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.  

  

 

  

TidBits

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#The biggest challenge in turning over this new leaf toward healthier eating, has been the impulse to lean into easy (lazy) behaviors. It is much too convenient to pick up a bag of chips, a couple of cookies, a candy bar, the dreaded quick service or something out of a box. Planning and prepping: impulse busters

#Several of my co-workers snack on sunflower seeds (with the shells). None, I  believe, eat the shells. They all seem to build mounds of sucked on shells, leaving them on their desks (resting on a dish or paaper towels) until the mound is dumped in the trash. Some, must take sunflower seeds into the bathroom. I never expected to see a sucked on shell in the bathroom, not in the trash.  

#It apears that unnatural hair colors are trending. Pinks. Blues. Magentas. Folks dyeing their hair from the box of 64 crayons, buying pieces, weaves, and wigs, that widen the spectrum even further. A couple of fellow commuters "had words" over expression of this trend. He said she had Now and Later hair. She wasn't as upset over the specific critque as she was over his nastiness in expressing his opinion.

#My mom's birthday is Thursday. I'm trying really hard to lift up the cheer-filled, happier moments. Feeling fairly confident that the effort was going to prove exhausting, I've already requested Friday off. Now, to just get through the 4 days . . .

#We had two (count them, two) days with temps touching 70 and the sun being our friend. Yay!


*don't mind the date on the photo--different camera, didn't reset--photo taken Sunday morning.  

#MicroBlogMonday click the link for more. :-) 

Older. New Thing.

Yesterday was my daughter's thirtieth birthday.  The thirty days leading into her birth date has been a journey down memory lane, much of which was shared in this space and to my FB circle. From this day forward I am the parent of two "kids" in their thirties.

And so today, I had flour-less pancakes; banana and eggs. Hmmm...  I think tomorrow I shall try it with cinnamon.

#MicroBlog Monday 

And So It Has Begun

MicroBlog Monday 

Nothing says "Happy New Year" like cuddling up with your long haired orange tabby and having said tabby sneeze in your face. Wiping cat snot off one's glasses at 4 in the morning is the pinnacle of woo-hoo, let me tell ya.  

Or, in other words, business (and beginnings of days) as usual. Buttah, the catdog, is ramping up his campaign to be top pet. That, and the colder weather drives him (and his elusive brother, Pete) in my room more often these days, causing the pooch's anxiety level to rise. 

The day proceeded apace with the usual things happening at pretty much the usual time for Friday was a workday; the shift filled with explaining to various patients why they owe what they owe, what their insurance didn't cover and in some cases, why. And, talking with insurance companies to follow-up on non-payments, providing the necessary information so they claims may be reconsidered. And reconciling accounts, applying credits to debits and sending out statements. 

And then, it was time to come home where the pooch, long-haired orange tabby and is ever elusive brother wait to be tended. 

Playing behind the scenes of the business as usual days are the other things; books to read, things to do, stuff to get, music (ear worms, like the themes to TV shows, I'll spare you which) 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th quarter goals and / or projects and words, and images. Words and images. Words and images, popping in and out of my mind. 

And speaking of words, inspired by my friend, I present to you my word of the year: c-r-e-a-t-e, manifested artistically and otherwise. The otherwise will likely revolve around the pooch, the long haired orange tabby, catdog and his ever elusive brother, Pete. 

Bienvenida a Miércoles

click on image for link 

Just a couple of thoughts on this, the last day of twenty-fourteen: 

 Did you know that the Morton Salt Company's tag line for a long while was, "when it rains it pours"?  No one was injured by the wall of salt or the collapsing wall.

Daughter was telling me a story a while back and during the telling of the story she used the term, "funeral park" which was used in place of cemetery, which she couldn't remember the name of the place where the dead are buried at the time. And since then, well, funeral park is now our term for cemetery.

Son said just this morning that he wants to act, sing, dance, and play music like Nina Simone-with a reckless, yet purposeful abandon. He is learning to play the harmonica and acoustic guitar. Just this past Sunday he got on stage at his favorite club during the weekly jam session. He is turning into a Mississippi Delta blues man before our very eyes. So fun.  

I don't really want to look back on twenty-fourteen except as to recall the ideas for work, learning, and . . . growth and how best to expand upon those ideas. Moreover, finding a way to stay the course, so to speak, in terms of not only getting projects off the ground but executing to fruition. 

On that note, the Mandala Discovery journey begins again tomorrow. I didn't sign up for another go 'round as I didn't finish the first. But, finish the first (as well as possibly repeating some of the prompts) will happen within the first quarter of twenty-fifteen. 

The second anniversary of my mother's death is looming and even as I type that, the emotion wells. The tears flow, not quite as often, but  . . still. At the end of "Cooley High" one of our (me and mom's) favorite movies there is a funeral scene and the song, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday" is featured. I was finally able to load the dvd into the player, but cannot watch it to the very end. 

While not particularly driven by gadgetry, I wish I had a device that would record my thoughts without benefit of me having to speak (or write). For, many ideas come on the fly (so to speak)  and more often than not, an inconvenient time and place. Try recalling any of those thoughts, ideas, epiphanies later. 

I have to cut this off here as I must get out the door within the next 8 minutes to have any hope of getting to work on time. But, lastly and not at all least, this: The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing is on the January 2015 calendar page. And on that note,  feliz año nuevo 

Turtle Me This

random list of facts, thoughts, and the like 

A few years ago I learned Chicago has a turtle club. Maybe more than one, but for the purposes of this note, one is all I need. The turtle club members had an open house (of sorts) which is how I had the opportunity to meet many turtles. It was a fun day. I thank my friend for bringing that memory back to my forefront. 

Have I mentioned that my daughter is a culinary student? I am her official guinea pig taster. It has been fun and interesting. 

Fun aside,  I really have to ramp up my m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t regime. Again. And continuing. 

Somewhere I read the question, "what are your biggest pet peeves?" I didn't answer there but will answer here: folks clipping their nails in public. Skeeves me right the frack out. Folks mentioned flossing in public and while that is icky, I don't have nearly as much of a  gross out reaction to that.

My brother (the younger) is moving to Georgia in two weeks. He told me two weeks ago. It is fitting. 

Seventeen. Why is seventeen stuck in my head? 

Marriage. Marriage has been banging around the gray matter of late. Mostly I've been thinking I'll  never (again) get to a point where I'll be in a marrying state of mind. I have lived alone (save for my son and daughter) since the beginning of the new millennium. I don't know IF I can live with another person in that kind of relationship and as I've never lived with a woman . . . 

It is, at the moment, a thought too huge to embrace. Still, I am enthralled that the country is inching toward equality in the marriage arena. 

Speaking of m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t, I want to take a Zumba class with the local park district. But I'm concerned that the age for the regular classes begin at 15. It's weird. They have a program called ACTIVE ADULTS for adults 50 plus. But they don't have a class for the same group, exclusively. Weirder: Zumba JR. Kids (Ages 4--6)  Zumba Kids (Age 7--11)  Zumba (Ages 15 & Up) . . You see that? What about ages 12--14? No Zumba for them. 

Some of the songs on the (new) Michael Jackson album are creepy. 

I considered growing my hair out (with designs on braids and beads or locks) and let my haircut cycle stretch from every two weeks to . . . well, now. Which wound up being about four weeks. The. HAIR. had. TO. GO!! I may revisit the idea, but have to figure out a way to survive the awkward stage where it must be combed but still too short to braid. Plus, I must be realistic; my fingers may be losing the nimbleness needed to braid well. 

10,000 steps (at least) a day. Twice in the last seven days. The goal for the next seven, twice that. 

The Cats, The Dog, and The Text

It is another Tuesday, this one marking the end of another month another ahhhh November. November is a month full of the frenzy of clearing out after Halloween if that is your thing and getting ready for "the holidays." Not just Thanksgiving, or even primarily Thanksgiving but the BiG one.

The first day of winter.

Ok no, not that. The other big one.

Well, actually December is full of big celebratory days, events, and observances. BiG Talk about frenzy.

But, for now as November ebbs away I take this moment to delight in arriving home to find one cat in the dog's bed, the other cat in my bed, and the dog in a cat bed. And about a text message from my daughter:

Man, Michael was super stoked when I explained to him that there was more Thanksgiving in the freezer. hahahahahaha I could use some stuffin.

Today and everyday thankful for the gift of life they all bring to my life.

The Best Thing

. . . about the first work day following a four day holiday weekend is coming home to a full on quiet space. Only the sound of rain smattering the windows, the wind rattling the wood panes (in the back) and diva dog's intermittent barking stemming from occasional ghost sightings (must be ghosts as I sure don't see what has her all riled up) pierces the quiet.

Pete has draped himself across the cable box in my bedroom, Buttah is flat on his back, legs akimbo atop my bed, and Diamond, now all done with the ghost chasing is munching on a piece of carrot. The relative peacefulness won't last too much longer, however, I am thankful for it here and now.

I shall go embrace and see to packing some of that peaceful spirit in my knapsack to aid with the Tuesday work-a-day noises.

Peace.

Another Friday Saturday Night

One extra big bonus to holiday weekends is the extra day. On this, my second Saturday was an easy, slow going kind of day. The air was the cold but the skies were clear. There was some outside time (after a laze about morning with the sometimes pesky, sometimes lovable Orange Boy) with the Diva aka Diamond. She had to change out of her holiday dress for the outdoors for she has either lost a lot of weight or the dress is just ill fitting without all her hair. I have my money on the latter. In either case she suffered wore the outfit with the grace befitting her diva-hood.

It is another Saturday night and my downstairs neighbor has been out drinking. He's home now, fighting with his front door, upsetting the Diva. She'd like to skip downstairs and give him a piece of her mind for keeping up all that racket. I'm sure. He'll settle down in a bit. As will she. And then we'll pop some corn, pop a disc in the DVD player, and ease our way into another Sunday morning.

Thankful for blue skies, bonus days, popcorn, the Diva dog, and "The Wizard of Oz".

"Begone before someone drops a house on you."

Well, Now

Everything was humming along just fine, according to plan. The greens were done and so too was the dressing. The ham had only minutes to go, the turkey much longer. D was beginning prep for her cupcakes and spinach artichoke dip. I was beginning the prep for the macaroni and cheese and thinking about how to serve, where to stage.

Something felt off. Something was off . . . the oven. Oh, damn.

Trying to get the beast working for the next hour or so, thoughts ranging from schlepping the turkey to mom's (who isn't answering her phone) to finish roasting or scratching turkey from the menu and making due with what is done or can be completed on the stove top and many more in between ran through my mind.

Thanks the luck of the Irish the oven worked (enough) to get everything done. And according to all diners it was all good.

Thanksgiving 2010 will be remembered as the one when grandma arrived on time (unaware of the oven debacle as it will forever be called) as she wasn't home when I called and hadn't gone home prior to arriving promptly at the previously planned 2 p.m. start time. We will recall going to the Amana website, looking for a manual for our aged stove/oven calling an 800 number in hopes of getting a miracle answer to what daughter describes as, "her worst nightmare." We will recount the giddiness felt when the familiar "whoosh" signaled, "all systems go" even if brief. We hoped for the best, prepared for something less.

It all worked out. The oven is, for the most part, kaput. But, dinner is done, we all had fun and now there is wine, rest, and a bit later, sweet potato pie with whipped cream, sprinkled with a bit of cinnamon.

I am thankful for my daughter's laughter, her boyfriend's presence, my son's healthy appetite, my mother's critical jabs (for really? they make me stronger--and she doesn't mean me any harm, it is just her way), being a lucky Irish woman on this day and many more. And while I am extremely thankful for the bounty that was our meal table, I would have been just as thankful peanut butter and jelly so long as I was surrounded the loves of my life.

'Twas the Night Before . . .

All day long and now into the night memories have popped into my head, stories out of my mouth. The kids got into the spirit and began sharing tales of days gone by as well as notable moments from today.

And so on this day (every day, really) with the aromas of part of tomorrow's dinner wafting through our space, I am thankful for memories and for the joyous times I've had with my son and daughter.

I am ever grateful that they are here and we are lucky to spend another day, eating, talking, and laughing together.

Here's to making more memories.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

Longest Tuesday

Since I can never remember which channel Comc*st / Xf*nity has assigned to The Weather one of my first early morning rituals is to grab my phone (device, whatever) and check the weather; cloudy, sunny, or any part thereof, and the temperature.

Monday morning? 60. THIS morning? 30.

And shortly afterward, Pete sneezed three times.

Then the day was full of the usual workday routines, frustrations, and more but many moments plodded like an interminable clog. It's the short week syndrome. It's like having two Mondays. Oh. The. Horror.

I know you're asking, "Well then, Miss Deborah, what the blazes are you thankful for today?"

Well today it is chocolate. Today was a two chocolate bar day, thankyouverymuch.

And later, beer. THANKyouverymuch.

And since this IS a short week, Wednesday is Friday!! Which,thanks to good advice and great musical inspiration, I know now, how to act.

Monday, Monday

Hard pressed to find something to be thankful about today, well, except for the whole being alive thing. And for my son, daughter, mom (and other family) and pets. And . . . ok, not so hard pressed.

But, it was a difficult day made more so by the rain. Oh. The. Rain.

However, thankfully, (so far) my area has escaped the worst of it and though my feet, ankles, shins, knees (and the fabric covering them) were soaked through and through, I was nearly home when the squishing began in earnest.

Now I am dry, re-dressed in warm lounge-wear. I am about to devour a steaming bowl of chicken and rice soup. And later I will pop some corn and hunker down to a warm, peaceful rest of the night.

Many thanks.

Cornucopia of Thanks

Thankful . . .

• for a sunshiny day.
• for mom's gracious gift of food (and most importantly, shopping)
• for daughter's breakfast treat.
• for comfy shoes.
• for that crazy cat.
• for bullet points.
• for being closer rather than farther from home when a nail flattened the bike's rear tire.

. . . to be continued. . .

Too Easy

. . . to be thankful for Friday. It's Friday, for cripes sake! But truth be told these last several Fridays have been somewhat blah. Well, not that the Fridays have been blah. It is more that I've been blah about the Fridays.

The Fridays were doing their level best to stir my interest but, very little interest was to be had. Fridays were nothing more than a beacon, signaling the end of a long week and the all too short respite before the next long week begins.

I came dangerously close to dreading Fridays.

Then a friend and email titled, "It's Friday So Act Like It Dammit!" and so I did. And so I am.

I am oh so thankful for this day, Friday. And oh so very thankful for friends in general and that friend in particlar.

Wednesday Thursday Thanks

Orange boy vomited on my bed today and while that doesn't play as a thankful item, I am thankful that 1. daughter was home and 2. was thoughtful enough to remove the soiled sheets.


And given that Wednesday was somehow skipped over, I am doubly thankful that I completed winterizing mom's apartment before the days and nights became too much colder.

Thanks On A Tuesday

'tis all quiet except for the occasional tingle of Buttah's collar and he saunters and then leaps to his bowl, the click clack of Diamond's nails as she scampers across the living room chasing her well worn soccer ball toy, and Pete's mews as the tries to rescue the map hanging by my desk from the frame that houses it.

Thankful for the quiet and relative peacefulness of the scenes.

Today, I Am Thankful

. . . my associate's safe return and getting back into the ease of all things routine.

And laughter.

Most Mornings

Most mornings I have myself together enough to walk (or ride the bike) the five or so blocks to the train going in to work.

Most mornings I prefer the walk over the riding as the walk affords the opportunity to gaze at the splendor of the trees.

This time of year most of the trees still have their leaves and most are still green. But there are a few that sport leaves in various stages of greens, yellows, and oranges.

Most mornings (of late) have been sun shiny bright and when that light shines on the multiple colored trees many more hues appear . . . splendiferous!

Most mornings while soaking in the splendor of the trees, many thoughts like a co-worker becoming a friend, a daughter's recovery, a son's excitement over current and future projects, and more cross my mind.

What I try to avoid thinking about is how few of these crisp, bright, splendiferous mornings we have left.

Most mornings I succeed.

Sunday PM Ramble at Random

You know the difference between minus 10 and minus 17? No, me either with the possible exception of my toes starting to tingle 5 minutes sooner in minus 17 than they did in minus 10. Let's hear it for 25 degree days. YaY!

My mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on many topics. So says she, I've contradicted her from the time I was twelve. I think more likely, it probably started at age twelve when I felt the confidence to be vocal about certain things.

I've had much more fruit in the past couple of weeks, oranges among the lot. My daughter notes that I don't eat oranges sexily, "don't eat them in front of your girlfriend." I beg to differ. Perhaps. Though, I'd have to agree, the display my daughter witnessed could not have been construed as sexy. I'm sure it was a messy display. It was a very juicy orange and it was cold. Why my daughter made a connection between me, eating oranges, and sexiness is a question for another time, perhaps another forum.



Speaking of oranges, allergies kept me from eating them (and other citrus fruit) for most of my life. Only in the last couple (or three) years have I been able to eat oranges, grapefruits, lemons and limes with any type of consistency without suffering irritating outbreaks. Yuck into Yum.



That said and allergies aside, I avoided all things orange for quite a while in part because of my older brother's mis-hap and partly because oranges (and other citrus fruits) require peeling and can be messy, especially for someone like me. Though I eat oranges (and other citrus) now, I still do so in relative private and not when I'm out and about. I never even considered the sexy (or lack thereof) aspect.


Moreover, though I like oranges, I'm not wild about orange flavored products. I'm not even all that wild about bottled juices. Much too sweet for my taste.



And just one more thing about oranges, the juice of 4, combined with a bit cumin and honey make a pretty good glaze for chicken being roasted. If you cut up some veggies (potatoes, onions, celery and carrots), place them under the rack while the chicken coated and basted with the orange-sweet and savory concoction, you've got yourself a yummy side.




My quest and involvement with the group getting on a scale, acknowledging, and recording my weight has become a weekly ritual. I've gone back and forth not only with the weight, but with the value of the scale. I've gone through cycles where I avoided the scale, while still trying to maintain, there was some level of success. For a time I felt that obsessing over the number on the scale was counter-productive to the over-all goal, so I didn't weigh, except at the doctor's office and there was some measure of success there as well. I don't know which is right, which is best, never-the-less, it is my life now and in a few hours I'll know how I did this week.


While channel surfing yesterday I caught a movie somewhere in the middle. I stopped because Jennifer Beals was on screen. I read the synopsis and mildly intrigued, watched for a bit. Shortly after, my attention was diverted to something else, so I didn't finish the movie and I don't know how it ended. I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll probably seek it out on purpose at some point. Still, it got me to thinking, if there is such a gene and I do indeed possess same, it might have been nice(er) if action with the realization could have occurred sooner in my life rather then the later. Still, better later than not ever at all.




You "L" fans know that the sixth and final season begins today and of course by now you've heard or read the thrust of this new and final season. I won't spoil it here in case you haven't heard, but suffice to say, if the writers do what I fear I'll be royally ticked. But only for awhile. It's only TV, I'll get over it soon enough.

Finally, hunger is present. But not a hunger for food or even a particular food. No, not food at all.


Just to feel her, to hold her in my arms again . . .