{"id":189,"date":"2010-08-07T11:09:26","date_gmt":"2010-08-07T15:09:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.sherryquanlee.com\/?p=189"},"modified":"2010-08-07T11:09:26","modified_gmt":"2010-08-07T15:09:26","slug":"a-short-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.sherryquanlee.com\/?p=189","title":{"rendered":"A Short Story . . ."},"content":{"rendered":"

A Short Story, Writing About My One Week Summer Vacation<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Counting down, two more days of a one week vacation.\u00a0 I had a to do<\/em> list.\u00a0 One constructed from a mental can\u2019t do<\/em> list.\u00a0 Can\u2019t go to Las Vegas to see the only friend I\u2019ve known since grade school.\u00a0 Annie\u2019s mother, now in her late 80\u2019s, remembers in vivid details who we were as young girls.\u00a0 Can\u2019t go to Chicago, too many people to see and places to enjoy, too long a drive.\u00a0 Can\u2019t do anything that calls for an outlay of money.\u00a0 But just to have a week to myself is a blessing and I wanted to use every second to do something.\u00a0 Call it crazy, but as the saying goes, a girl just wants to have fun.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

So many possibilities.\u00a0 Not everything is expensive.\u00a0 Not everything is relaxing either.\u00a0 I was already wound like a top with expectations, with hope. But faith isn\u2019t always about getting what you want.\u00a0 The Secret<\/em> says ask for money and you will get it.\u00a0 Doesn\u2019t always work, especially at a casino.\u00a0\u00a0 Imagine money in the mail.\u00a0 Funny.\u00a0 Instead I imagined I had money that I didn\u2019t, enough to carry me through one week of simple pleasures.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I made a list.\u00a0 The Franconia Sculpture Park (http:\/\/franconia.org\/blog<\/a>\/).\u00a0 How many times had I seen from the road, giant sculptures that drew me to them?\u00a0 I thought it was someone\u2019s backyard art studio.\u00a0 I wanted to witness the iron pour that was going to take place on Saturday from 5 p.m. to midnight.\u00a0 I wanted to visit the Minneapolis Public Library.\u00a0 I wanted to spend time with my grandson, Ethan.\u00a0 I wanted to be by water. I wanted to go to a county fair. I wanted to go for a motorcycle ride.\u00a0 I wanted to paint my office, the only room that hadn\u2019t yet been painted, though I had been in my condo for a year.\u00a0 The most important room.\u00a0 My writing room.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Things didn\u2019t start out well.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t want to fly solo.\u00a0 Who could I count on to play with me.\u00a0 I felt like that little girl who hid inside the doorway at her grade school instead of joining the other kids at recess, afraid no one would play with me.\u00a0 I felt like that gangly teenage girl who went to dances, but clung to the wall afraid no one would ask me to dance, even more afraid someone would ask me.\u00a0 I felt like that adult woman who knew many people, but didn\u2019t have a best friend.\u00a0 Friday, 4 p.m., the beginning of a vacation I had looked forward to for months, I was alone, nothing to do and no one to do it with.\u00a0 I obsessed about what I would do for the next seven days.\u00a0 What will I have I tell my colleagues back at work when they ask, \u201cwhat did you do on your summer vacation\u201d\u2014that essay we were always asked as children to write when we returned to school in the fall.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Today is day six.\u00a0 Saturday.\u00a0 I hadn\u2019t include writing on my list, though I did want to spend some time working on a signature workshop that would be a collaborative effort with my friend Lori, to always be prepared to teach whenever, wherever an opportunity existed.\u00a0 This morning I couldn\u2019t sleep.\u00a0 6 a.m.\u00a0 \u00a0I want to write.\u00a0 I haven\u2019t written a blog entry in months.\u00a0 I wanted to write.\u00a0 If only I had seven more days I could probably write a book.\u00a0 Why does it take me so long to clear my head, to make way for words, for thoughts, for story?\u00a0 Why does it take so much living before I can write?\u00a0 It just does.\u00a0 It\u2019s part of my process.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

After I got over the first Friday night of my vacation with sadness and tears, and a Saturday that was dreadful only because at a casino I Iost the little money I didn\u2019t have for my vacation\u2014when dreams don\u2019t come true, I can always count on one sibling or another to eat \u201cbuffet\u201d and play the slots\u2014 by Saturday afternoon, I welcomed the company of my sister, the drive, the food, the noise, and the company of strangers\u2014after I got over Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday (another casino trip with two sisters) I hunkered down, let go of control, and mercy me, things began to happen.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Funny how, if I pay attention, there are always signs that motivate me to write .\u00a0\u00a0 Signs like having breakfast with a friend, who just happened to be in town to develop a play, who told me to write\u2014write a short story she said (even though I\u2019ve never written one).\u00a0 Signs like a Facebook video about loneliness (http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs<\/a>) .\u00a0 Signs like a purple writing room.\u00a0 Signs like opening a book, Turning Life into Fiction<\/em> by Robin Hemley and opening to a page that suggests this writing exercise:<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve all been to carnivals and fairs.\u00a0 Write a memory of a fair or carnival in as much detail as you can.\u00a0 Now make that the setting for a short story.\u00a0 But don\u2019t base the main character on yourself.\u00a0 If other memories of other carnivals flood in, be sure to include them.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Funny that last night I went to the Washington County Fair.\u00a0 My first county fair.\u00a0 I am going to try to write a short story.\u00a0 A short short story.\u00a0 This is madness, but it\u2019s my madness.\u00a0 What do I know about short stories?\u00a0 Most have a beginning, a middle, and an end.\u00a0 I can do that.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

COUNTY FAIR<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

She welcomed a Friday night with something to do.\u00a0 Didn\u2019t matter that pigs, and cows, and goats, and horses would be part of the evening.\u00a0 There would also be corn dogs and corn on the cob and fresh squeezed lemonade.\u00a0 And there would be music.\u00a0 Rock and roll music by the Rockin\u2019 Hollywoods.\u00a0 What else could a lonely woman ask for?\u00a0 Except a hand to hold, and a lover to jitterbug with.\u00a0 Her ex-husband would have to do, and she was thankful this was one of the occasional nights he felt like doing something.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

She only had a couple of hours to get ready, but her gray \u00a0roots were colored earlier in the week, and it didn\u2019t take long to decide on the low cut t-shirt, tight fitting capris, and a pale blue, light-weight, hooded sweatshirt, bobby socks and tennis shoes.\u00a0 She enjoyed summer because she enjoyed looking good and summer clothes were cute and sexy unlike bulky sweaters and snow boots.\u00a0 Looking good made her feel alive, attractive, and desirable.\u00a0 Even though her ex-husband could care less what she looked like, she dressed for him as much as she did for herself and one never knows who they will meet at a county fair.\u00a0 And if she choreographed herself well, it wouldn\u2019t matter about the love handles, she knew how to cover the midlife fat around her waist.\u00a0 What waist?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

They missed the senior special at the gate by two hours, but county fairs are affordable.\u00a0 Six dollars each and they were on their way.\u00a0 The smell of barnyard animals and greasy food filled the air, each smell distinct if you got close enough, overall a cacophony of disgusting and appealing.\u00a0 Appealing was corn on the cob, pork chops on a stick, French fries, and beer.\u00a0 They shared food.\u00a0 A bite of his corn dog, a bite of her corn on the cob, a sip of beer by her, a sip of beer by him.\u00a0 If any of those couples who weren\u2019t talking to each other, not looking at each other, not liking each other much, you know the ones, if they were watching the woman and her ex-husband they would be envious, thinking they knew something about this couple that the couple didn\u2019t know about themselves.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Although she and her ex-husband merely glanced at the animals from a distance, a peek over shoulders to see pale pink pigs racing, a glance into the barn with hundreds of black, brown, gold, white chickens, sadness at the camel being offered for rides, as well as the old, and forlorn horses walking slowly in a circle for children to ride\u2014they were glad there were no takers\u2014they took in every 4-H and FFA exhibit.\u00a0 Enjoyed the art, inspecting drawings and paintintgs and photographs by children and seniors.\u00a0 Examined cookware, received free back massages, talked to politicians.\u00a0 Ate more corn dogs.\u00a0 Roamed the midway, daring each other to enter the cave of horrors or ride any of the death defying rides.\u00a0 They were comfortable with each other, chatted, and laughed.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Rock and roll music was something they both loved.\u00a0 \u00a0The show started at 8 p.m.\u00a0 They headed toward the bleachers.\u00a0 Although they didn\u2019t join the throng of dancers in front of the band, after a few songs they were off their bony butts, clapping and gyrating, each in their separate reverie of what ifs and why nots.\u00a0 But she has always said jitterbug<\/em>, and he always insisted on the Lindy<\/em>. \u00a0She was ready to dance and party all night, he was ready to go home at 10:30.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Settled in bed by midnight with a book, she thought about the man who had sat across from her and her ex-husband in the bleachers.\u00a0 The man who sat an arms length from the woman he was with.\u00a0 They didn\u2019t look at each other, talk to each other, they didn\u2019t hold hands.\u00a0 He was handsome.\u00a0 Thick, casually styled gray hair.\u00a0 Tall.\u00a0 Buff.\u00a0 Dressed in khaki shorts and a black short sleeve shirt. She knew this man.\u00a0 Loved him for the six months they had dated without ever telling him, instead told him goodbye.\u00a0 Lying in bed, her book covering her breasts, she shivered.\u00a0 She felt his sadness.\u00a0 And hers.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

It is 9 a.m.\u00a0 Saturday.\u00a0 Six days into my vacation. \u00a0I watched the fourth and fifth season of 24<\/em>. \u00a0I went to Treasure Island Casino one day, Mystic Lake the next.\u00a0 I have been to the beach, and the zoo, and a county fair. I had my hair colored and cut.\u00a0 I spent three days with my grandson, Ethan and his dad, my son, and his wife.\u00a0 I made sloppy joes and tater tots. I made string bean stir fry.\u00a0 I met a friend for breakfast, we went to a bookstore, I bought a book (Stones from the River<\/em> by Ursula Hegi) and have read half of it.\u00a0 My writing room is painted purple.\u00a0 This afternoon I am going to a poetry reading, the first reading I\u2019ve been to in over a year.\u00a0 I have written my first short story\/my first blog entry in months.\u00a0 But, I have yet to go on a motorcycle ride, or at least\u00a0 have a cup of coffee with a certain someone, who happens to own a motorcycle.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I received a royalty check in the mail.\u00a0 It wasn\u2019t much, but this time it wasn\u2019t in the red.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

As always, this blog entry is \u201ccome as you are\u201d\u2014 no rewrites, no revisions, no apologies for words misused, mix up of tenses, typos, or what could have been.\u00a0 I\u2019ve written something and that, for now, is enough.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

As always,<\/p>\n

Sherry<\/p>\n

August 7, 2010<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Short Story, Writing About My One Week Summer Vacation \u00a0 Counting down, two more days of a one week vacation.\u00a0 I had a to do list.\u00a0 One constructed from a mental can\u2019t do list.\u00a0 Can\u2019t go to Las Vegas to see the only friend I\u2019ve known since grade school.\u00a0 …<\/p>\n

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