlowski, May 1, 2013
 

Reality Intervenes-- Day 30! The End of Daily Life as Blog Knows It.

 This last day of my daily-life blog experiment is a relief.

 My life always sounded more interesting on paper, but not when going day by day. At this stage of healing, when I am leaving the house mainly for writing group activities or shopping, what is there to tell? Do you care what I've read, eaten, thought? If I don't, why should you?

 Yesterday's phone marathon of evil made G-man sick, so sick I called him in sick for work today, knowing that his body would need time to return to normal. he's sleeping off the ill effects of dealing with NetSpend, and I'm only hoping he'll be able to eat some chicken soup later.

Meanwhile, I have things to contemplate-- on May 29, I will have my womb and a few associated girl parts cut from me, and that means a load of preparation is needed. With any surgery there are risks, and I can't let my lack of fear (so far!) keep me from making sure that I leave my house in order. Failing some horrible fuckup, I will still need care and help, and food and comfort. The fridge and freezer should be stocked, the laundry should be caught up on, the crack in the foundation should fixed-- that last will be hard to do, since our tax refund didn't come in in time (see yesterday's post).
Likewise, the garden plans I had aren't going to happen now, and I won't be getting my little country guitar restrung before recovery.

Let me say that, as someone living in recovery already, looking towards a new, weaker, more painful recovery period does not thrill me. The prospect of hobbling to the loo again needing help, does not thrill me. The worry that insurance and Medicaid might not cover every cost is my real fear.

 The only good part of this is, on one side, there is blood; on the far side of recovery, that will be ended. And maybe I'll channel some of that post-menopausal zest I've heard so much about.

 May, hours away, is still in fog; I cannot see what will happen here, but it probably involves fiction on a weekly basis. My original idea of joining the story-a-day challenge will, I can feel, be too stressful. A weekly short-short could work. I'll decide tomorrow.

Meanwhile-- if, for some crazy reason, you have some extra cash to throw at a good cause, here's the perfect thing:

https://www.giveforward.com/fundraiser/kg12/martaperlinebacon

"The family and friends of Marta are raising funds to help with bills during the recovery time after surgery, when she won't receive a salary."

 As of now she is dealing with chemo and its associated trials and losses. Marta is a writer, artist, and all-around superb person, and I urge you to check out her Etsy shop, her blog, her author page on facebook, and her Journey through the Carcinoma Wonderland page on FB. If you google her name, you'll see her mentioned in other people's blogs and shops, because her art is as tender and witty as she is; she's also wickedly funny and not afraid to stare into the eyes of a dragon. And as of now she is dealing with chemo and its associated trials and losses, and telling anyone who needs to know, exactly what that involves.

 Help support the arts in an absolutely fantastic way-- give for Marta, who deserves it. 


 And may your last day of April be green and growing.

 See you in May-- Mari
 

Reality Bites-- NetSpend vs The Little People

 Tax Issues!

 After waiting 25 business days for a refund check that was supposed to arrive in 20, we called NetSpend last Tuesday to find out where the hell our refund was.

 They hadn't processed it. Oh good. Because it wasn't bad enough that both TurboTax and NetSpend had misrepresented the so-called convenience of the tax product to begin, resulting in us having to go through three companies (and five phone calls) to have them promise to mail us out a check for the full amount owed, rather than us using the convenient little card they had sent. A card that adds to the ease of spending your needed refund from Uncle Sam by taking some of it as soon you activate the card; then again every time you withdraw any cash, use the card as a credit card, or complete certain other types of transactions. There are no free withdrawals even from approved ATMs, and you get to pay any individual ATM-assigned charges as well. Plus a monthly fee.

In other words, they aim to take at least 20 percent off the top, if they can. Which is not how their service was presented in brochure form, believe me.

We asked to have this process stopped and to receive our refund the old fashioned way, in a check, and they botched that up and never sent it. Now, having told us last week they would call us on Friday to discuss what they'd found out, they're telling us no, they've just processed our check and we need to be patient, and hope the damn check gets here by late May.

 This is what you call bad business. The hubby-man is on the phone now with the fifth person in an hour, after having been kicked off the system when he was supposed to have been transferred to a supervisor. They are giving him apologies and no help. There is no excuse for this kind of bullshit.

 And the worst part is, we get our refund done in February, no waiting, no procrastination. And here we're in the same boat as those poor bastards that did it last minute a couple weeks ago.

 No, the worst part is, we need that refund for house repairs and other important details that have gone undone, and we are facing accumulated excess costs and a lack of time, now, to get things accomplished before my upcoming surgery. They have jerked us around repeatedly, costing us time, money, stress.

And they don't seem to see that overnighting a check today is not a Herculean task for them, but a simple way to make things right. At this point, a decent company would seek not only to satisfy us, but seek to make some small form of reparation.

 I would suggest to all my friends and acquaintances, to spare yourselves the financial and physical headaches associated with this charlatan of a company. Avoid NetSpend, please help your friends and family to avoid them as well.

 As of this publication, they have not finished messing with us, or attempted ANY customer service beyond a lame apology. They should be ashamed of themselves.

 I wish them no peace.

  --Mari

A Day of Earth and Wine

   It's funny how doctors perceive time differently than we do-- when someone says, I want to cut you open as soon as possible, you think they mean Soon, not Sometime in the Next Two Months, but Don't Expect to be Notified in any kind of Urgent Fashion... so that you  can maybe plan your life, your food shopping, your recovery place and method, your caregiver's time off, your writing groups' schedules, your bills...

     So I'm waiting to know, still. But I did sign a note today saying that I understand that after my uterus is cut out, I won't be able to bear children. And now I'm free to work against the Z-pac I'm on by drinking a cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and contemplate the slow-rising Spring, and the fact that I forgot to call my sister on her Birthday, just because I am sick. Bad, bad Mari.

Now I have to buy her a present. A good one.


    Enjoy the earth! We aren't here that long. RIP, Richie Havens, you were a magic man--- Mari

 

Reality Intervenes-- Day 15, Who Blew Up the Marathon???

Looks as if my surgery will be in May after all. That's as soon as the doc can take out my parts, but she did have more bright news than expected-- I don't necessarily have cancer. So that's encouraging.

 Still, with this cold and the running around I've had to do, I feel dreadful. Can't breathe and sore throat and bod and no voice to scream out "WHY?"

 Why would anyone blow up the Boston Marathon? What could they hope to accomplish?

 I'm mystified, and angry, and sad. No amount of angst could make me want to turn it so spuriously outward. What sick fuck needs to take innocent people down to make a point?

 Whatever bunch of assholes did it, I can only hope they have not passed on their shitty genes. Parenthood should not be open to such vile specimens.

Anyway, no news yet on who or why. The world is beautiful but some want to mess it up so it matches their ugly insides.


 Have a an evening with some sad spots in it-- I think we all will.

 Peace, Mari