Fridays With Dale: Pending Wishes

Title with image of author

Dale Angel

Pending Wishes

by Dale Angel

I wish for an Olive tree with fancy blue green leaves that throw filigree shadows so I can walk under it and feel wrapped in a gossamer gown.

I wish for a Pomegranate tree with wild tendencies and the appearances of unrestrained growth on malnourishment the fruit drips in red sweet nectar.

I wish for a Persimmon tree that decorates the fall colors in splashes of orange as I walk on the fallen leaves that look like a Persian carpet, their fruit at near death collapses on itself, taste like spongy candied syrup on my tongue.

I wish for that winter bush that covers itself with yellow flowers as soon as the cool winter rains arrive. The small yellow daisies fill my empty sugar bowl with sunshine…all winter. We are not acquainted by name; they may know mine, but I don’t know theirs. I may know their family.

May I have an arbor to hold up the honey covered grapes that look like champagne when the sun shines through them; at the present time they are living in the tops of the wild plum trees. They moved there to get away from the white flies who visit every summer…although, uninvited.

I want to remove this mourning cape I’m wearing for the plum tree that had to be euthanized. I haven’t gone through a spring without her blossoms yet. It grieves me to think about it…but not so much that I haven’t shamelessly peeked at new plum varieties from the catalogue.

I may as well be frivolously extravagant and wish for a blooming Orange tree that emits showers of fragrance through the windows to the sweetened night air. It makes one weak. Add blackberry wine. It’s too late to be strong.

Pending wishes will have to wait in the shadows. Meantime, I’ll romance the Manzanitas, only hours away until they bloom. Their tiny pink flowers are full of sips of honey. Daffodils are waiting their turn to shout, flinging yellow across new green grass as they parade. There are new surprises half asleep, nestled close to the earth watching in expectation for the sun to spotlight their debut and display their costumes for you and me!


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Fridays With Dale: Too Much Stuff

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Too Much Stuff

by Dale Angel

I’m approaching the age where people get that disease “Too-much stuff.” It can begin when you find all kinds of leftovers in the fridge brought home from eating out. But that doesn’t concern me as much as the saved containers; the kind that leak BPA plastic into the food. I went to that place to eat because it is supposed to be healthy. Is that reasonable?

I also find little pieces of old cheese, a leftover bun, something in a jar—no date on it, half a Coke, and unidentifiables that should have moved on long ago.

I never find leftover Southern Comfort, or that Concord grape wine, or Chocolate, the lifesaving kind that requires occasional trips to the pawn shop; medicine that should always be in-house.

If you have the resources to visit the liquor store, you have probably mortgaged the house or hit the lottery.

These kinds of leftovers, if there are any, are very valuable. Don’t throw it out like other stuff. It’s very useful during bouts of daily stressful unforeseen circumstances called crisis. Read the side effects before taking this medicine.

I’m reforming. I promised myself to quit bringing stuff home. I joined again, but didn’t keep my promise again, and I fell off my intentions … again.

Today, I began with new enthusiasm, because I better understand that Garage sales are addictive. I should be having them, not visiting them. I looked into the back of the cupboards and found things hiding I brought home months ago. No one told me they multiply in areas out of sight, in garages, and in storage containers.

Pretty things that are ornamental but not useful have no redeeming value, except your thoughtfulness to send them to someone you think needs a gift. My sister asked me not to be so thoughtful or she will send them back. She said “they’re as useful as toe covers.”

I tried to return a vase to a friend, she almost attacked me. She said her husband’s Aunts had died and left them all their stuff, and there wasn’t enough room left in the house to hang her car keys. She drove a nail on the outside wall to hang them on.

I’m not the only one with this ‘Too-much disease.’ About everyone has a mild or severe case. I’m ashamed to admit I found a coat bought in San Francisco one summer. It’s never been cold enough to wear it here. The shame comes from the size. It shrank while hanging in the closet.

Rehab has been helpful. I’m ahead of one of my friends who is so proud of her 20 year-old blouse. I quit wearing mine. I’m confident I can add it to my throw-away pile without too much separation anxiety. I have some medicine in the fridge for these kinds of crisis.


Writers Forum is open to submissions for the blog or the newsletter. Please submit copy to the editor at writersforumeditor@gmail.com . Electronic submissions only. Microsoft Word format, with the .docx file extension, is preferred but any compatible format is acceptable. The staff reserves the right to perform minor copy editing in the interest of the website’s style and space.

Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

Fridays With Dale: Revenge Cup

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Revenge Cup

By Dale Angel

On a cold rainy morning in the city there opened a new fast food place with the smell of coffee permeating the frosty air. It invited you inside with clean tiled walls and shiny new windows. It looked like a good place to work, if I can get a job there.

Applications were submitted at an office across town. The long bus ride was uncomfortable because of the overwhelming smell of diesel. I was glad to get off and walk the next few blocks locating the address. It was up a flight of outside stairs that needed repair. Opening the door, at the end of the room I saw a large man behind a large desk that almost touched wall to wall.

Our conversation was brief. He informed me they didn’t hire old people.

Their labor would be only young high school kids, I was all of forty but could pass for thirty-nine some days…at early evening. It left me wounded, too emotional to ride back and let anyone see me crying. I walked miles in the rain with my hot tears mingling with cold rain.

I got a job cleaning an apartment overlooking the river. It was completely walled-in glass, with a large glass table, large glass lamps, large glass covered pictures, a glass coffee table, glass fronted furniture, huge mirrors, and a glass coffee pot. The lady of the house always left as soon as I arrived explaining she was out to her afternoon delight. She shared with me that she was a former prostitute and that her husband was a Fireplace tools manufacturer. One day as she pulled on her coat that looked just like Pat Nixon’s before they were asked to leave the White House, she again explained she was out to for her Afternoon Delight. I had in my mind a mocha soufflé or pineapple sundae. I asked what it was.

She looked over her mod glasses her white manufactured hair framing her face and explained it was her lover.

She had made it to the elevator when the earthquake hit.

I looked out the windows and saw the river hit the glass windows. Shards of glass whirled at me and I floated on the table as the lamps and glass cupboards shattered and the glass chandelier swung. It sounded like a bomb went off. I was wet. I thought it was blood. It was my thumb, frozen on the glass cleaner container spraying and as the building rolled and whirled. My legs became weak, but my mind returned.

I realized I didn’t get hazardous pay.

I revisited that fast food place gave out coffee cups with their logo on it, drumming up business the promise was…. always a cup of free coffee if you use their advertising cup. Thirty and more years have passed, but I don’t keep account of injuries or hold grudges. Recently, out of spite, I pulled mine out of the cupboard and asked for my free coffee. One local establishment refused. The one across town honors me with fresh coffee with real cream served by a gracious manager. It’s my revenge cup although small in comparison to the large man and large desk, and the cup is now bigger than both of us.

There’s something comforting in revenge.


Writers Forum is open to submissions for the blog or the newsletter. Please submit copy to the editor at writersforumeditor@gmail.com . Electronic submissions only. Microsoft Word format, with the .docx file extension, is preferred but any compatible format is acceptable. The staff reserves the right to perform minor copy editing in the interest of the website’s style and space.

Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

Fridays With Dale: Gardens Driven

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story author

Gardens Driven

by

Dale Angel

 

I have been accused of being obsessive. Me! I’m sensible…I think?

In my opinion one of the most beautiful of God’s gifts is a compost pile. It quietly invites all kinds of beneficial life that are producers. Do you know how hard it is to find producers? And they work in harmony. Lower uneducated forms of life do better at this than we do, and add creating something like a divine product that is welcome to all circles, including the very highest of society. When it is very good, like good wine, people will stand in line to get some. It’s Gardens Driven. When my family wants to come and clean up my yard, a family affair, we disagree. It’s not trash. It’s like a pregnancy, building a future life. So it’s not always in pristine beauty. Who is? The future will reveal all the potential hopes. I know, I carry every leaf and twig to it. My family says it’s almost a religious experience to watch me feed it, carry it water and food scraps. I’m obsessive. Nothing leaves my kitchen without a hope. Coffee grounds and orange peels have a useful future life. I know it’s not beauty to every eye at this time. Give it time to flower.

Why can’t I just buy a sack of fertilizer and sprinkle it and remove the eye sore?

Because the last enriched sack of their prescribed precious compost killed my Coconut Thyme in a few hours! It’s not openly discussed but in garden circles and Universities the new herbicides/pesticides are contaminated with some new unheard of by-product that kills plant life and the earth on contact for up to two years. It’s almost like a new weapon the powers that be are covertly trying to figure out how it works. Could it be an Agent Orange product leaking? I promised to hide it, but where?

I guess I could quit the worm bin. It is cranky during the heat and it is getting hotter. They are such uncomplaining little creatures and ask for so little and are so generous. I suppose I could pile it in that corner. I like worms, to throw them out of their house is as bad as throwing people out of their homes. It’s cruel. I can’t watch a compost pile being desecrated, piling it in the garbage can and carried away leaving a clean raked area. I have friends who don’t allow a stray leaf to land in their yard, it makes me unsettled. They indicate my yard would be as beautiful as their yard if I’d clean up the mess. Bring me the smelling salts! I may be sicker than I think, is obsessiveness kin to Alzheimer’s?

 


 

Writers Forum is open to submissions for the blog or the newsletter. Please submit copy to the editor at writersforumeditor@gmail.com . Electronic submissions only. Microsoft Word format, with the .docx file extension, is preferred but any compatible format is acceptable. The staff reserves the right to perform minor copy editing in the interest of the website’s style and space.

Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

Dale Angel: Salable Skills

Title with image of author

 

story author

Salable Skills

by

Dale Angel

I was wading in a river of economic crisis, the kind that visits periodically in the form of a deluge. I was drowning when I received a phone call that I qualified for a government program that teaches you how to acquire salable skills to compete in the marketplace.

I met many…interesting…seasoned women there. Our bifocals, plastic teeth, and puffy ankles and conversation on World War Two and our intimate knowledge of the names of classic cars may have given us a competitive edge, but we all agreed, it was the inability to afford breast implants that put us at our most…disadvantage.

My first day in class, they asked us to write a résumé citing our accomplishments and degrees. I wrote in mine that I had graduated from the dish pan to the bed pan, and my most recent job had been terminated by death. His.

They sent me to update my computer skills. I walked in to find the class in progress. I had to interrupt to ask how to turn it on.

They were so inspiring. I was told we had earning and leadership skills. I couldn’t think of any I might own. They insisted we couldn’t have lived this long without learning something. They asked us to name one. I raised my hand and said “Survival?”

I offered my experience of marching a small army through rain, sleet, and tantrums in house wars and mutiny among my recruits…with no fatalities. I thought I had leadership and was in command until I realized I was in charge of rations, latrine duty, and transportation. These are not salable skills.

I was placed in a job under the supervision of a hardened retailer. As I worked, I hummed along with The Beatles. She arched and flared and hissed “Never would those degenerates be found in my house.”

I quit humming.

 


Writers Forum is open to submissions for the blog or the newsletter. Please submit copy to the editor at writersforumeditor@gmail.com . Electronic submissions only. Microsoft Word format, with the .docx file extension, is preferred but any compatible format is acceptable. The staff reserves the right to perform minor copy editing in the interest of the website’s style and space.

Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry