SUZANNE RUDD HAMILTON

Experiment Breakdown

Darla was dreading the bachelorette party of her younger sister Dede. Several years apart, the sisters couldn’t be further from each other in every way. Darla was an introverted scientist who based her life like a series of chess moves, all based in science, probability and fact.

Dede was the extreme opposite as she moved through life without forethought, immediately acting on every whim and desire floating through life without a care in search of instant gratification. Dede fell deeply and unapologetically in love with every man she encountered. The trysts lasted days or weeks and satisfied Dede’s sense of adventure and amorous view of every aspect of life. Darla once saw Dede grab a man off the street and passionately kiss him, just because she felt like it. This is why she was equally surprised at the shotgun pace of Dede’s wedding to Ricky after ten weeks of dating, yet predicted her lifelong talent to get exactly what she wanted without delay.

As ying to her yang, Darla was very shy and too focused on her studies to even consider dating until after grad school. After several years of friendship, she carefully waded into the dating field with a work colleague who shared similar empirical interests. Following a few more years of dating, Darla’s boyfriend Ralph asked her to marry him, but she countered his proposal with an offer of cohabitation as a relationship experiment to methodically ascertain if all the variables were considered to achieve success before entering into such a binding contract.

Darla didn’t understand her sister or her sister’s friends, who she named Twaddle Troupe, and couldn’t condone their nonsensical way of drifting through existence sustained by shopping, boys, and parties, which made her dread each and every one of the giddy activities of the bridal and prenuptial events.

As forecasted, the bachelorette party was a series of excruciating nonsensical tasks for Darla to endure. Darla decided to make an experiment of the day to support her hypothesis about her sister’s way of life. An artist’s studio began the day when donning white hooded jumpers, glasses and gloves, the aim was to create works of art by randomly chasing each other and throwing paint balls. Check one for frivolity.

From there, the girls visited a bar where a mixologist tutored them on proper drink-mixing techniques to create their own personal signature drink. Learning was integral to Darla’s DNA, but when the event deteriorated into indiscriminate shot drinking and giggling, she just shook her head and prayed for a swift end. Check two for instant gratification.

The final stop of the night was a psychic. For Darla, this was the most ridiculous and lowest blow. As a women of science, she found the idea of metaphysical presence and prophecy to be a mix of mere theatre and grift by practitioners who prey on weak minds. This woman by looks was no exception. Her dark exotic good looks and gypsy costume with the backdrop of the tented red and gold brocade fabric walls and incense-laded room ticked every box to create the phony atmosphere. For an hour, she sat in the back of the room crossarmed rolling her eyes while the Twaddle Troupe ooed and aahed over every word from the charlatan’s mouth.

Darla’s turn came at the group’s insistence and despite her half-hearted cooperation, the madam gasped when she looked at Darla’s palm.

“The pyramid of your life is about to crumble because of a betrayal,” The madam mysteriously said and offered to cleanse her ora amid an orchestra of shocked ooos from the twaddles.

Check three for nonsense, Darla thought. Since she didn’t believe in oras, the con for additional services proved her theory that her sister and crew would constantly succumb to impulse and could not have a meaningful existence due to lack of foundation.

As they piled into the pink stretch limousine SUV with loud music and dancing lights, Darla was counting the minutes until the day ended and she could regain her calm logical life. When the girls decided to go to a club, she faked a headache and walked the few blocks home. She felt instant gratitude for the peaceful quiet as the party bus left her behind.

She walked through the door of her townhome and saw a red and gold brocade fabric shawl draped across the couch. She picked it up and winced wondering how Ralph could buy her such a tacky present. Since she only wore solid earth colors, she appreciated the idea, but was confused as his most inappropriate mistake.

“He should have known better,” she said shaking her head.

To return the favor, she decided to take his favorite tea up to the bedroom for a nightcap and discuss his kind error. As she walked up the stairs, she began to smell a strange, but familiar aroma. She smelled the tea and then her clothes and concluded the steam from the tea kettle activated the incense on her clothes from the psychic.

When she opened the bedroom door, she found Ralph entwined with another woman. Startled she dropped the tea set which crashed on the floor. They looked up and she recognized the woman as the psychic with the same gasp she heard earlier.

Without hesitation, Darla went into the closet safe, took out Ralph’s handgun and shot them both dead. She carefully wiped off the fingerprints, put the gun in the woman’s hand and walked back to the club, telling the girls she changed her mind.

The police deemed the crime as a murder/suicide for an affair gone wrong. The Twaddle Troupe was Darla’s alibi as in their ultra-inebriated state, they said she was with them the whole time.

Darla’s experiment in dating was a failure, but she began a new hypothesis about a life of instant gratification.

The Perfect Crime

It was the perfect crime. Now, I didn’t come to it easily. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. I don’t even jaywalk; guess there is a little larceny in everyone.

But I really had no choice. I need to explain that right up front. I lost my job as a bank underwriter in the pandemic. I hate to admit, but I even went to a food bank once or twice in a pinch. I know there’s no shame, but for me, it was a big change. After eight months of depleted savings, I finally got a job through my cousin as a blackjack dealer in the local casino.

The casino was an interesting place. My customers were all locals. Sometimes it was a girl’s night, bachelor or bachelorette party, or just a night out for weary parents. But since this casino was miles away from a highway or anywhere tourists would want to go, most of my customers were regulars. Just everyday people who came in to get away from their day-to-day lives and reach for that pot-of-gold dream at the end of an ace, king, queen or jack blackjack.

The Goldrush casino was in a remote location of Wisconsin and was supposed to be run by the local Menominee tribe. I say that because very soon after I started work, I noticed several nefarious dealings in the casino.

Like I said, we served locals and regulars, so anyone else stuck out like a sore thumb. The first was two rather “big-boned” gentlemen who came into the casino every Tuesday and Thursday at 1pm like clockwork. These men wore a lot of gold chains and spoke with New York accents. Let’s just say, it was obvious that they weren’t from Wisconsin. They were in and out in less than a half hour, which seemed odd.

Then a few weeks ago a different man came to my table during the day. He seemed like a local and he said came during the day because he liked to play alone against the dealer. He brought cash to change for chips, but that was fairly common. Some people went to the cashier, some didn’t. He played for about an hour or two and left. He was a normal better and probably broke even, so I didn’t think much of it. He came in for a few weeks about three times a week. Then one day he came in on a Tuesday about two o’clock. But right before he sat down, I saw him sit at the bar next to the New Yorkers.

Then he sat down at my table and his game play immediately changed. He placed unusually high and risky bets, one after another. And he lost – a lot. He was pulling tons of cash from this brown paper lunch bag and he was doubling down and splitting everything. And he kept hitting all the time, even when he had nineteen. I kept asking him if he was sure, but then the pit boss came over and stood next to me, so I shut up. We’re not supposed to help or give advice. I just didn’t want him to lose his shirt. When he was out of cash about an hour later, he thanked me, tipped me and left. But the strangest thing of all was the pit boss took my bin and said he would do me a favor and cash it out right away because it was full. It was full, but that was still very unusual. Why would the pit boss come over for just one guy in the middle of the day. Curious.

He came back on Thursday and then again the next Tuesday. Everything was the same. Each time he lost, he just grinned and said oh well, not my day. I knew there had to be some connection. My former job made me a very suspicious person, almost like a detective. Something was up.

I nosed around a little and talked to my cousin about the casino. She said she didn’t know how they lasted through the pandemic. There was limited capacity and even then there were hardly any people visiting, but they stayed afloat and even hired more people afterward when the customers came back.

Suddenly it all clicked together. They were laundering money by hiring shills to lose the money at the tables. I kept my mouth shut, because I needed my job, but each week it became more obvious.

Then the dairy plant had a fire. A few people were hurt and equipment was ruined, so they had to shut down for three months. It was almost worse than the pandemic. Most of the town was out of work and going to the local food bank that was barely restocked from the pandemic strain.

I wanted to do something. They helped me when I was down. One day it all unfolded in front of me. If I took little bits of the laundered cash, no one would be the wiser. They wouldn’t miss small amounts. I sewed a pocket in my vest and could slip it in unnoticed. Only question was how to get the money out after my shift, as we had to leave our uniforms every night. Then I remembered the brown bag. It was poetic to have the money go out the same way it came in. So each day at my dinner break, I left some fruit or chips or something to legitimately take home my brown bag and slipped the money in.

The first night I was so nervous, I went through the door clutching the brown bag for dear life. But each day it got easier. Every detail was planned. No one would know.

After a week, I bought a small amount of canned goods at the store with my own groceries and left them at the food bank delivery door. Not a ton to be suspicious, but every night like little elves, they would just appear like magic.

I kept this up for three months until the plant reopened, then stopped gradually. No one ever knew. And the people in town didn’t go hungry. Like I said, it was the perfect crime, stealing from criminals and giving to those in need. By the way, I didn’t introduce myself; my name is Robin.

Scramble

I saw a pile of Scrabble tiles in a Facebook picture recently on my 5 minute social media break, otherwise known as my bathroom break, and thought, what if you could turn up the tiles you wanted in life, instead of the random ones you pull out of the bag.

If you have you ever played Scrabble and wanted to will certain tiles onto your rack, but got other ones, you understand my life. I have 3 kids, 2 dogs, 1 cat, 2 jobs, 2 elderly parents and 1 husband. It’s crazy.

Each morning, I wake up early, take the dogs for a walk, make breakfast and ensure my kids get dressed in something close to a human wardrobe. I’m pretty flexible, but when my 1^st grader wears underpants outside his clothes because Superman does it, doesn’t fly with me. My 3^rd grader keeps trying to wear his favorite shirt and jeans every day. He saw a commercial for Febreeze and thinks he can just spray and go. And my 6^th grader daughter wants to dress exactly like her favorite Instagram pop stars. So I need to make sure there are no crop tops or makeup smuggled into her bag for a quick-change later. Apparently more than one of my children wants to pretend they are someone else. It’s not a bad idea, I’d like a secret identity – sanity.

Then I drop all three kids off at their three different schools. Thanks to overcrowding and lower school budgets, the school district separates kids by grade level and my kids just happen to fall into the grade categories that are in different buildings, lucky me.

Then I go to my parents’ house and make sure they eat, take pills and take them to whatever doctors or therapists they need. They want to be independent, but they’re older and have some physical needs and a lot of denial issues. I was a change of life baby and my two older much older siblings live in different states, so I need to check on them. After nearly 70 years of marriage my parents have figured out one thing – they love each other, but don’t really like each other very much. I think they are playing the one up game to see who can annoy each other the most. He refuses to bathe for days at a time, so she sprays the house with perfume. She won’t cook or do laundry for him anymore, so he makes messes everywhere in retaliation. Part of this job is to make sure they don’t kill each other.

Then I go to my first job as an aerobics instructor and personal trainer. It doesn’t pay a lot, but the hours are flexible, so I can get everything else done.

At 3pm, I need to pick up my kids from their schools and take them to soccer, music lessons or whatever else we’ve signed them up for so they are well-rounded people.

Back to my parents to cook them an early dinner and clean up a little. I hired a cleaning lady for them, but they argue so much, many of the services won’t send anyone because they’re uncomfortable. They use new people like pawns in their war of the roses.

Pick up the kids, make dinner and do homework until bedtime. Then walk the dogs again and do my second job as a medical transcriber until I fall down asleep. And start all over again.

My scrabble tiles read run, cook, clean, drive, work and sleep.

My husband helps when he can, but he’s in the Navy and spends a lot of time deployed, so he’s gone for months. When he’s home for a couple weeks here and there, I get a little breather, but I really want to spend time with him too.

I had a lot of plans when I was a kid for a professional career as a nurse or even a doctor, but those aren’t the tiles I picked. Falling in love young and a prom night pregnancy gave me tiles of 19-year old motherhood and the rest you know. Maybe when my husband retires after 20 years, I can go back to school. Maybe not. We’ll see what tiles I get.

Steps

There are step programs for everything in life today to cure what physically or mentally ails you. After all, you have to take one step at a time to get anywhere. But despite all the dead spouse support group jargon absorbed and subsequently regurgitated over the last nine months, Melissa still had no idea what she was doing.

It was supposed to be their best life. Retire and have fun. A two-step program to happiness. Nowhere did it say cancer, death and widowed.

Since her husband died, Melissa was in an oarless boat floating aimlessly on her way to nowhere. She followed all initial the steps in the grief program brochures, but after acceptance, the navigation was a little foggy and the waves were a little choppy. So, she started a new series of steps on living life.

Keep Busy, the program said, so, she threw herself into project after project. Painting, adult color books, puzzles, karaoke, and she even learned to play the ukulele. The result was a bust – tried, abandoned and eventually chucked in the forgotten closet one by one to collect dust.

Make New Friends, the support group encouraged. So, she went to every event offered in her town and neighborhood from movies and casino trips to dances and game nights. All were fun, but a glaring example of being uncoupled in the sea of coupledom.

Get a New Hobby, another pamphlet espoused. Learning from others, Melissa decided becoming a gym-rat taught self-reliance and could be performed as a single and with other singles. Power walking, jogging, and marathon-training all became obsessions to fill the days and make her too tired to care about lonely nights. This worked for a while, but sore and uncooperative limbs made this pursuit un-pursuable on a long-term basis.

Veering from the stated programs preached in the acceptable mature groups, Melissa took the page from another book called experimentation. After some research and a trip to the dispensary, Melissa had a smorgasbord of products to begin. CBD oil, edibles, a bong, and just old-fashioned smoking, proved an interesting investigation into her inner psyche, resulting in too many mornings waking up with a cricked neck and papers stuck to her face from sleeping anywhere. These were accompanied by puddles all over the house as retribution from an unhappy un-walked dog. Ultimately, she found a balance in creating some mild and delicious baked goods that did the trick. Just enough to allow uninterrupted sleep, but not too much to recreate hungover college Monday mornings.

And that triggered a revelation. Just like the oarless boat, she needed balance to keep steady. Melissa realized looking for the one answer, she threw herself headfirst and charged into all manner of activities, just to fill the days and nights, without regard to any of them. Maybe there wasn’t one answer, she thought. Her boat could stop at many ports of call on the way, but as long as she could keep rowing keep the boat steady, it didn’t matter the destination, enjoying the journey along the way could be the goal.

Opening the forgotten closet, Melissa looked at the bounty of dusty projects and activities with just one more problem. What to do first?

Author’s Note: This is a characterization for an upcoming Contemporary Women’s Fiction Novel coming in late 2021 called Control, Alt, Delete. More to Come Soon...

There’s a Light

After a summer bonfire, newly coupled teens Josh and Sandy found themselves walking hand-in-hand on the moonlight beach in front of the old Jacob mansion on the hill.

“I bet I can hit one of those windows,” Josh picked up a rock and lifted his arm.

“No, please don’t,” Sandy pleaded. “That mansion has a very special history. My mother told me the tragic love story of the woman in the dark tower.”

The ornate Victorian mansion was a perched on a hill above the beach with two distinct turret widow towers which can be seen vividly from the sea. Owned by the wealthy Jacob family shipping magnates, it was easily the largest home in the small New England town. Edmund Jacob had two twin daughters, Susan and Sarah.

Jacob was widowed when the twins were ten years old and dove into building his empire, ignoring the girls, so they became very close and raised each other. Susan was vivacious and outgoing, while Sarah was creative and introverted. They were yin and yang but relished in their differences and loved each other deeply. When they were eighteen, their father decided to choose husbands to ensure their future.

Jacob betrothed Susan to a young congressman. She acted as her father’s host for many parties and dinners for prominent guests and clients and he thought her social skills would prove to be beneficial on the arm of an up-and-coming politician.

He promised Sarah to a young executive, who he was grooming to take over his company someday. As the husband of a Jacob, Edmund thought the young man would be accepted as his successor.

Susan was an obedient popular girl who loved the social scene and dutifully agreed to marry the congressman and move to Washington, DC for an exciting life as a politician’s wife. But Sarah had no interest in marriage or the young overly-ambitious executive who her father considered a surrogate son. Sarah ‘s only interest was painting. Day after day she roamed the quaint seaside town searching for inspiration, plopping her palette and easel at the exact point of muse and painting interesting landscapes from sunup to sundown.

One day as she was painting the intricate ocean waves, she met Daniel, a sea hand who worked for his father’s shipping company. Daniel romanticized the ocean and took great interest in her work. For months, they walked around town as she listened in amazement to the poetic detail as he spoke of the beauty in everything around them. She was smitten by his keen artistic intellect and sweet gentility. He returned her affection and appreciated her mind, heart and great talent. He was very observant and encouraged her creative vision.

The young shipping executive was very different. He thought both she and her art were silly and useless endeavors and made it clear, when they were wed, her job was to have babies and hold dinners for his clients and influential people in town; a life that Sarah considered a hopeless prison.

Susan loved her sister and was sympathetic for her perilous situation and her love for Daniel. She tried to help them meet in secret, by crafting a signal. Susan would turn on the lights in the home’s towers as a warning to the couple. She light both tower lights when their father was home and one tower light if the coast was clear.

But one day, their father came home unexpectedly and caught the lovers. In punishment, Jacob and his aide sent Daniel away on a ship.

Sarah was forced to spend her life in a loveless marriage to the young magnate. In protest she bore him no children and refused any outward pretense of happiness. Instead, she locked herself in her tower studio and sadly lived out her days painting thousands of watercolors of the sea, hoping for Daniel’s return to rescue her miserable existence. She kept one light on in her dark tower studio as a signal to show him the way, but he never came back.

Susan lived a society life and helped her husband climb the political ladder and navigate his way to become a powerful senator, while Sarah wasted away on a forlorn dream until she died at age 100.

Looking at the dark towers in the big abandoned mansion as they left, Josh and Sandy suddenly saw a light brightly illuminated in one tower.

Home

Our room did have a small electric heater, and we used hot stone water bottles in the big bed at night. My sister and I shared this room in our small rowhouse flat. It was an old drafty building, so my parents gave us the top floor room. The rising heat made it the warmest room in the house. We had a small kitchen with a wooden table and a brand new icebox. It made the milk nice and cold. Our drawing room had a chair for mommy and one for daddy and we shared the big chair, but we mostly liked to sit on the floor and listen to mommy sing and play the piano at night. She had a beautiful voice. We also had a lovely garden outside. It was our home.

In that room and in our garden, my sister and I crafted a world of adventures every day after studies. We were Indians on the hunt of the great water buffalo; pirates on a ship combing the seven seas for buried treasure; archeologists searching for lost tomb of kings in the great pyramids; and Sherlock Holmes and Watson trying to crack the case of the missing crown jewels. We daily played out the pages of our storybooks and made them come to life. But our favorite game was called Princess. We’d pretend to be Princesses Margaret and Elizabeth having tea and biscuits. We’d dress up in our Sunday clothes and gloves and talk about all the wonderful balls we attended and the handsome princes we’d marry. Daddy made tiaras out of tin cans and we glued hard candy on them for jewels.

With the war and all, bedtime was right after supper. No lights or piano music were allowed because of to the blackout, but mommy and daddy snuggled up with us and told us beautiful tales of wonderful places with princesses in big palaces like India, Africa and Greece until we fell asleep. I dreamed that I could see them someday.

I often think of life before the Blitz. It still haunts me with echoes every night when I close my eyes.

We awoke to sounds of loud whistles, then thundering explosions and searing high-pitched screams of the planes dropping their bombs. It seemed so close. In the dark, my sister and I huddled together, shaking and crying, not knowing what to do. The bursts came closer and closer until we heard the crash of bricks tumbling and felt sand and dirt falling on us from a gaping hole in our ceiling.

Petrified and screaming, we quickly crawled on our hands and knees trying to find our door. We heard mommy and daddy yelling at us to get out, but we couldn’t see. Then the night moon shone a small beam of light to show us the way. We hastily ran out the door and down the stairs to mommy and daddy. Then we all ran to the loo where we four sat in the bathtub with mattresses over our heads to protect us.

For hours, we sat in silence in the dark trembling and holding each other while blindly hearing booming blasts and deafing bangs among the sounds of screams outside. Finally, it stopped.

Daddy went out first to make sure it was safe. After he waived us in, we slowly walked out into our drawing room. Mommy gasped as she saw the wood beams in the middle of the floor, tossing the chairs around the room and the piles of bricks dumped on her piano. In the kitchen, the new icebox was still there, but the table was cracked in half.

As the dawn broke, the shafts of light gleamed through the small holes in the walls and broken window glass to brighten the room, showing the full damage. Dirt, dust, wooden beams and fallen bricks from above tore a mess through the drawing room and kitchen, but it was still standing.

Suddenly I was hopeful for our room and ran up the stairs without a thought. Daddy ran after me yelling to come back. I abruptly stopped after only a few steps. There was no room, just remnants in the rubble. Our bookcase of storybooks was in splinters. Our tea party set and crowns, gone. Our big bed lay atop the missing wall exposed to the daylight below. There was nothing left to see.

Tears strewn down my cheeks as Daddy took me down the stairs. I tried to hide my face to spare my sister the pain, but she knew. We all did.

My sister and I sat on the bottom stair watching as Mommy and Daddy sift through the ruins to find what remained. Daddy found our radio under a pile of dust and turned it on. Prime Minister Churchill said “…It’s time for everyone to stand together and hold firm… as we draw from our hearts the means of inspiration and survival…for our people will not flinch from the struggle.”

He was right. We were still together and we would start over again. Home was not the building or our things, but our family.

Reboot and Say Yes to Fun!

“Work, you damn computer!” Katherine pounded on the keys of her laptop in frustration.

It was a year Katherine thought she would never see. In one year the pyramid of her life tumbled one block at a time. A twenty-year marriage, a cheating husband, a failed business she loved and now the last straw, a frozen computer. After two hours of hearing press number two for technical support, a simple solution was finally offered – press control, alt, and delete to reboot.

After the successful resurrection of her computer, Katherine thought she needed a break. An hour soaking in a bubble bath with soothing eucalyptus candles, one Netflix movie, one quart of Cookie Dough ice cream, and a half bottle of wine later, Katherine emerged with renewed purpose. Like a baptismal dunking, she could wash away her old life and start anew. She needed a complete reboot.

Step one, Alt. Step one of her new spirit must be to seek an alternate reality, Katherine thought. Say yes to Fun.

Katherine believed she had always been a fun-loving person, but in recent days the chasm of her abysmal life made fun and laughter impossible. Now that she decided to accept and even seek out fun, she used her now-operational computer to Google, the most fun things to do. Right there was an article from Women’s Day magazine entitled 43 Fun Things to Do in Your Lifetime. Quickly copied all 43 items down and vowed to achieve them all in this year. The year of no fear!

First on the list…Go to a concert! Katherine remembered all the concerts she attended in her teens and twenties. As shown by the many solo concerts held for an audience of one in her car and shower, Katherine loved music. What’s not to love? Screaming and singing at the top of your lungs with hundreds or thousands of others doing the same thing. Music filling your heart and ears to near deafening levels. Dressing like a rock star, roadie or groupie with the secret and likely unrequited ambition of being pulled up onstage to sing and party with the band. Yes, a roaring rock concert was the answer.

An online search later, Katherine found her favorite teenage band was appearing a mere three hours away that very weekend and still had tickets available. Click and buy.

After an urgent text plea to her two girlfriends, announcing a girl’s night road trip, Katherine was ready to go.

Dressed in a black tank top with mesh wrap shirt, black jeans and as much silver jewelry with chains, rings, big hoop earrings, silver looped belt, black heeled leather boots and dark eyeliner, Katherine was ready to see Kiss. She considered full cat makeup, but decided that would be over the top.

She and her friends stood in line with baited anticipation. As she looked around, she saw many people of different ages and many more dressed as they were going to a picnic in khaki shorts, t-shirts, ball caps and white sneakers, instead of a Kiss rock concert. She saw very few people dressed up in Kiss makeup (glad she didn’t do that), but gratefully saw a few people similarly dressed for a head-banging concert. Upon reaching the front of the line, the attendant asked Katherine to remove her jewelry as it would set off the metal detector. Confused and in disbelief, Katherine peeled off her metal armory as if she was peeling layers from herself and then quickly passed through the checkpoint and relayered.

An endless beer line later, they found their seats just in time for the lights to fade. A singular bass note sounded, red and gold streaks of light climbing up the stage background screen, then an echoing guitar chord and synthesized sound revealed a huge light-exploding firework sign with the letters K-I-S-S. Then the music began and the band emerged to the roaring and raucous sounds of the crowd of fans.

Katherine smiled and looked around at her friends and surrounding strangers with their hands in the air bopping to the beat of the music and singing gleefully at the top of their lungs.

“This is fun!” She raised her fist in the air, jumped up and down and sang loudly. “I want to Rock and Roll all night, and party every day.” Her new mantra.

Echoes in Time

From photographs and slides to digital, preservation efforts often past memories to be technologically updated, providing opportunities for different views.

Although I’ve flipped through photos in scrapbooks and albums numerous times before, but television viewing afforded the possibly for a room full of people to view the same photograph at the same time. And the large screen with apt-era background music made it seem like a movie of my life.

Pictures capture a moment in time with different meanings for all who view. My children, nieces and nephews mercilessly heckled the muttonchop sideburns, bellbottom and plaid pants, clunky platform shoes, and revealing halter tops amid other clothing and hairstyle choices of the day, which although stylish then ring comical in today’s mirror.

But as I watch each picture go by, I see the pair of white knee-high gogo boots that I begged my mother to buy me. The denim purse I bought myself with my baby-sitting savings. And the painful rollers worn overnight to achieve the curls in my very flat hair for my wedding do.

Each pixel evokes different memories behind the camera in the time before and after the shutter opened and closed. The baby picture of my sister with her dress turned back to front, since right before the photographer clicked, she spit up all over the front of her dress. Or the joyous picture of family fun on Disney’s Splash Mountain a split-second before we were all drenched to the bone from a waterfall drop tsunami.

Sometimes feelings frozen in celluloid are a stark reminder of the tenure of an exact instance of time. The sullen teenage scowl which resulted from teasing for a refusal to have my face painted like a clown at the Ringling Brothers museum. I was very aware of my oily skin and didn’t want the greasepaint to clog my pores and give me pimples. Or a distant and uncooperative frown portrayed in a Hawaiian vacation photo from terribly missing my Navy boyfriend who was at home on leave while I was forced to be a world away.

Remembrances of the ridiculous kitschy tourist traps my father never seemed to miss are encapsulated for posterity. The secretive Ft. Hood, which unknown to most people lies underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, the mermaids at Wiki Wachee, and the sarsaparillas at the OK Corral café were severely mocked back then, but now offer more nostalgic perspectives with time and age.

Regardless of how many technological evolutions these pictures will endure in the future, they remain echoes in time preserved for the next generation and those who follow to glimpse into past moments and draw their own conclusions about the time and place.

Irish Eyes

Twas a cool breeze out that night on the streets of Manhattan, but for me, it was as frigid as the snow queen herself. I felt the icy stare of me mistress, my friend, see straight through me as if I were nothing but a ghostly figure, not even there. To her, I may have well been as it was the deepest of cuts, a breach of faith and trust which finds me out on me ars on this New Year’s Eve.

I wander around a bit, not sure what to do and where to go. The church was me first thought, to light a candle. But if I’m honest, my faith is a bit shaken this day. Damn my big emerald eyes and Irish temper for betraying me and always gettin’ me in a spot of trouble. But I just couldn’t help meself. That bastard of a husband of hers, him and his roving eyes…and hands. He’s the one to blame. Hand to God, the mister has grabbed hold of me backside more times a day than I count me holy cards. Some days I had to use liniment just soes I could set down at night. That one, he’s always grabbing, poking and pinching any skirt that passes him by. But this time he went too far. Poor little Molly O’Brien. A mere babe, only fifteen in years. I caught the bastard up against her in the butler pantry. She looked at me like she saw the very devil himself. She was not struggling, but she was terrified. So, I tells her to go help cook right away and stop lollygagging. It worked at first, she got away. But then the mister grabs the back of me apron and drags me into the drawing room. He yells at me and I couldn’t help my Irish, I gave it right back to him but good.

The nerve he has to compromise young girls and lord over his position. And what about the mistress? They hardly even married a year and him with his devilish ways. She was so innocent and in love. She didn’t see is dastardly black coal soul, but I saw him for the messenger of Satan he was. Only me mistress didn’t. She saw the image of a young handsome rogue who swept her off her heels in the fields of gold back in Cobb County and dazed her with his impish charm. Turns out the faithless fiend has had every lass he sets his evil eyes on. My rolling green eyes always gave me away to him, they did. He knew that I knew of his wandering ways.

Just when I was puttin’ him in place though, he turned randy. The devil he was smitten with my ire and didn’t he grab me right there and kiss me hard at the exact moment the mistress walked in.

The look in her sweet eyes was more than I could take. The demon spawn lied to her of course and said I, Katherine Mary Margaret Donnelly have been chasing him around. The bastard son he is. Of course, she believed him immediately, how could she not, she’s mesmerized by love. And now I am out on my sore kiester. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be out of that hell of a house, blast to all of them. But I worry about me poor girl. She is so young and naïve. He’s going to hurt her somethin terrible. I will never forget the look in her eyes til the end of me days. The scorn, the betrayal, it wounded her to the very core. We had been so close, the best of us since wee lasses. We’ve seen through every scrape and sorrow in our short lives. Now, she cuts me to the quick, never even a brief thought that it was himself. I pity her and the day she comes in from the mist of adoration. It will be a dark day for her, it will, and her soul will weep. But I need to put that in arrears now and think of what’s to come.

So in my own thoughts, I didn’t realize I had walked nearly ten blocks into a loud gaggle of half-frozen people in the middle of Times Square celebrating the New Year. I looked around at their joyous faces all rising to see the giant globe on the flagpole atop the building above.

I’ve never seen anything like it in me life. Took six whole men to tame the beastly wonder with ropes. Then I heard the people start chanting all at once. 10, 9, 8 and down it came like an angel lofting from the heavens. 7, 6, 5, 4, they kept going. The snow started to gently fall just as they yelled 3, 2, 1. And signs on all sides of the building lit up like the stars in the heavens to say Happy New Year with thunderous flames of colored light streaking up and bursting here and there in the sky. Twas a glorious site to behold.

Then a chorus of the random gatherers sang aloud to ring in the New Year. I recognized the tune as one from the old country I heard the Scottish shepards sing in the fields. I listened carefully to what they said, “old acquaintance be forgot and never thought upon.” That Auld Lang Syne was right. The past is just that. I’m young and sturdy and I’m in America, the land of opportunity. It’s time for me to begin anew and turn over a leaf. So I welcome ya 1908, it’s bound to be a good year.

Dreaming In a Wartime Christmas

Author’s Note: This is a brief peek of a WWII historical romance novel You’ll Never Know... that will be released in Jan-Feb 2021 about the whirlwind romance and lovesick heartache of a a USO singer and her boyfriend on a ship in the Atlantic during the later part of the war. Thousands of miles apart, they only have their letters to each other for comfort. With so many people missing loved ones and being apart this Christmas, I thought this was a good comparison for this year. Merry Christmas to all…it will get better. It always does.

December 25, 1944

My Darling, Darling Davey,

I can’t believe you did this! I got your Christmas surprises…the flowers, the sweets and the beautiful necklace. I don’t know how you managed it. The necklace is so perfect – two golden hearts linked together. Just like we are. I love it and will wear it always.

This is an especially hard day. It’s my first Christmas away from home and our first Christmas together, but we’re apart. Your presents were so wonderful and made me so happy. It made it feel like, just for a minute, you were not so far away.

I really had a hard time finding you a present because of the size restrictions on mailing to you. I hope you get it in time for Christmas. I sent it at Thanksgiving just to be sure it caught up with you.

Today wasn’t so bad. Since everyone in the USO is away from family today, we kind of had our own special Christmas brunch. Everyone got a small gift from the USO. And we told jokes, pretending to be each other. That was really fun. I guess it is some kind of English Christmas tradition. It kept my mind off being homesick and lovesick.

Tonight, we have our big Christmas show. We’re in Nashville, Tennessee and will be performing on the stage of the Grand Old Opry for our Special Arms Services broadcast. The USO troupers are going to do a big show with the country stars, they call it Christmas Extravaganza. It’s a really big deal. I’m a little nervous. It should be a great show. Armed Forces Radio will be airing it tonight. I hope you will be able to listen, wherever you are.

Oh, and by the way, I am glad you’re bored. What I mean is that I’m glad you’re not in the fight, risking your life. I worry about you. I want you to come back to me!

I’ll be Seeing You… Love Suzy

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December 25, 1944

My Sweet Suzy

Merry Christmas. I know you won’t get this by Christmas, but since I’m writing it on Christmas, I wanted to wish it to you. Well at least I hope it is a Merry Christmas for you. Here everyone is really sad, including me. This is my first Christmas away from home. Same with most of the guys. But it’s extra hard because it’s our first Christmas together too. I hope you got my present by now. I keeping thinking how neat it would have been to give you the present and see your reaction in person. Plus the really big kiss you would give me, because I always give really good presents. I hope at least you like the present I sent. I really miss you.

Here the guys are planning some kind of crazy party. They chef is supposed to cook up a real Christmas dinner. He said there’s going to be egg nog…well, made from dried milk and eggs and stuff, so we will see how it tastes. We’re not allowed alcohol, because you never know what will happen, with the war and all, so that takes some of the zing out of it. Supposedly we’re getting a Christmas ham with mashed potatoes and vegetables. My family always had turkey with dressing at Christmas, but I hear ham is popular with some people. I guess ham is easier to keep out here. My favorite is the dessert. I heard a rumor that there will be minced meat pie and figgy pudding. Our chef is kind of a joker though, so I bet it’s just regular instant vanilla pudding with fig newtons stuck in it. I like apple pie better, but it’s traditional.

We’re supposed to see some fighting soon so Cap said we could have a little wingding, just this once. I need to go now, the party is about to start. I will finish this later…

What a surprise!! You made a celebrity out of me. They piped the Armed Services Radio Christmas broadcast over the whole boat and everybody heard you sing. My girlfriend is a famous radio singer!! The guys were all slapping me on the back and razing me. It really picked up everyone’s spirits, especially mine. Everyone was singing along with you. And I can’t believe you said my name on the radio. It really meant so much to me. It was just like you were singing only to me, just like in New York. It made me miss you a little less, at least for today. Thank you. And don’t worry – I‘ll be seeing you soon…I promise.

Love Always, Davey