YA author Laurie Halse Anderson posted a writing challenge for the month of August. The Write Fifteen Minutes A Day Challenge. I noticed it on her FB post earlier this morning. Fate, I think. I can do this. Starting right now.
First some random thoughts. 1) I found out this morning that I love Tentation apples. I had never heard of them until I saw them in the grocery store earlier this week. They are truly beautiful apples. Golden in color with a blush of red. The glow attracted me, as did the way they were neatly arranged in stadium rows. I love aesthetic organization. I tried one this morning and am hooked. The problem is, I think they come from New Zealand. And since I've never seen them before, will I ever be able to find them again? A road trip to New Zealand might be in order. I knew from the first bite that this was my apple. Not too sweet; not too tart. Luscious fruit perfection. 2). One on my peeps knows how to pronounce the word "chinchilla" and can identify the animal in a book. But I must give the credit to Diego. Who said TV wasn't educational?
On to the prompt. One of the reasons I don't write often is because I have terrible, horrible, no good, overwhelming writer's block. When I'm not sitting at the computer or holding a pen in my hand, all sorts of topics flood my senses. But when I try to capture those thoughts on paper or screen, the words get stuck at the tippy tips of my fingers and refuse to flow. So, I'm glad that Laurie is providing prompts. Today's prompt has to do with dreams, and I had a strange one last night.
In the dream, my husband and I were walking down Second Creek Road with our dog, Molly. Molly, the perfect pet, our first child, died almost a year ago. I sensed that the peeps existed, but they were not with us on this walk. Second Creek Road is a country road that winds past our subdivision. Paved for subdivision dwellers, gravel the instant the houses end. I realized rather suddenly that we had forgotten something at the house. I don't know what. I decided to run back to our house to get it. As I walked back up the road, I passed two scruffy men. Older, gray hair. Flannel shirts and dirt-stained jeans. They were standing by the side of the road talking, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. When I passed by them, they both stopped and looked at me. For a split second, I was afraid and thought that I shouldn't leave Mark alone. But I noticed what I assumed was their car parked not too far away. An older model, what might be considered "a tank." Rusty in spots. Dusty from the local roads. I kept going.
I reached the house, got whatever it was that I needed, and turned to go. Mark and Molly were lumbering up the sidewalk. In his arms, Mark carried a dog. Long black with white accents. A little timid. A tad scruffy. Mark said the two men abandoned the dog and that he felt sorry for it so he brought it home. Molly was friendly toward the dog, but apprehensive. She never did like change, especially anything that would upset her position as top dog in the house. I think I was ok with keeping the dog.
But at some point, the dog morphed into a little girl. She looked almost exactly like my Ruthie. Round face. Sparkling gray eyes. Strawberry-blonde hair with wild curls. Cheery smile. She was wearing a sundress with flowers. The dress seemed dingy and contrasted greatly with the child's shining personality. She seemed to be the same age as my girls, 2 1/2, but she couldn't speak well. She knew a few words, but even those were unintelligible. I remember debating on whether we should keep her. "I think we should call Social Services." And I woke up.