Erin Penn – Page 337 – Erin Penn's Second Base

Art Projects: Gardening 2016

August 30, 2016May 18, 2019 Erin Penn

Rose Garden Delivered – Herb Garden Taking a Bit Longer

As mentioned in March, I’ve been working on my yard.

ROSE GARDEN

The Red Roses came in nicely, but my white rose bush (the center one) succumbed to black spot. I had to completely cut it back to the base. It is trying its best to make a comeback, but the challenge may be too great for the poor thing. I am debating just pulling it because of the black spot risk to the red roses.

I mentioned my second goal for the yard for the year is getting the rose garden leveled. A drop of three to six inches happens between the edge of the driveway and the sidewalk, creating a low spot within the garden for spring rains to accumulate, likely contributing to the black spot issues.

So I attacked it, adding several bags of dirt and using the area as a dumping ground while I was digging up a metal rod from the garden. I think everything is level now, but in the past two months I have seen the ground settling. I expect I will need to continue to build up the area over the next couple of years, but the worst of it should be done.

. Rose Garden Leveled

HERB GARDEN (NORTH SIDE)

Digging the bed up took a long, long time. The previous owner had laid down a landscaping tarp, let it grow over with grass again, and laid down another landscaping tarp and let it grow over with grass a third time. A shovel wouldn’t break the surface. I ended up having to completely herbicide the whole thing, then rip the weeds out, then remove one layer of tarp, then rip the root out then remove the other tarp.

In one area I ran into a pipe. I continue to dig down for a while in the hard clay dirt, but finally succeeded in getting the monster out. Final pit was close to eight inches deep and I have no clue while the pipe was to. You can see it laid out lengthwise in the pit I had to dig for it.

I am finally down to dirt and my present task is digging up the well-compacted clay. I was working on that this weekend with my new tiller-cultivator – my first time using the machine! And my left shoulder “gave”. A week later, I am nearly recovered, but this task is going to take the rest of the year. I don’t think I will get anything into the ground before winter.

Except for the tomato-mint containers which I planted in June. I had three small tomatoes from the Juliet tomatoes and more are coming. Everything is having problems because of the recent drought. One of my two mint is struggling on the point of death, while the other is going great guns but the tomato it shares a container with is only beginning to think about maybe making one tomato.

RAISED BED (BASEMENT DOOR)

The raised bed by the basement door had a very determined holly bush in it. Every time I cut it back, within a month it was blocking the keyhole again. I couldn’t get out the stump because of angles. In the end a friend helped me yank it away from the cement block and cut out most of it. Here’s hoping it stays dead after a winter. I am thinking of replacing it with Spring Iris and Summer/Autumn Mums.

TURTLE

The Turtle for the herb garden made it out of my van and is now guarding the patch of garden which will eventually be it’s home.

The Turtle

Flash: Lost Doorknobs

August 28, 2016January 12, 2022 Erin Penn

Blue Door Stock Art

Image courtesy of Keerati at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (Language)

Hip slammed the door closed with a satisfying click, while hand tossed the keys into the basket and arm dumped the groceries on the island, and I concentrated on rushing to the bathroom. Reaching for the doorknob to take care of a very important necessity, I grasp … empty air.

The doorknob was gone.

I looked down to where it should be, stunned. The bathroom door was there, in the palest blue I could find while I was purging all white from my life following breaking up with a wizard. I wanted the inner wall to reflect light, but I had enough pure white stuffed down my throat from the moment we met at Christian’s Winter Solstice party to July Fourth firework-level breakup two months ago to last a lifetime.

The door still had the intricate carved inserts which made me pick it up in the first place but the doorknob was gone. Not even the plug for the knob to be inserted was visible. It’s like the door never had a knob.

I one-eightied and headed back to the kitchen portion of my home.

My eyes, knowing the fear I haven’t let myself think about yet, went to the condo front door. No doorknob there either. My stomach dropped and my bladder let loose.

I had been holding since work. I should have gone in the grocery store, but I don’t use public restrooms. I try to stop it, clinch whatever muscle I am suppose to, but nothing stopped the freed bladder. Thick jeans absorb most, but the balance ran inside the legs over the sandals and onto the tile.

I grab the paper towels and pull a half dozen or so from the roll and drop it to the floor. Stepping on the pile I rub it back and forth through the small puddle before picking up the lot and dropping it into the trashcan. Automatically I grab the cold water lever to turn the sink on.

And my hand swished. Empty air again.

No.

Goddess, I hate weird shit.

Well, considering my friendship circle I guess I should be more particular. I hate weird shit I am not expecting.

Not the normal weird shit, but …

THIS.

The frightening shit.

I turn around and scan my open floor setup. Bed under the frosted glass wall with dozens of my jeweled creations transforming the afternoon sun into rainbows throughout the third floor condo. Silk and bamboo wall panels cutting out the right side of the living space from public view. Living room conversation pieces centered under the skylight a short distance from my little eating table.

The skylight!

I rush over and look up fifteen feet. The latch is missing. Not that it mattered much because my closet door with my maintenance equipment, including the ladder, was also missing its doorknob. And the hinges should have been visible, but they weren’t.

At least I don’t have a separate changing room. Going over to the dresser to get out of the wet jeans, I discover the knobs are missing and the drawers may as well be nailed shut. For all I know they were.

I scour the room. All doorknobs, levers, hinges, anything to open or close anything was gone. Even the knobs on the kitchen cabinets to get at my knives and cooking tools had disappeared.

My tools.

Dashing the tears from my eyes and forcing myself to stop chewing my lower lip I go behind the bamboo screen I place around my jewelry workspace to hide the mess from visitors. The very small hammer, a cold iron awl I use when working on potential items for friends to enchant, and a two-pound anvil were still out from this morning, beside the turquoise bracelet I was crafting for a horse enthusiast. After tucking the beading awl out of the way through the jean belt loop, I grab the hammer and return to the front door.

I hate abusing my tools.

Wiping the tears from my face so I can see clearly, leaving the unmistakable smell of urine behind, I pound my four-ounce hammer into the front door with all my might. It bounced without leaving a scratch.

The door wasn’t that good. While I can replace anything I want in the condo, the door belongs to the outside hall and was provided by the original cheapskate owner. My bathroom door was solid wood; the front door was not.

Frustrated I take a swing at the plaster wall. The plaster breaks away to reveal concrete stone underneath.

That’s not right.

Everett was thrown through the inner wall into the hallway during a failed enchantment without breaking anything but the wall and my monthly budget two years ago. My silk wall panels had more substance than the building.

The hammer slips from my grasp and lands with a soft thud. The gibbering terror I had been ignoring rises as I slowly slide down the plywood door; I collapse in a pile, leaning against the plywood door. I barely had the presence of mind to not bury my head in my hands.

A smug voice resonated from a corner of the condo I realize I hadn’t look at since I got here. “I’ve never seen anyone look so lost in their own home.”

The ex.

Note to self, never, ever date a magic user again.

Bending further forward, into near fetal position, I tapped the panic necklace I had Christian bless after the “white wizard’s” last visit, activating both the alarm and the defense. Next I palmed my awl, before slowing standing up, letting obvious defeat drip from every pore. The useless hammer on the floor lying testament to my capitulation.

Bet the bastard believes my body language.

He never did “get” me.

Every two weeks the fucker has come back, each full and new moon. First by phone, then a “chance” meeting at a coffee shop near work, each time escalating until the Saturday he pounded on my door for an hour until the police arrived. He freaked because I had dyed my ash blond hair black.

I could not get a restraining order.

Now he was inside the door.

Inside MY HOUSE, using spells to destroy MY SAFE PLACE, oh, this is so on.

He thought the Fourth of July was over the top.

(Words 1,055 – First published 8/28/2016)

Other Cool Blogs: Science Daily May 5, 2015

August 25, 2016January 12, 2022 Erin Penn

Image Courtesy of Simon Howden at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Words, Those Things, I Used Them

Sometimes the most experienced writer sounds like … well … like an idiot, when talking. How come these masters of words stumble and search for words? With many writers either returning to school or sighing relief as their children return to school, let’s look at what a John Hopkins University study discovered about how the brain processes words when writing and speaking. You would think the brain is sorted like a filing cabinet or library with a section marked dictionary and another Freshman English Sentence Construction and these sections get activated any time language is used. Well “Say What? How the brain separates our ability to talk and write” from May 5, 2015 in Science Daily indicates something a little different.

Thinking about using Dragon Voice Recognition Software? Maybe it won’t work exactly the way you think it should.

Go here for more: https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/05/150505112216.htm

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a flash (50 to 500 words) illustrating the disconnect between speaking and writing. Could it be someone can only write “I love you” but not say it aloud? Maybe the person has a brain dysfunction in the language area. How about someone is talking on the phone but writing a message down and something crosses?

Writing Exercise: Dialogue Tags

August 23, 2016January 12, 2022 Erin Penn

Rainbow of People Stock Art

Image Courtesy of renjith krishnan at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Dialogue Tags

Should you do it or not?

I’m talking dialogue tags.

What on earth were you thinking?

Debate rages in the writing realm. Some point out that “he said”, “she said” has no real effect – people are trained just to glance over these cues of who is speaking. So we may as well go back to using them. Whereas for the last couple of decades “said-isms” have ruled – muttered, sputtered, growled – but these start getting annoying after awhile.

I am from a totally different camp entirely. I like to write short, which means every word counts. Why would I use words people just glance over and do not contribute to my story. And for the longer works, again, why add something annoying or invisible when I can use description to enhance the dialogue. A writing weakness is keeping scene description and dialogue separate; once a writer gets in one mode, they tend to stick with it. But using the scene description to provide the dialogue queues instead of dialogue tags, the two required writing tools do double the work in half the time.

WRITING EXERCISE: So this month’s writing challenge is write a scene – likely you will need more than 100 words. Make the scene about the dialogue, but without dialogue tags (both saids and said-isms). The reader should clearly be able to tell who is talking. An example is below.

*****

Clifford & Rozetta 2

“Oh God, Clifford, why are you here?”

The man jerked, spinning around to see his wife. “Roz!” He crumpled the racing form and stuffed it into his shirt.

She pushed her way through the lines around the betting booths. “You promised!” Tears formed in her eyes, but the panicked edge to her near-screams were what made the crowd give them room. “You were doing so well with the 12-step.”

“Roz, Rozzie, Rozetta, it is okay hon. Just this one time. I have a sure thing.”

“NO!” Her voice broke. “No more.”

Clifford reached towards his wife but she stepped back. “It’s for us sweetie. A way for us to get our house back.”

“The house was lost two years ago.” Roz’s mascara ran in streaks. “We just got back on our feet enough to stop living in the cars.”

“Yeah, got really lucky last month.” A proud smile crossed his rugged good looks.

Her voice dropped to a hush, still audible in the crowd because everyone was quietly trying to ignore the couple. “How long have you been betting again?”

“After two trips to the Y, I realized only losers are part of the program.” The man grabbed the shoulders of her tread-bare coat. “We are winners, you and me.”

“You Lied To Me?!?” Her quiet accusation carried to the front of the line while they unconsciously moved forward as the betting lines continued to be processed.

“Honey, you weren’t ready yet.”

“No, no more lies.” She shook him off. “No more luck, no more sure thing. We’re done. I’m done.”

The last person in front of them cleared. Cliff pulled the betting form out of his pocket. “Give me a second honey.” Smiling, he turned to the window.

Roz screamed. Even the bored cashier paused pulling Clifford’s form and cash through the drop slot.

“Don’t come home. No, do come home to that shithole apartment. Me and the kids will be gone.” She stalked off, the betting lines parting like the Red Sea before Moses. Crazy beats obsessive.

Clifford shook his head in exasperation. “It is a sure thing.”

The cashier nodded his head.

“She’ll be back when I am rolling in the dough.”

(Words 366 – first published 2/19/2015; republished new blot format 8/23/2016)

Flash: Team Necro (Version 1)

August 21, 2016January 12, 2022 Erin Penn

File Folder Stock Art

Image Courtesy of hywards at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“That was quick!” Caitlynn cried joyously seeing the box left by parcel post.

Gerald frowned, making the wrinkles carved into his face deepen, hiding some recent scratches and older scars. Beside him, Jenni, the third of the friendship of three and soon-to-be co-owner of the company Caitlynn was starting, asked, “What did you order?”

After unlocking the newly rented one-room business office, Caitlynn opened the door wide, ushering her two friends and business associates if her arm twisting stuck through the next half hour of signing contracts. “Everything. Wait until you see them! But first – ta-da!”

Caitlynn’s money had been well-spent on the small room. Recently painted cream-color walls and tiled floor brown-and-cream geometric pattern reflected light from the hallway. Two desks with computers with a small barrier between them created separate work areas plus two dark brown pseudo-leather couches and a low table demarking a waiting area furnished the room. One of the easily cleanable couches stretched more than six foot, long enough for Gerald to lay down, and took up most of the right wall. A lockable four-drawer filing cabinet was tucked in the last bit of the wall and had a printer on top. A flick of the switch lit the windowless room, igniting the small hum of fluorescents and blinking the room blue then yellow as the gases warmed up.

On one desk, a manila folder lay ready for the day. The bouncy redhead picked up the box and brought it over to the left desk. Along the far wall the only decorations were three diplomas framed in heavy brown and gold wood. Jenni glanced at them, “So that is why you borrowed my bachelor’s degree.”

“Have to make people know we are serious and not some fly-by-night shop of blood and gore.”

“We are a night shop of blood and gore.” Gerald growled in his low bass.

After putting the parcel down, Caitlynn grabbed the large man’s muscular arm and smiled up with enthusiasm. “And blood and gore attracts lots of flies, but we are not fly-by-night. We are here to stay.”

Jenni’s mouth twisted. “At least until Daddy’s money runs out.” Caitlynn’s touch with reality was sometimes questionable when she fell in love with an idea. Great friend, loyal in all things once she was sure you weren’t after her because of who her family was. Honest but strangely not naive, she was able to see through lies except the ones she told herself.

“Daddy didn’t put a dime into this. He stopped helping me after buying the van for college. This is trust fund all the way and didn’t even touch the principal. Grandma wanted me to be able to do this.”

“Are you sure?” The dainty brunette leaned against the left undecorated wall while Gerald crossed his arms and let the fabric-covered cubicle barrier support him, resting head and shoulders above the five-foot freestanding wall. Jenni could see it become his favorite spot to listen to them talk if they went through with this craziness.

“Asked her myself last October.”

Gerald grunted while Jenni raised an eyebrow. “She wanted you to work?”

“Yes she did.” Caitlynn opened the center drawer of the desk, pulling out a couple of pens. “She always wanted to do more, use her smarts and skills and be more than arm candy and a ticket into politics for the General, but the time wasn’t right.” Twisting the pens between her fingers, Caitlynn slipped out of her big-sell persona she had been operating in since Gerald graduated mid-winter, six months behind the female friends more traditional schooling schedule. “It hurts not to use the magic. She didn’t want me to go through the pain of holding it all in and then losing it by inches.”

“But that is me.” She passed her two friends the pens, opened the manila folder, and handed out copies of the contracts. “This is you. I know I have begged and badgered, but if you don’t want to do this I totally understand. It’s a big risk and I can’t promise you a paycheck. We are going to have to earn them.”

Jenni shook her head. “You said this room is covered and got the apartment, plus the spook-mobile. Aside from food and cell phones, we aren’t going to need much.”

The basement apartment Caitlynn found was within walking distance from five-story office building and had three very small bedrooms surrounding one large kitchen-dining-living space area. Only one bathroom, which could be a problem on days they worked for real, but the office building had been used for chemical experiments in the ’50s and had showers located next to the bathrooms on the top floor where they were located. The top floor didn’t have an elevator, so the owners hadn’t spent as much on renovations leaving an industrial-military cold war feel even thin carpet in the halls could not hide. If they didn’t mind taking the freight elevator to the fourth floor and sneaking up the final set of stairs, they could all clean up at the same time.

“My retirement check will cover food.” Gerald had served in the military for twenty years before going to college. Big, tattooed, black, and completely unfamiliar with the education process having survived inner city school system more interested in graduating teenagers alive then educated, he stumbled into the biology tutoring center desperate for help after hitting Dr. Smith’s Intro of Human Biology and discovered Jenni and Caitlynn. He managed to suffer through Caitlynn’s initial combination of hero-worship and debutant-charity thanks to Jenni’s sarcasm and pragmatism.

And they gelled in a way no one could explain except others touched by magic. Before Jenni and Caitlynn had gone for each other’s throats working the tutoring circle; overachievers, one from money-privilege and one from intellectual-privilege, they raised sparks against each other in their bid to be the class valedictorian. Their only competition was each other in the ivory tower environment and they realized it before freshman year was even over. It all changed junior year. Within a week of adding Gerald to the mix, they were sneaking into the medical rooms after dark to get better views of the cadavers.

They were a coven, forever together. Signing the business contract was a forgone conclusion and they all knew it.

(1,051 words – first published 8/21/2016)