My New Best Friend is the United States Postal Service

I've been submitting my short stories for publication instead of putting them on here. I will post again on here, I think I have a plan, now to get it going. For now it is about getting at least one piece published. 

Meantime, check out my website: www.lisaholdren.com

There is a blog on there also. It follows my progress writing, revising and avoiding the work of my novel. I find a fun picture to go with each of those posts as well. If you're writing a long form work, you might find it curious, or maybe even interesting to see how I manage the process.

Here's the short version: Donna Mazzarino's husband died in a car accident. She thinks she drove him to it. Now she has to figure out what to do, and her children give her 3 very good reasons to get busy. She actually has to go to the morgue. Have you ever been there. I researched it...not what I'd expected from television shows, at least here in Los Angeles.

And that's the true. To some extent.

Why Haven't I Posted?

Time seems to have stood still except for this manuscript I'm writing. It is going slowly. I'm adding music to it now, so it won't be much longer, I hope, but the work is meticulous.

Meantime, I'm make a huge effort to never miss a yoga class. It keeps me focused and centered so I can work more effectively with fewer doubts. I really want to forget about the outcome and just enjoy the process.

I hear Judith Lassiter's new book, re: yoga and life is terrific. Lots of common sense and acceptance. I wish I had time to read it. 

So, I'll be back, now sure what with, but something good! Oh how I envy those authors who can knock out a story in half an hour. 

I bake a lot when I'm writing intensively, so lots of sweet breads and puddings. Great mother's day, too.   We're refinancing the house, my daughter is visiting, and my mother has been sick. My brother, just this weekend, decided it was time to get 'stuff' out of her house so after she went to sleep, he picked up whatever looked like junk to him and piled it into his rental car and dumped it into any dumpster around town that he could find. And, he is into forward thinking recycling, reuse and repair! Hah! 

Yellow Roses

Christine wore a black silk flared skirt, red patent leather flats with squared-off toes, and a white cotton sweater set last night as she and her husband of 25 years strolled Montana Avenue in Santa Monica after dinner. He always wears khaki's, a soft cotton dress shirt and loafers.

They've taken this walk, late in the evening, about 9 PM, many times. Usually it is in the heat of summer since the cool breeze near the ocean is such a relief from the daytime heat, especially in August or September. Christine thought of her mother as she and her husband held hands window-shopping, a Hawaiian shirt for him--an embroidered floral kimono for her. A white elephant of a marble table stopped them both in their tracks.

The stores were all closed, of course. The street quiet except for a couple of restaurants and one bar. The ocean is less than a mile away but unless she's at the end of the avenue Christine forgets it is even there.

Her mother always loved the ocean. They had spent summers at Virginia Beach, just the two of them, getting sunburned while building sand castles and playing in the waves. They stayed at The Blue Dolphin right on the water's edge. All Christine had to do was pull on her swimsuit and run into the water. Cheese sandwiches for lunch, with lemonade.

Her father never went along. He worked, in a suit and tie, and wing tips, looking very handsome in  his grey suit with the blue shirt, blue pocket handkerchief, and the tie with a tiny orange stripe. They would send him postcards, every day, a picture of their motel, or of the dolphin that hung in space above the roofline, or just a card that said "Virginia Beach".

Monday morning, Christine's mother is scheduled for  a Bronchoscopy at a medical center 2,000 miles away. "It's nothing," her mother had said. "I cough a lot so the doctor wants to take a look." She paused, waiting for Christine to get upset, which she did not. "It may sound bad but it's really nothing ugly, just unusual."

"Would you like me to come be with you?" Christine had asked her. "We'll work crossword puzzles while you recover."

"Don't be silly," she said. "The x-ray showed something that looked like a grain of sand."

"Have them send the x-ray," Christine said. "I won't interfere, it's just that I am a doctor as well as your daughter."

"You're just like your father," her mother said. "He always had to know everything that was going on. Look where all that got him, pushing up daisies."

"We have the most beautiful yellow roses this year," Christine replied. "We've had yellow ones before but they've never had a scent. I cut them with long stems and arranged them in a silver vase. They're opening very slowly, petal by petal, it's stunning."

"I wish I could see them," her mother said. "Maybe next year."

"I'll send you pictures," Christine said. "Who is caring for you after the procedure?"

"I'll be fine. It's really nothing. I don't need anyone fussing over me."

"I love you," Christine had said.

"I know," her mother said. "I have things to do. You probably do too."

"I'll call you...mom, are you there?"

No reply. The line was dead.

And that's the truth. To some extent.