Opal (fiction)

Day one hundred and forty-six opens with the sun peaking through the blinds, snow falling lightly, 

landing upon the outstretched branches weaving in the growing winds.  The forecast calls for more snow, adding a substantial amount to the snow already on the ground.  

Opal sat stewing over her peppermint tea, which, according to Ida, is the only tea suitable for this weather.  "Peppermint is a pondering tea, and this, my dear, is pondering weather." Opal could hear Ida's voice as if she were sitting across the table this blustery morning.   

The small things, getting up, getting dressed, and steeping tea, are accomplished daily.  However, not much else. Opal sits at the weathered kitchen table, churning the events that led to Ida walking out the kitchen door, over in her mind. 

Day one hundred and forty-six hasn't diminished the sounds of the frozen ground crunching beneath Ida's boots, the Jeep Wrangler's revving engine as Ida makes her way down the path leading to the county road.  The souped-up truck can be heard even as it creeps further and further out of Opal's view.  

Out of Opal's life.  What word or words turned the disagreement into a departure?  Were the events of that evening premeditated or pre-ordained?   

As Opal sat, peppermint tea cooling as time elapsed, the questions roiled around, over and over, with no resolution in sight.  Soon, though, the contractors will be making their way up the path, set to begin the work contracted over two hundred days ago.  

Soon, Opal will be charged with answering new questions, making innumerable decisions; primary among them, what comes next? 

01/11/2026 Middle Girl 

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The beginning sat in drafts for many months, changing shape and focus many times over that time, only recently taking this (not quite "final"?) shape.  This version was motivated, inspired, and driven by a quote attributed to Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye: "Lonely is much better than alone."  I sit with the concepts, conditions, alone and lonely. 

Welcome to Sunday, January 11, 2026.  

  

 

  

Today

Welcome to 2026. 

One day, one step. 

 

The Decades

I am 7:

What I remember: Not much except that times were tumultuous. I was forced to change schools between second and third grade because of redistricting. I was in an integrated school, and then, I wasn't. I'm sure the impact of that would have been felt seismic if my family wasn't imploding. My mom and dad separated between my seventh and eighth birthdays--as memory serves.

I am 17:

What I remember: My graduation from high school. It was a glorious time. Beyond the excitement of graduation was the elation of the next steps, being on the precipice of my future and freedom. Or so I thought. Long story short, my planned move to the dorm was cancelled, and I spent the next two years commuting to college and fighting to survive the onslaught of my brothers' antics and my mother's growing medical and mental anguish.

I'm 27:

What I remember: Kindergarten. My son had two orientations in two schools. The first orientation was rendered moot due to an argument his dad had with the landlord of our apartment building. We were evicted. Thankfully, another apartment, only a few blocks away, was available, so we moved in. Despite the second apartment being geographically closer to the first school, we were out of the district. Hence, the second orientation at the new school. My daughter was entering the parenthetical terrible twos. Twenty-seven was a blur.

I'm 37

What I remember: Upheavals. In the workplace, the CEO of the parent company died. Two years later, the executors sold the family of businesses, ending one era and beginning a new one (for me). On the home front, my marriage was crawling toward its eventual end. My 15-year-old son and my 12-year-old daughter had their eyes, hearts, and hopes trained on me for guidance.

I'm 47:

What I remember: Being in a relationship. My mind was falling in love with the idea (and the act) of falling in love. It was a long-distance affair, meaning it wasn't without its logistical challenges.

Dance Me To The End of Love

I'm 57:

What I remember: Nothing super specific; my mother died four years prior (my dad, five), and judging by my archives for the year, blogging was not a top priority. Between over-arching grief and focusing on the newish job in a new (to me) industry, I was putting one foot in front of the other and just moving right along.

One of the November posts from that year contained this quote:

"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."   -Audre Lorde

and creatives

I Didn't Want To Know Anything (More)

A couple of months ago, I decided to go out to lunch with one of my many cousins (Pam) from my father's side.  For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades. Her mother and my father (both deceased) were siblings. My relationship with my father, his siblings, and their offspring suffered when my parents divorced when I was a kid.  There was, over the years, some effort to reunite the families, but mostly, they were all out of my life.  

Enter social media. Pam and I became friends in that realm. We exchanged phone numbers. We texted and IM'd every now and again.  She has tried to get me to meet face-to-face before this summer, but I always begged off, as we were, in my view, virtual strangers despite our ancestral heritage. 

Enter a death (Sqr), another cousin.  His sister (Dot) was in town for the memorial service.  Pam invited Dot and me out for an afternoon of reminiscing some days after the service (which I had missed).  I hesitated but eventually agreed.  On the day of, I discovered that Dot had begged off, so it was just Pam and me. 

      

 For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades.  And while we are close in age, we have people and experiences in common, the second half of our childhoods and a large chunk of our adulthoods were spent in separate worlds.  Her memories and my memories did not align. 

She shared stories of her parents, our grandparents, and the epic family divide, most of which I had never heard or experienced.  It became clear that what she sought was someone to bear witness to the trauma and toxicity that permeated our separate but equally fraught-filled child and young adult lives.  

At the end of the afternoon, I told her I'd keep a good thought for her upcoming surgery (she'd shared a devastating medical diagnosis--I was the first cousin to know) and said our goodbyes, hugging it out.  

We haven't spoken since.  Enter social media.  Pam and I are still friends in that realm.  

Happy Autumn! 

Story in Drips and Dips

My daughter gifted me with a Hear Your Story book for Mother's Day.  I'm determined to complete the prompts and extra pages to expound, as one does, by her birthday (a milestone one) in five weeks.  My initial thought was that this was an easy assignment, which is why I didn't start right away. 

It has proven to be anything but.  

It wasn't long before I realized I hadn't said (a lot) out loud.  

Also, I realized that there were limbs of the family that are completely unknown to me and likely to remain so.   

Still, I'm happy to fill in these pages for her.  I hope she follows the nuggets to this space and perhaps whatever journals I still have on paper at the end, but she is not likely to do that.  It will be okay, she'll discover what may offer comfort, I trust.  

Me, Kindergarten

Happy September! 

hop skip jump

Amanda Gorman / The Hill We Climb

And just like that, it is July.  

The last several weeks since my previous post have been full on ...full. 

A few deaths, a few birthdays, a first international trip for my son, workplace goings on for him, me, and my daughter; in short, life. 

All that and then some, plus, well, you know, the dumpster fire that is this country. 

I am unable to report that I've worked on (or better yet, finished) the story of Janice*. 

I am unable to report any measurable improvement in Spanish.   

I am unable to report sketching consistency. 

On the flipside, I can report that I am still chug, chug, chugging along and still trying to tame my wild and woolly salt-and-pepper mane. 

Take gentle care, gentle folks.  

*Janice has been renamed Opal.  

And away we go.                                                           

Thoughts

*Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

May is my mother's birthday month.  Before my mother's death, the first part of May was always full of preparing Mother's Day celebrations and, of course, the impending birthday celebrations.  

Since then, the month is flooded with memories of times gone by.  

This year has had that same dynamic with one exception.  This year, I can't shake the sense of longing for the relationship I wish had developed between my father and me.   

He and I weren't close. We had made peace before his death.  

And since then, I've been able to... compartmentalize the mixed emotions.  

Or, so I thought. 

It feels weird to be weighed with memories of his presence (or lack thereof) while remembering my mom in the shadow of her 85th birthday. 

Photographs and memories...   

This song is about the longing for a loved one, a romantic partner.  It has always hit me differently, these last few weeks, more than ever.  

Photographs and memories 

Christmas cards you sent to me 

All that I have are these 

To remember you . . . 

Take very gentle care,  

*songwriter: Jim Croce

Happy Birthday

A cousin recently celebrated her 70th birthday.  Her three daughters hosted a grand party, with immediate family, extended family, and friends, from near and far were in attendance, lending to the festive vibe.    

There were games, food, music, dance, and lots of laughs.  

A joy-filled event.  

Love in action! 

A Story, Not (Yet)

 

Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon* 

Hello, 

I've been working on a story for the last few weeks, intending to craft it with tremendous care.  However, I seem unable to get out of the starting gate.  My mind wanders, my heart pounds, and my legs...let's not talk about the aches in my legs.  

Physical pain, mental and emotional anguish, I am in short, stuck.  Or rather, I feel askew. 

The story is about a woman who is on the brink of change.  She is excited, yet afraid; undecided about how or even IF to lean into the circumstances.  

My own lopsidedness is likely one reason I can't give voice to any definitive choice or action for Janice.  

Rest assured, I will work through my physical pain, find sustainable solutions for the anguish, and discover the crux of Janice's tale.  

In the meantime, let us have sketches; old and new.

Kindly, 

Middle Girl 

*you wanna fly you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.  

New Year, Same Me

 

Well, not 100% the same, but mostly.  

Wednesday, January 1st looked a lot like Tuesday, December 31st.  

But, there is a shift, of sorts.  A change toward developing (or rather, re-developing) more positive habits toward more positive goals and outcomes.  

We are seduced by the "new" in Happy New Year! Or, I should speak for myself.  "I" am seduced.  

Or, should I be? 

I feel an urge, but not a sense of urgency. 

But, I do.  

Kind of.  

New Year, same me.  

Cheers! 

Art

A few years ago I resurrected a long-dormant practice.  In my latter high school years, I majored in art.  It was the intent to major in art in college.  I did create a portfolio as part of my application to the department.  My emphasis was drawing (over textiles, sculpture, or painting). I was accepted to the department. Had I continued, I would have entered the department as a degree candidate.  

I didn't finish college.  A long story for another time.  However, I continued drawing and exercising other disciplines as time and materials allowed.  There was, though, quite a lull during the child-rearing years.  

The 80s and 90s were a virtual blur.  

Bremen, In

It took until 2018 to begin a more regular sketching practice.  Since then, I've completed 5 sketchbooks.  I am weeks away from completing the sixth.  I've joined groups that prompt, motivate, and inspire. I've shared the sketches publicly and have endeavored to grow artistically.  (charcoals, y'all)  

A friend tagged me in the Mural Mosaics Global Roots program which allowed me to paint, which I hadn't done in decades.  The final product isn't exactly as I envisioned but sits in a little easel, on display, in my living room. I am grateful for the opportunity and happy to have finished.  

If you're in Bremen, IN visit the mural there.  If you're in any of the other cities (or countries) where other murals are situated, visit those too.  If you're of a mind, complete a registration for your own tile, and give it a whirl.  

Big fun.  

Thank you, friend.      

Tell Me A Story

I had a dream about my maternal grandmother. 

Except she wasn't in it.  

In the dream, I was at the two-flat she called home rescuing some kittens.  

Not her kittens, for she never had kittens (any pets for as long as I'd known her).

This was the most vivid dream I've had in a long while.  

The vivid dream compelled me to look up the address (of course I remember it).

According to the street view, the building is empty and boarded up, for sale—"investor's special!"

I know not what any of these means.  

I do know that now I want kittens that I absolutely cannot have.  

                                                                 

                                                                         Buttah (flashback) RIP

Love. Like. Life.

My last romantic relationship ended four-hundred and seventy-five years ago.  

That's an exaggeration but that is what it feels like most days.  

Most days I do not lament the presence of a significant other.  

Some days I do.  

Most days I feel ready to dip my toes in those waters.  

Some days I do not. 

Most days I am too busy with family, friends, the pooch, work, and related stuff to feel any emptiness.  

Some days I am not.  

In between time, I do things I need to get through the day: talk, laugh, cry, think, throw, catch, sleep, and dream. 

Different things, different days.   

Take gentle care.  

Happy Autumn. 

 

For Now, This

Of course, I did not intend to stay away for so long.  

Of course, I won't regale you with all that didn't happen, namely my thoughts solidifying into a comprehensible mass. 

Of course, summer has bled into Autumn.

May kindness rule over the next few days, leading to the next post.  

Verano

Some time ago I started working with one of the language apps to learn Spanish.  I have had some success but I have also stalled. I have been unable or unwilling to fully commit; I haven't done more than two lessons a day (though I do log in daily) I haven't (seriously) sought out other learning methods, no Spanish language listening apps, no written stories beyond that which is provided for free through the free app, and as important, no serious efforts to connect with other learners for real-time conversation.  I discovered that our local library has a group that meets once a month or so.  But short of finding and investigating sources, that has been the extent of taking the learning to the next level.    

I languish at the basic learning level. 

What will be the catalyst to move the meter? 

Mientras tanto disfruta tu verano.  

I am going to enjoy mine.  

Take gentle care, 

oxox 

Snack Happy

Recently I celebrated my tenth anniversary with my current employer. Please note that the folks who hired me are no longer with the firm (due to an amicable merger and eventual resignations due to other factors) but the spirit and the nature of the larger company still exist, most days. :-)   

Soon this space will celebrate an anniversary as well.  (March 29, 2006, was the first post) The second was published in May, 2006.)

I have ruminated over the last several months about both spaces; how long will working remotely be a perk that holds me in place? How attractive would a different position have to be to entice? Am I as ready to stop the grind altogether? 

And in this space? Should it remain Middle Girl (I have to admit to not being in love with the moniker)--I am a long, long way from the "girl" stage of life and have to admit more, I have an issue with referring to adult women as, "girl" (even in the cultural colloquial, "sister girl" manner). 

That's a blog for another day. 

But, re-brand to...what? 

Beyond what to call it, am I still drawn to publish thoughts, art, and beyond? Am I encouraged, motivated, and entertained, by the engagement of others (btw: yes!)  But, enough to work to grow, expand, and shift the focus for even greater engagement? Or Is the current level enough--and for how long, how much?   

Some folks who left blogging when folks were leaving to head over to the lands of other social media platforms have begun to return to this platform; each for their own reasons.  It isn't a flock by any stretch but, encouraging, to be sure. 

Not prolific recently as in years past, (140 posts in 2006) the space has begun to feel a tad abandoned, held taut by a slim thread.  That said, I have routinely felt more at home here than on any other platform, for what that is worth. 

Much, I think. 

Still, I also feel a pull for some kind of change. 

Or not; this is anniversary musing or the prospect of Spring. 

It is

 When I snapped this photo it was early in the month and now the month is nearly over.  

Wow. 

I haven't started using the charcoals yet but am starting to get back into my daily sketch practice.  I haven't sketched "daily" in recent weeks but certainly more than in the weeks preceding the first new sketch in several weeks; nine in the last month.  

Woot.  

twenty twenty four

We are now twelve days into this new year.  Twelve days of . . . well, honestly, same old stuff.  I didn't set any specific intentions for the new year other than continuing on the path of better...everything; eating, walking, working, playing, thinking, laughing, loving, writing, sketching, and maybe even some painting.  

Actually, there is a specific intention... I was gifted some color pencils and charcoal sticks.  I haven't worked with charcoal since high school.  The intention is to dig into reacquainting myself with that medium. 

That should be fun.  

The forecast for the next several days is winter at its most wintery; cold, snow, and more (deep) cold.  If you're in a part of the world experiencing some extreme weather (or some other extreme) be careful and be safe. 

One day, one step. 

Photograph and Memory

 

This is my third grade class.  I left this school after third grade so most of the folks pictured I never saw again.  This class photo is but one of two I have throughout my years in elementary school.  The other is a photo from kindergarten.  I'm sure (mostly) that there were photos taken but I don't have them.  they were either lost in one of our many moves or...   

It is also possible that I missed class photos as I transferred to a lot of schools.  Spending half a year in one and finishing in another.  I may have mentioned that by the time I was in 8th grade, I'd attended eight elementary schools.  

While I did spend the 4 years in a single high school; I didn't make friends easily and didn't really feel comfortable in school until my senior year.  

I was mildly excited to put all those years behind me.  

Except they were never behind me.  Or, at least, not for a long, long, time.  

Two Years

 

Some years ago a couple of FB friends introduced a game(?).  If you commented on their post indicating you wanted to participate, they give you a year and you post a memory.  

I'm 37 Year 1997: 

What I remember: Upheavals 

In the workplace, CEO of parent company died;  beginning of a period of uncertainty which lasted over two years.  In the home, marriage crawling to an end; having to maintain some semblance of equilibrium, to provide guidance for 15 year old son and 12 year old daughter.  

I'm 27 Year 1987 

What I remember: Kindergarten.  Son and two orientations in two schools due to an unfortunate incident forcing our little family unit's move from one apartment to another.  I counted blessings for having found an apartment within two blocks of the initial orientation school only to find out we were two blocks of that that school's zone. Thus, an orientation at the second school. In addition, toddler turning two during this year.  Beyond these events? 1987 was basically a blur. 

To be honest, the 80s were a blur except for all things child related; feedings, diapers, training, walking, talking, schools, lessons, learning, laughing, crying, and being.