Fiction Friday: Mercy’s Shore (The Shores of Mercy) Chapter 7

This is a continuing/serial story. I share a chapter a week and at the end of the story, and after I edit and rewrite, I self-publish it. To catch up with the story click HERE. To read the rest of the books in this series click HERE.

Chapter 7

Ben flipped through the appointment book, grimacing as the paper sliced across his finger. He stuck the finger in his mouth, tasting blood.

“Yes, we have a meeting at 3:45, Mrs. Anderson. You were right. Glad you called to confirm.”

Since I just set up an appointment with Arthur Jenkins at the same time and now have to call back and reschedule.

“Oh, good and what paperwork did I need again?” the elderly woman on the other end of the phone asked.

Ben slid a pen behind his ear and reached for his now cold cup of coffee on the end of his desk. “Just the deed and any mineral rights paperwork you have.”

Mrs. Anderson thanked him, and they said goodbye just as the phone rang again and he switched lines to answer it.

“Staying busy at work, kid?”

“Dad, hey. Yeah. Very busy.”

“Not so easy without a secretary, is it?”

Ben sighed into the phone and sipped the coffee, wincing at the bitter flavor and the coldness of it. “No, but I’m managing.”

“You did the right thing, though. I know it meant so much to Cindy having these two weeks off before Bill‘s treatments start.” Ben heard the creak of the chair at his dad’s office at the courthouse. “Have you given any more thought to call Judi Lambert in on a temporary basis?”

Ben rubbed his hand across his face. “No, I haven’t honestly.” Pain throbbed through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Right now, I’m just trying not to overbook.” But failing at it. “It would help if this concussion would heal. I didn’t even think I hit my head that hard.”

“It doesn’t take much to rattle your brain in there,” Maxwell said. “I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to me, so I’ll be there around 6 to pick you up. That work for you?”

“Dad, yeah, but I’m going to have to do things on my own at some point. I can walk to my apartment.”

“I know and I agree but your mom is worried about you. She wants to keep an eye on you, and I think she might be right this time. Still having dizzy spells?”

Ben propped his elbow on his desk and leaned his cheek against his hand, wishing he hadn’t had that dizzy spell in front of his parents and sister the other night at dinner.

“Minor ones here and there, but they’re better. I know I can’t drive yet but I can —”

“Pass out in your apartment and not be able to call for help, so I’ll see you around 6. I’ll also keep asking around to see if we can find someone to help you out until Cindy gets back.”

Ben thanked his dad and hung up, leaning back in his chair, and thinking how, yet again, his dad was taking care of him, cleaning up his mistakes. He spun the chair toward his computer and grabbed the side of the desk as the room kept spinning.

The dizzy spells were getting better, but there were still times they threw him off balance. Occasional blurry vision was still plaguing him too, almost a month after the accident. His foot was healing but definitely still broken based on the pain that shot through it when he tried to walk on it without the protective boot. He had backed off the narcotic painkiller, though, worried he could become addicted to it as easily as he had alcohol.

The one good thing was that Judi’s insurance company was covering the repairs on the BMW and he should have it back in another couple of weeks.

He had three clients coming in later in the day and hadn’t yet found their files. Cindy had filed them perfectly; it was his fault they were missing. He’d placed them somewhere in the office, maybe a drawer in his desk? Or maybe his briefcase. Opening the case, the photograph he’d tucked there fell out and he glanced at the floor, at the bright blue eyes staring back at him.

Those eyes took him back to the night he learned of her existence and that she was growing fast in her mother’s womb.

“It wasn’t like I was the only one involved in this, Ben. You get that right?”

He’d poured himself a half a glass of bourbon and sat on the couch. “Yeah, I get that, Angie. I know how it works. I’m just saying I thought you were on birth control.”

Angie had been standing across from him, wavy dirty-blond curls draped across her shoulders and back, one hand resting on her slender hip, the other pressed against her forehead.

“I missed a couple of days, okay?” She’d tossed her hands out to her side in frustration. “I didn’t know I could get pregnant from just missing a couple of days. I tried to catch up, but I guess things got thrown off or something.”

He’d downed the alcohol and slammed the glass on the coffee table, cracking the glass. “We can’t afford a kid, Ange. I’ve still got classes to finish and the bar to finish studying for. I told you I didn’t want to get married right now and you think I’d want a kid?”

“No, I didn’t think you’d want a kid, but it’s happened, and we have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

He’d scoffed. “No. I don’t have to figure out what to do.” He’d pointed at her aggressively as he stood. “You have to figure out what to do. I don’t want to be a father and you’re definitely not qualified to be a mother.”

The memory of his words stabbed him in the center of his chest. He lifted the photo and noticed his hand was trembling.

Tasting bile at the back of his throat he jumped up, gagging on his way to the bathroom and vomiting the small breakfast he’d been able to manage that morning, his entire body trembling now, head pounding.

He’d been going to church more in the last year, praying for God to forgive him for his past words and actions. Maybe God had forgiven him, or would forgive him, but he knew he could never forgive himself for the things he had said and done that night and the days afterwards.

He knew Angie couldn’t offer him forgiveness either and he didn’t blame her or want her to. He didn’t deserve it. It was high time he stopped asking God for something he didn’t deserve, including a chance to get to know the daughter he’d told Angie she should kill so their lives wouldn’t, as he had put it back then, “be ruined.”

He heard the phone ringing and wiped his mouth and splashed his face with water before stumbling to answer it, grateful for the interruption to the memories.

“Oliver! Thought you were dead, man!”

Ben raked a hand through his hair and tried to gather his thoughts. “Mark, hey. Nope. Not yet anyhow.”

The lawyer on the other end of the phone laughed but Ben knew this wasn’t a wellness check. Not really.

“I thought you might be out longer based on what I heard in the grapevine. Totaled the BMW huh?”

“Yeah, but it looks like it can be fixed.”

“It’ll never be the same, though. You know that. Better off scrapping it and getting a new one.”

“We don’t all have the money you do, Mark.”

Mark scoffed. “Get yourself a couple of corporate clients and you will. I’ll hook you up sometime, but for now I’m sure you know why I’m calling.”

Ben stood and poured the rest of the coffee from his cup down the sink in the bathroom. “I do and I also know you won’t be very happy with my answer.”

“Oliver, now come on. It’s a fair offer.”

“It isn’t a fair offer for my client. Not at all. Mrs. Henderson is not entitled to more than half of what Mr. Henderson is worth, I don’t care what she thinks. She will accept what he has offered to her, or we will pull back our offer to let her have the house and property in full without her paying him for his half.”

“Ben, how hard did you hit your head in that accident? What your client is offering is completely out of line with standard practices and Mrs. Henderson is entitled to much more than what her husband is offering after the mental anguish he put her through.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “With all due respect, Mark, she’s getting full custody of the kids in this matter. The fact she’s demanding even more money is making her look pretty greedy at this point.”

Mark laughed ruefully. “Don’t even give me that. They were married 25 years. He cheated on her. She has every right to demand more from him. And he is also being granted visitation rights. She’s never been against that.”

Ben leaned forward across the desk, tapping it with his finger as he talked, which might have been intimidating if Mark could see him. “Let’s be clear, she alleges he cheated on her. He denies that and there is no proof. She’s taking his children away from him. Isn’t that vengeance enough? No, Mark. I’m not going to let my client agree to these terms.”

Something thudded on Mark’s end of the phone and Ben wondered if he’d punched the desk. Or maybe a wall. “Then it looks like we’re going to be seeing you in court. I was hoping we could hammer this out amicably but apparently that’s not possible.”

“Apparently not. Thanks to your client.”

“See you in court, Oliver. Hope you’re ready to lose.”

“I won’t lose, Mark, but, yes, see you in court.”

Hanging up, Ben took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. That had felt good.

He’d been worried the concussion had addled his brain to the point he wouldn’t be able to fight or his clients anymore, but that conversation had just shown him that it hadn’t. He might be horrible at personal relationships, but he was spot on when it came to being a lawyer.

Finding comfort in photography, or here is a bunch of photos I took to hide away from my problems.

Our family has had a rough week so I retreated to what helps me cope and that’s art in some form. This week I was so grateful that the flowers are still blooming around my house so I went out yesterday (despite warmer temps) to photograph those flowers before they are gone. I had to find a way to hold on to them because, sadly, I can’t scoop them up and put them in a bottle to take out and smell and feel and see whenever I am down throughout the year. Boy, do I wish I could!

Lifestyle blogs and vlogs offer a nice break from the world

Let’s be honest, as “lifestyle” or “family” bloggers we often share our thoughts on our blogs as a way to escape from life, as well as a way to help others escape.

I know I’ve often looked at YouTubers who share videos about aspects of their lives, like gardening or books they read, or places they go and thought, “Why are they sharing this?! Who cares?!” But then I sit there watching anyhow. Why do I watch? Well, because I know that these videos don’t represent all of the person’s life and that they aren’t happy all of the time, but that the videos are a chance for them to escape. I also see these videos as a chance for me to escape too. Life is crazy. The world is crazy. The news is a nightmare. Sometimes I feel like my brain is trying to gnaw its way out of my head just to get away from it all.

That’s when something like a YouTube video about pretty much nothing comes in handy.

I was watching the vlogger from Roots and Refuge Homestead the other day, and while she normally showcases her planting process and updates on her garden and farm, she took a break to talk about some grief she was walking through after the loss of a friend. She gave advice about “grieving well” but also said she doesn’t usually share about the down times in her life because she said she wanted her channel to be a place of refuge for her viewers, which was why she didn’t normally dwell on the struggles in her life too much.

(I am going to leave a link to that post below because it was a very sincere outreach to her viewers. It is at the end of the rest of the video, if you want to fast forward.)

What Jess said in that post made sense to me. I’ve often sat down to write a blog post and have almost let my ugly spill out all over the page (in the past I did let it and I’ve since tried to delete some of those or curb the ugly in them a bit). I try my best to keep the ugly in the pages of my journal, though, not because I want people to think my life is perfect, but sometimes, well, to be quite frank — isn’t it nice to just be able to wander into a blog or onto a video or into a book and forget about the world for a few minutes?

Sure, there have been a couple of times I’ve spouted off a bit about politics, but I’ve later regretted it. I’d love to be like Jess from Roots and Refuge and just offer a place of refuge for readers sometimes. To accomplish that I write stupid and silly posts sometimes. They are posts that some might read and say, “Well, who cares what her random thoughts are?” Just like I did with the videos about someone visiting a bookstore and looking at books.

Videos and posts like that aren’t necessarily going to change the world but they can offer a break from the craziness of that world.

To clarify, no one has ever said my posts are stupid or pointless. Sometimes I imagine they are a little bit pointless and a little silly (not necessarily stupid. I was just teasing about that part.) but don’t we all need a bit of pointless and silly in our lives to remind us that there is some good in the world, that there are places of refuge if not for our physical bodies, for our hearts, minds, and soul?

I think my fellow bloggers know the answer to that question.

Below is a link to that Roots and Refuge video I was talking about and links to a couple other “light” vloggers I watch. I’ve also included a link to some jazz music to listen to while reading or writing or taking a snooze.

Feel free to escape life for a little while. I’m sure you could use a mental vacation like I can and if you have any cool lifestyle, reading, or artsy-type YouTube channels you watch, leave me a link or name in the comments.

Roots and Refuge:

Darling Desi with a warning — she’s just a bit young for me. That’s not a bad thing but I can’t always relate to her or her tastes.

Photography:

https://youtu.be/r25IWquxe9s

Farming/homesteading:

Animals/Conservation (and one of my daughter’s all-time favorite channels)

Sciency Stuff:

Historical Cooking:


Reading/writing/snoozing music:

Stop apologizing

Stop apologizing when you shouldn’t

I apologize for everything.

It’s a horrible curse.

There is a time to apologize and there is a time you shouldn’t and I often apologize when I shouldn’t.

Several years ago I had a very bad experience in my life and a family member informed me I was bringing them down and told me to stop contacting them as I went through this experience.

A few months later, I was the one who apologized.

A few months ago two grown women mocked me in front of another group of grown women and when I stepped back from that situation I was mocked again for not having thick enough skin.

And, yes, you guessed it, in the end, I apologized for having “thin” skin.

It is insane the number of times I have been mistreated in my life and apologized for what I must have done wrong.

A few times I may have done something wrong, but most of the time, I shouldn’t have apologized.

I have waited for apologies. I certainly expected apologies from Christians that never came and never will. That hurts and messes with my mind quite a bit, but we can’t sit around waiting for an apology by apologizing first ourselves. I apologized once to a family member, waiting for her to apologize as well, only to have her accept my apology and never mention how atrocious her behavior had been in the first place. In fact, this has now happened to me three times with all female members of my family. I have stopped apologizing for their behavior and I hope to make that a regular practice from now on.

As I said in the beginning, there is a time to apologize and if we have really been out of line, then, yes, by all means. Please apologize. But if a person has hurt you, been rude to you, has been passive-aggressive over and over to you, has mocked you in front of others, has talked behind your back, has come after your children as a way to hurt you — No. You don’t apologize when you either finally snap and tell them off or when you walk away and never look back.

I believe that apologizing can be a curse and it is a curse many of us need to break.

Randomly Thinking: My flowers are blooming, weird family stories, and my invisible son

First of all, our flowers are starting to bloom or are blooming. It’s so exciting to see our yard come alive each year. Prepare yourselves for way too many photos of wild roses and peonies over the next couple of weeks. Here are a few until then! (Also, my life is very sad. Watching my wild roses bloom is one of the highlights of my year. It’s close to watching grass grow.)

***

Just before we hung up one night last week my mom told me she’d been reading a book where a man didn’t like crowds because he had PTSD from something. His wife wanted him to go with her to a store so he did and while he waited he went to a bar and started drinking so he didn’t have to think about the crowds.

“Then he had more to drink and then he got home he shot his wife.”

I was like, “Mom! Why are you telling me this! What books are you reading?!”

She continues without answering, “So anyhow, I was thinking about my uncle. You remember me talking about him, right?”

At this point I am trying to figure out what this has to do with the awful book.

“Well, anyhow, I think he had PTSD. They always said he was dishonorably discharged from the Army, but I don’t know the story there. Anyhow, he used to go on these drinking binges and then he wouldn’t drink for a while and then he’d go on another binge. I wonder if that was what happened to him. Maybe he drank to forget what he had seen overseas. Maybe he had PTSD like that man in the book. Well, anyhow, everyone always said he married his niece but he didn’t really marry his niece because she actually was Uncle William’s daughter from another marriage so she wasn’t related by blood and —”

“Mom…seriously, how did we get here? How did this conversation even get here?”

“What? I was just saying that that book reminded me of my uncle and —”

“I appreciate the happy story Mom, but I should go now.”

There is only so much information about my extended family I can take in during one conversation.

***

A woman on Instagram commented a few weeks ago that she kills plants very easily. I left this comment for her: “You’re not alone. A flower threw itself off a shelf when I walked by it in a store one time because it figured it better just kill itself before I got a hold of it and slowly murdered it.”

***

My son says that people forget he is there all the time. He said someone will tell him a story and he’ll say, “I know. I was there. Don’t you remember?”

Or one of us will tell him something we heard and he’ll say, “I know, I’m the one who told you!”

Or a friend of his will say, “I was talking to some friends the other night on the phone and —”

“I know! I was there!!!”

He said his grandfather and dad are always telling him stories that he experienced with them, like he wasn’t there.

I’ve tried to assure him that it isn’t that he is forgettable, it’s just that we are all getting old and we forget a lot, like who was with us when we went somewhere, who we told what, and sometimes even where we are at the moment.

***


 Another day The Boy said to me, “Wait. Wait. This will be funny,” and then proceeded to do something dangerous and stupid.

I told him that are a couple of sentences people say right before the ambulance is called.

One is “watch this.”

The other is, “Wait. Wait. This will be funny.”

***

Here is a corny dad joke from my dad:

I told my dad I’m allergic to Tide laundry detergent a few years ago. If I remember right, he is too.

“My dad always washed in Tide, though,” he told me.

“Oh, did he?”

“Yeah, I mean, doesn’t everyone wash intide? It would be embarrassing to wash outtide.”

***

We were watching Shakespeare and Hathaway and the one actor said he was doing an American accent. “Yeah, it’s American. It’s from Nebraska.”

I said to The Husband, “Oh my gosh. Nebraska. Until he said that I completely forgot we had a state called Nebraska. Whatever happens there anyhow?”

My husband says they grow corn. I’ll have to take his word for it.

***

I was reading with Little Miss the other day and came across the word umbrage. I told her it was a very British word because I couldn’t seem to say it without a very British accent.

Try it. It’s true. You have to say it with a British accent.

***

I finally watched a couple episodes of The Office with my family recently and wow — as a resident of Pennsylvania, that show is creepily accurate about the people of Pennsylvania.

When they go out on sales, I swear I do a double-take and think the people they are talking to might be one of my neighbors or the boss at one of our local companies. I’m not very far from Scranton and have lived here my entire life, so trust me, people in PA really are that down to earth. Sometimes we are a little weird too. *wink*

***

So how about you? What random events have been going on in your life? Let me know in the comments.

Our pets and their many adventures and personalities

Our family’s pets certainly are characters and keep our lives interesting.

We somehow ended up with three black and white animals.

Zooma The Wonder Dog’s most well-known features in our family are her spotted paws, even though she has white on other areas of her fur as well. When we first met Zooma and decided we wanted to adopt her, 3-year-old Little Miss told everyone we met that we were going to buy the puppy with the spotted paws. We had planned not to tell my parents right away because we thought they might not think we should get a new dog since we’d recently had a negative experience with another puppy adoption. That plan fell apart when Little Miss ran into their house first thing and announced, “We’re getting the puppy with the spotted paws!”

The breeder had actually asked us if we would like to switch puppies because someone else was interested in Zooma, but I told her we couldn’t do it.

“My daughter has already announced to everyone we meet that we are getting the puppy with the spotted paws.”

So now we have our Zooma with her spotted paws. She has taken over this blog a few times and you can find those posts if you search “Zooma” in the search bar in the right sidebar.

The first year we had Zooma.

Scout, our almost-two-year-old cat, has huge, white paws, as well as other areas of white over the bottom part of her. She is a polydactyl, so she has extra toes.

You can see a bit of her big paws here.

Pixel, our veteran cat, appears to be all black but if you are unfortunate to be stuck under her underside you will see a small streak of white fur between her legs.

All three of our animals are allowed outside now. In the past, I tried to keep Scout inside because I didn’t want her to be an outside cat. Sadly, after she saw Pixel and Zooma going out each day, her curiosity was almost overwhelming. She became so desperate to go out she would continuously slip out past us, finding any way she could to escape. Stopping her became an exhausting undertaking and she was also severely hyper when she couldn’t go out — raring all over the house and being a general nuisance all of the time. Once she was able to go outside and explore, she would come back in a lot happier and a lot cuddlier.

As a kitten, Scout loved to curl up on my chest to sleep. In a few months, though, she was too big to do that anymore, so she found other places to curl up. Every once in a while she does still try to curl up on my chest and I have to sit slumped down, my arms folded across my chest in a circle for her to lay in. We don’t last very long in that position so now she wakes me up early in the morning by trying to curl up against my neck or chest while I’m still in bed. When she cuddles she bumps her nose against mine while purring and then “kisses” (licks) my chin or cheek a couple of times. When she curls up on me on the bed she eventually decides I move too much and gets up and moves to her favorite place to sleep in the house — Little Miss’s pillow, just above Little Miss’s head. Sometimes she even curls around Little Miss’s head.

Pixel has never been a huge cuddler, but she does occasionally climb up on my chest and kneed and try to curl up there. She’s much too large to cuddle on my chest so her body drapes down my stomach or her large rear crashes into my laptop. She often picks a time for cuddling when I am trying to write instead of when I am trying to read. I would have a lot more room for her while I am reading than when I am typing, but, well, she’s a cat and cats want attention at the most inopportune times, as cat owners know.

Zooma loves to cuddle but wants to be petted most of the time during the cuddle (pawing at your hand to let you know you must keep rubbing her head or belly) and like Scout, she seems to decide somewhere during a snuggle session that she needs more room to spread out and leaves to sprawl onto the floor or couch. The Boy is the champion Zooma cuddler and hugs her like a baby, especially when he is procrastinating on doing school work or any other work.

“I can’t do that. I’m cuddling the puppy,” he’ll say and then he and Zoom will look at me with pathetic “puppy eyes.”

It seems to be an unwritten rule that you can’t move a cat once they’ve curled up in a spot on the couch or bed and you can’t break up a boy and dog cuddle session.

Zooma also likes to cuddle with Little Miss first thing in the morning while Little Miss either plays her online games or chats with her friends before schoolwork.

When we go outside, the animals go with us and often follow us as we walk down the street. Zooma is, of course, on a leash when we go for a walk because even though this is a small town, and very close to the woods, it’s still a town.

Zooma is on a lead or leash when she is outside so she doesn’t take off on us, because she will. She will chase whatever critter she sees in the yard or on the street. When we first moved here, and if we took her off the lead, she would take off over the hill behind the house after deer and rabbits. She would also chase the neighborhood cats and more than once she yanked the lead out of the ground and wrapped herself around our one neighbor’s large tree trying to get to one of them. If she sees a cat while we are walking on the leash she tries to yank the leash out of our hands and get to them. The main cat we see on our walks is our neighbor’s cat Simba.

He was here before our pets so this is his territory, but our animals don’t seem to understand that.

Simba wanders freely like Pixel and Scout do. None of them seem to go very far from their houses and don’t seem to go to other streets. Scout and Pixel do go over the bank toward the old railcar on the street below ours but I have yet to have seen them actually on that street, which is a lot busier than ours, so I hope they never do.

Simba and Scout had a run in the other day after Simba chased Scout out from under the neighbor’s cars where they all like to hang out. Simba wasn’t done with her and even hissed at her while she was laying on the sidewalk in front of our house.

The next day I caught him stalking her in our yard. I guess he’s really not a fan of Scout. I don’t know if he has been doing this for the last several months we’ve been letting her out or if he just realized she is around or what. He and Pixel aren’t really fans of each other either so I’m sure they have some battles too. I know they did when we first moved here.

Another odd thing is that when we walk down the street, the cats follow us like we are taking them on the walk with us. They usually only make it halfway down the street, though, and decide they don’t want to follow us any further. Also, when we visit our neighbors, the cats will follow us onto their porches, like they are visiting too.

Our biggest issue with letting Scout out is that she doesn’t like to come back in so there are some nights we have to chase her down to get her back inside. Pixel wanders in and out all day, jumping up for a snack of food and a drink, and then meowing to be let back out. Scout occasionally comes back in, but usually, once she is out we don’t see her for the rest of the day or if we do see her she comes up for attention and then darts away when we try to pick her up to go inside.

Many an evening the family has watched me pace anxiously when she hasn’t returned from one of her excursions, sure that this time I shouldn’t have let her out and she’s finally got herself killed. Every time she’s come sauntering back in like there was nothing to worry about and clearly clueless, or not really caring, that I was worried sick over her.

We don’t want the animals outside at night because we do live close to the woods and a rural area and that means there could be any number of animals in our backyard at night, including raccoon, skunks, opossum, foxes, and bear.

Speaking of animals, our animals have had quite a few run-ins with animals, I’m sure even more than we are aware of. The main run-ins the cats have had have ended up in the deaths of the other animals since we often open our door to find dead mice or moles on our back porch. The mice were showing up before we let Scout out a lot and then they were showing up even more. Apparently, she had learned how to hunt, or maybe Pixel had shown her. My husband sent me a photo of her with a mouse in her mouth in our backyard one day and we finally knew Pixel wasn’t the only one leaving us presents.

Pixel is quite brutal with her prey. One day The Husband and The Boy were down by the bank across the road cleaning up from a failed yard sale we had and they heard what sounded like screaming. It was, in fact, screaming. It was one of Pixel’s victims trying to get away. My son testified that Pixel came out of the brush with it, tossed it on the ground and let it run a few feet away to give it the illusion that she was going to let it live, then pounced on it again, flung it in the air and repeated the process a few more times before finally killing it. The poor little mouse screamed the entire time and The Boy said it was completely unnerving. They both seemed traumatized when they came back in the house with The Husband only saying, “She’s brutal.”

Neither of them looked at her quite the same for a couple of weeks, trying to figure out how to balance the cat who seems so sweet when she bumps up against their legs for attention and the cat who is a homicidal predator.

Scout also shocked us one day when she came around the other side of the house with a small snake in her mouth. “What did you bring us this time?” I asked. “Is that another — oh my gosh! Snake! She’s got a snake!”

My dad was here so we all walked over to investigate the wounded reptile she dropped on the sidewalk and then rolled next to, clearly very proud of herself.

We all decided the snake wasn’t poisonous (probably a garter) so it hadn’t hurt her but we were still unnerved by the entire incident. We scooped the snake up in a shovel and pitched it over the bank in front of the house. I’m not sure if it made it or not but I did see a similar snake in our backyard last week and it was slithering along quite fast.

Zooma’s last animal run in, beside the rabbits she chases out of the backyard, and the deer she barks at, was the skunk who sprayed her at the end of last summer. That happened a couple of months before we caught Covid and lost our sense of smell and we joked that it would have been nice to have been able to smell when she got sprayed. It took a couple of weeks to get the smell off her even with two or three baths.

I rarely get a photo of all three animals together, even though they are all together at times. For example, the morning I am working on this post, I woke up to find all three of them on the bed with me, which is a rarity. Pixel is still not super fond of Scout and hisses and smacks at her when she gets up to snuggle with me before Pixel does.

We call Pixel our resident witch (we try to be nice and not use the b before the itch) because sometimes she just randomly smacks anyone who walks by her, including Zooma who is simply trying to get outside and use the bathroom. Sometimes even one of us gets smacked by her for no reason at all, but sometimes she wants us to stop and pay attention to her. Usually, the smacks are claw-free. Another funny thing about Pixel is that she snores when she sleeps. It’s this small little wheeze/whistle. I am curious if this is a trait with black cats since the black cat my husband had and I adopted when I married him also had sinus issues and sort of snored. She (Squeak) also sneezed horrible large boogers out of her nose and mainly when she was laying on my chest for snuggles.

Pixel was actually adopted because she reminded me so much of Squeak. The only difference is that Squeak was always skinny where we often call Pixel The Beast or Fat Cat.  Sometimes when I call her Fat Cat she glares at me through tiny slits as if to say, “You don’t have room to talk, lady.” Other times she seems to appreciate the nickname and rubs up against me despite me insulting her weight.

Pixel is fairly laid back and doesn’t get herself into trouble, unlike Scout and Zooma.

As I’ve mentioned in past blog posts, Scout’s little tree climbing adventures have kept us hopping, including the one night she got herself so stuck the fire company had to bring its ladder the next day to get her down.

The first time she climbed a tree was also one of the first times she escaped. That climb almost killed her because she didn’t land on her feet like Dad told me she would. She landed on her side and then laid there panting and I thought she was going to die. I even prepared for the kids to say goodbye to her. She jumped up and darted away a few seconds later, though, and it was clear she wasn’t going to die after all. Since then she’s had our hearts in our throats more than once with her antics, but I guess we are adapting to them more and don’t worry as much as we once did.

So, there you go.  You’ve not learned a little bit more about our crazy pets and their antics. Do you have pets? If so, what kind, how many and what are their names? Let me know in the comments.

I’ll leave you with some random photos of the pets. I’m surprised, yet not surprised, of how many photographs I have of them, actually.

Another social media break and looking to the rest of June

Yep. Here I go again. I’ve started another social media break, hopefully a month or so long. Every time I do one of these, I make it sound like I am addicted to social media and never off of it other than these breaks. That isn’t true, but I do sometimes find myself mindlessly scrolling way more often than I should on sites like Facebook and Instagram (I don’t do Twitter so I don’t appear to be a bigger twit than normal.). I also find myself mindlessly looking at news sites and becoming more and more anxious and sick to my stomach.

The bottom line of social media is that it gives most of our brains too much information, even if some of that information is good. We get overloaded and overwhelmed because our brains were never intended to process so much information at one time.

As Pastor Steven Furtick once said, “We were not meant to carry the entire world on our butt bone.” He was talking about our phones being in our back pockets and being constantly connected to the world through news sites and social media and other people.

God didn’t make us to process everything all at once. We were built to slow down, to contemplate, and to have times of rest and relaxation. Were meant for times of peace, not for constant chaos and voices in our minds, and not for being bombarded with ideas and opinions.

So, for the last week, I have been spending my days focusing on things other than social media and I hope I can start my days with a devotional this next week instead of picking up my phone to try to wake up. Since I have removed all apps that will tempt me to stumble down depression-inducing paths, I end up just checking my email, but it would still be better if I started with a verse, so I am trying to remember to open the YouVersion Bible app instead. I usually like to be a little more awake when I do a full devotional but I can at least read a verse or two.

Little Miss’s little friend visiting last week helped keep me away from social media because I mainly only had time to keep an eye on them and walk with them while they played on their scooters. This week we have a few homeschool lessons to finish and I also have to put together their portfolios to present to the homeschool evaluator so that will give me something to occupy my time.

June will be a month where I don’t have any school events planned, but I do hope to do some in July. What I will be doing in June is researching homeschool curriculum, as I do every year.

During June, I also hope to work more on Mercy’s Shore, finish Anne of Avonlea, decide if I am going to do a small garden or not, take photos of the peonies I expect to bloom this week (since it is my brother’s birthday and they usually bloom around or on his birthday), and maybe I’ll actually do some housework since I completely stink at that.

At the end of the month, The Husband is off work for a week and we are looking at the possibility of visiting a beach in New Jersey or taking a train ride on one of the trains near us. We will see how much the rising gas prices affect our plans. If worse comes to worse we will simply splash around in the little pool our neighbors gave us (and we still have to put up), read on the back porch and have a couple of cookouts at my parents to fill up his vacation week.

How about you? What are your plans for June? Is a social media break in there somewhere? If not, think about it, rest your mind, which in turn will help rest your soul.

Fiction Friday: Mercy’s Shore Chapter 5

To catch up on the other chapters, click HERE.

To read the other books in the series, click HERE.

Chapter 5

“How’d the meeting go?”

Maxwell eased his black sedan onto Main Street, heading toward his house two miles outside of town. He turned the music down on the radio, a song from the local Christian radio station fading into the background.

Ben winced as he tried to move his foot. “It went okay.

He hated the idea of his dad driving him to and from an AA meeting, or even knowing about his past. Having to tell his dad he’d lost his job at a high profile law firm three years ago had been beyond difficult, but telling him it was because he’d lost a case for the firm because he’d come into many times with a hangover had been like a kick to the gut.

“Okay, I guess, but it was weird. Judi was there, for one, and then Jerry Spencer verbally attacked her because she’s working at a bar and grill, which he seems to think is too much of a temptation for someone who is trying to kick alcohol.”

Maxwell shrugged a shoulder. “Well, it probably is, but what business is it of his?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Ben stretched back in the seat and rubbed his forehead, wishing the ache would go away. “I got the impression he’s got something against Judi, but I don’t know what. Or maybe it has nothing to do with her at all. Maybe she was just an innocent bystander to his explosion. He seemed pretty ticked off that he had to be there at all.”

Max grimaced. “He probably is. Remember you weren’t too happy about those meetings either. He’s probably sick of being in court for DUIs too but it’s his own fault. How did Judi take it?”

“She snapped back at him. They exchanged words and then the woman leading the group told Jerry to leave.”

Maxwell blew out a breath. “Whoo boy. Think he’d hurt Judi in any way?”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I tried to stop her after the meeting and ask her if she was okay, but she jumped into her car and took off.” He shrugged then spoke through a yawn. “Anyhow, I’ve got other things to think about right now. Cindy called me right before I left for the meeting. She’s going to need some time off work, and she isn’t sure how long. Rick’s been diagnosed with cancer. The prognosis is good but he’s going to need some radiation treatments and she wants to be home to take care of him.”

“Can’t blame her. What are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet. Thankfully she said his first treatment isn’t for another couple of weeks. I may just have to push through until she can come back. That’s not enough time to train someone and it would be hard to find a temp around here.”

“What about Judi?”

Ben made a face. “What about Judi?”

“Maybe she could fill in,” Maxwell responded. “You said that job at Lonny’s might not be right for her.”

“Dad, first of all I didn’t say that. Jerry did. Second of all no. Just no. Judi’s — well, she’s not qualified. She’s Judi and Judi’s always been, to put it bluntly, a mess. I mean, yeah, I feel kind of bad for Judi, but there is no way I want her filling in as my secretary.”

Maxwell glanced at his son. “Even people who are considered a mess deserve a chance, Ben.”

Ben wasn’t sure if his dad was taking a jab at him or not, but he chose to believe he wasn’t aware of how his comment had come off.  

“I know that Dad, and I believe that too, you know that. That’s why I was there with Floyd tonight, but Judi doesn’t know how to be a secretary at a law office.”

“How do you know?”

“Dad —”

“All she has to do is answer phones, file some paperwork, and take some notes. Anyone could handle at least that much. She couldn’t replace Cindy and all her law background, no, but she could do the basics.

Ben shook his head. “No. Just — No. I’ll ask around. I’m sure some other lawyers will have suggestions.”

Maxwell shrugged and nodded. “I understand, but it’s an option at least. Maybe the last option, but also maybe one worth considering.”

Ben focused his attention on the scene outside his window — the town of Spencer fading into trees and fields which he could have seen better if it hadn’t been so dark. His dad had purchased property about a mile outside of town when Ben was five or six. The two story home, set back off the road in the midst of grove of birch trees was considered a mansion by some in the area but for Maxwell and Emily it has simply been a home that was able to fit their family of six. Maxwell’s job as a small town attorney representing anyone and everyone who needed his help had proven to be more lucrative than the couple had imagined, but it was the inheritance from Maxwell’s father that had helped them build the home.

After Maxwell was elected district attorney the first time, when Ben was 16, a wall with a gate was erected around the property to provide privacy and protection. It was the same style gate Maxwell’s father, Maxwell Sr. had had installed at his home after serving as county judge for 40-years.

“No telling when some loony I sentenced might come to make me pay for the lengthy sentence they received due to their own incompetence,” Maxwell Sr. had said about the installation of a fence and gate around his house in town.

He’d died while Ben was away at law school and there wasn’t a day that went by that Ben didn’t miss him. At the same time, he was glad his grandfather hadn’t witnessed his spectacular personal and professional face plant right before and even after passing the bar.

Sure, Ben had his own law firm, something he’d always wanted, and his grandfather had wanted for him, but it wasn’t in a large city like Ben had hoped it would be. Still, it was something instead of the nothing he’d thought he’d be left with when he lost that job as a paralegal three years ago. He’d planned for that job to be temporary anyhow.

As soon as he passed the bar, he was going to be out of there and working on his own in the center of Philadelphia or New York City. Somewhere with big, rich clients. It was a shame an addiction he’d acquired to try to silence all the doubting voices in his head had ended his career at the firm before he’d had a chance to quit.

He wanted to say losing that paralegal job wasn’t a big loss, but really, on a career level, it had been. He’d been the assistant to one of the most sought-after defense lawyers in Philadelphia. The fact he’d blown it within the first nine months after so much promise only solidified for him the fact he would never be as successful as his dad, in career or in life overall.

“Your mom says you got a card from the Phillipis. Anything important?”

His dad’s question broke into his thoughts and once again he found himself wishing his father didn’t sometimes use his courtroom tone in every conversation. Being direct and to the point was something Maxwell Oliver was a master at in the courtroom and, sadly, that direct manner often spilled over into interactions with his family.

No sugar coating or easing into a conversation for him.

“Nope.”

“Anything unimportant then?”

Ben sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, pain shooting from the front to the back of his head. He’d wanted to argue when the doctor had said over the phone it could be another three weeks before the concussion was better, but now he was beginning to believe the man.

“It was a card.” Ben remained silent for a few moments but knew his dad wouldn’t stop asking questions. “An invitation to a party that Angie already told me she doesn’t want me to attend.”

His dad turned the car into the driveway and reached up to the visor, pushing a button there to open the front gate. “Angie called you?”

“She left me a voicemail. I got it the day of the accident.”

The gate clanked closed behind them after Maxwell drove through the opening. Pulling toward the four car garage, Maxwell pushed another button on the visor and the garage door rose slowly.

“She’s what, four this year?”

Ben’s chest tightened. This conversation needed to end. “Yeah.”

Maxwell turned the car off, but kept his hands on the steering wheel as the garage door closed behind them. “You know I haven’t wanted to get into your and Angie’s business, but it would be nice to meet my granddaughter someday.”

Ben reached for the car door, desperate to get inside and lay down. The pain in the ankle and head had given up battling for first place and had settled on a tie. “Not my decision, Dad. Angie doesn’t want me to be a part of her life.”

“Can you blame her?”

Ben climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Metal against metal reverberated throughout the garage.

I’m not a hostile witness, Dad, back off.  It was what he wanted to say, but he was too tired, too dizzy, and in way too much pain to push this conversation into a full-blown argument.

“My head is killing me,” he said instead as Maxwell stepped out of the passenger side. “Can we talk about this more tomorrow? I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t take the painkiller before I left for the meeting and I’m regretting it now.”

Maxwell closed the door and walked around to Ben’s side. “Of course, we can. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up while you’re still recovering.” He placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Good grief, his dad even apologized better than he ever could.

“If you help me up to Luke’s room and put a glass of water on the bedside table for me, I definitely can.”

Maxwell’s laugh was deep and sincere. “I can absolutely do that. Come on, kid, let’s get you some rest. You’ve had a rough week.”

Once he was in bed with the lights off twenty minutes later, Ben squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, waiting for the pills to kick in. Once they did, images of a blond-haired little girl swam in and out of images of a beautiful blond woman who’d once looked at him with love but now looked at him with disgust and disappointment. By the time darkness overtook him he’d broken out in a sweat and thrashed enough to wrap the sheets around him like a straight jacket. In the morning he woke up trying to untangle himself from the covers while his mind tried to untangle the nightmares that had plagued him all night.

Always in crisis mode

Are you ready for the next crisis? You better be because as soon as you deal with one the media wants to be sure you hear about another one. And if it isn’t the media telling you about one it’s someone on social media, or your neighbor, or your mom who calls to remind you that you can die from Lyme Disease and what the stats are on the cases this year in your area.

Can we just stop for five minutes?

Can we just put a hold on declaring a crisis every waking moment?

Can I have a cup of tea before I’m alerted to my impending doom and death?

I’d like all the statistics to be recognized for what they are and that is usually a bunch of crap that was poorly researched and then presented to the public as a reason for them to freak out, have a break down, and curl up in a little ball while crying and buying whatever everyone is selling to help them out of said crisis.

I decided to take a break from social media and news for the month of June. I thought this might slow down my thoughts, for one, but also slow down the barrage of panic porn from news and social media sights, which is ultimately what causes my thoughts to speed up in the first place.

I didn’t do great the first two days, no. I looked at a couple of news items. I read some Tweets (and I’m not even on Twitter). My panic started to rise. I turned off the news and tried to take a deep breath. That’s when the phone rang with the only person who ever calls me — my mom, who felt it was very important at that moment to read to me the latest article in her electric company magazine that informs all of us in this part of our state that we may die very soon from a tick-borne illness. (No, that’s not how the article is actually worded.)

Thank you, Mom. I love you, but was it really an emergency for you to call me and read the entire article to me, shattering what I had hoped would be a nice, calm, news free day? Welp — I guess so.

Sigh. Of course, she didn’t see it as shattering anything about my day and it wasn’t her intent. It was how I felt in my anxiety jumbled mind. She felt like she was making me aware, not so I’d panic but so we could do our best to protect ourselves and leave the rest in God’s hands.

Sometimes it feels like everyone in the world these days is thriving on panic porn, on doom scrolling even when they don’t know how to scroll or simply don’t scroll.

We are moving beyond Covid, even though cases are still around, but the media tried to tell us there is another virus coming and we have to be ready. Roll up your sleeve, it’s another vaccine that you have to have, or you will get sick (even though everyone who rolled up their sleeve to keep from getting sick from Covid is still getting sick). We are moving beyond Covid but Russia and North Korea have bombs and they aren’t afraid to use them. And China? Oh, man, don’t even get us started. They want you dead too.

The message all day long, even when you try to shut it off, is “Panic! Panic! Panic!” but when you do actually panic people mock you and suggest things like “your oxygen dropped when you had Covid because, you’re such an anxious person.” Hmmm…I’ve been anxious my entire life but my oxygen levels never dropped. Weird, huh? I guess Covid really is a hoax and didn’t cause some people to have health issues they never expected. *sarcasm alert*

At the same time I know Covid isn’t a hoax, I don’t think it is the widespread murderer so many of a certain political persuasion thinks it is and I say this even though I am someone who ended up on oxygen while having it (for two days…but you know…that’s because I just thought about it too much, not because an actual illness caused it to drop.). Here’s something – if you look for Covid with a stick in your nose every single day, you are bound to find it, symptoms or not.

I don’t know who needs to hear/read this but we are allowed to be in the middle of an opinion and choose a little from column A and a little from column B. We don’t always have to believe things are all one way or all another way when it comes to certain issues – like Covid. We can – gasp! – think for ourselves and not be a betrayer to our “party.” *eye roll*

To be quite frank, I am tired of looking for the bad and for the next thing to kill me. I am tired of the doom and gloom and the panic mode.

I am beat down. Not just emotionally and physically, but also spiritually.

I have tried faking it by watching comedies. I have tried faking it by pretending I am an author. I have tried faking it by reading fluffy, sometimes ridiculous books.

I have tried faking it by faking it but it’s hard to keep faking it when ever time you climb back out of the hole someone kicks you back into it. Those kicks are hardest when they come from the sources screaming at you to “calm down!”

Like Santa with the bottom of his black, polished boot in the middle of Ralphie’s forehead, pushing him back down the slide, I am being pushed over and over again back down the slide of doom and gloom, only instead of crying out what BB gun I want, I am crying out what level of peace I desire while I clinging with white-knuckled fingers to the top of the slide.

Sadly, unlike Ralphie, who got his BB gun for Christmas, I will only get the level of peace I desire when the Lord chooses to take me from this world.