Tales of a Shoebox Princess

Late spring. The phone rang. I picked it up, after checking the caller ID. Lafayette Club, where my brother works. I wondered why he was calling me from work. Was Mother ill? Another family member? "Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Wax hands" "What?" I asked, not sure what Jake meant, and why he was talking in a somewhat aggressive voice. "Wax hands!" he said, adding a bit more force to his voice. Wax hands....wax...hands.... Suddenly, my mind reeled back twenty-three years to the basement of S Hall at Deseret Towers, Brigham Young University. I was a freshman in college. Cori V and I huddled ourselves over the aged stove, the lone appliance larger than a microwave in the whole of our living quarters. Cori had set a pan of water on the electric burner and heated it to a rolling boil. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she whispered. "Of course. I can deal with the pain," I replied, staring at the churning...

Deliverance came today in the form of a third of a bag of stale Old Dutch Cheesy Puffcorn and fourteen pages of a schlocky Dean Koontz book. Wouldn't that make a great opening sentence for my own schlocky Dean Koontz knock-off novel, cheesy teen romance, or tough-as-nails female cop epic? It makes you wonder "Deliverance from what?" and "Did she EAT the stale puffcorn or throw it at some rabid wolverines to keep them at bay?" and "If there were rabid wolverines, why was she reading?" then "Wait, WAS she reading? Maybe she was using the pages to write SOS notes that she threw out the window to a passing troupe of circus clowns to enlist their help with the rabid wolverines." and finally, "But circus clowns wouldn't have been any help with rabid wolverines. It had to have been a passing woodsman who picked up the SOS notes written on the fourteen pages of schlocky Dean Koontz novel and rushed in to save her from the rabid wolverines ...

The plane ride was shorter than all the other times I flew from my Midwestern home to the Pacific coast; we must have hit an unusual tailwind going west. I wore a dress on the plane. Not so unusual, I had always worn dresses on plane trips. The dress was a dropped waist floral knit, very comfortable, very pretty. I wore pearls too, the pearls given to me by my mom and stepdad for my high school graduation. Come to think of it, I made the dress to wear for my graduation party too. Both were two years old. Both signaled my transition from childhood to independence, taking life into my own hands. Maybe the flight was short because I was nervous. It wasn't the first time I'd flown solo (not that I piloted--of course I hadn't. I'm strictly passenger material); I flew out to college and back all by myself. I knew planes. I loved planes (I still do). I love the sound of overhead compartments clicking shut in succession as the flight attendant strolls down the aisl...

I read blogs. I like blogs, and I like blogging. One of the blogs I read (and have on my Google homepage) is Scribbit . She lives in Alaska. Every month she encourages bloggers to write on a theme she picks and enter a contest (complete with a prize! Good prizes, not like the ones I've sent...scraps of fabric from my sewing room floor and an old pair of prescription sunglasses). I have entered one of her Write-Away contests ! The theme is "Ghosts" and I entered my short story "The Ghost in the Keyboard," which I blogged last month. The winner will be announced on Oct 24 (deadline is the 22nd, in case any of you bloggers want to get in on the contest action--I won't name names, but I know a few of you who should enter). I can't wait to read the other entries for this contest! OK, I have to feature another Halloween decoration since I mentioned it in my blog title. I painted them today at a craft group, so they are the NEWEST members of the Shoebo...

Stupid keyboard. It occasionally does not work. Once I had to reinstall the driver for it. That fixed the problem but only temporarily. On Tuesday, the keyboard didn't work and I couldn't reinstall the driver because the computer said that it could not find the software. So Jim bought a new keyboard and I ignored the computer all day. When Jim brought the keyboard home, we went downstairs only to find Jimmy sitting at the computer, typing. So yes, we have a new keyboard, but the old one STILL WORKS. I have no idea if it installed itself or what. I thought I left the keyboard unplugged and Jimmy swears he did nothing to it. He just sat down and started typing. I am going crazy, I guess. And I see that I've scared everyone away except for Karie by turning the events into a short story. I knew I would never be a best-selling author! In other news today, I am probably going to be perfecting the face-plant this evening, since I have booked my calendar today to the hilt...

An early Halloween story for you. And like all spooky ghost stories, this one REALLY happened! (OK, it's not all that spooky) Once upon a time, there lived a not-quite-middle-aged woman named Sarina who loved her computer. She liked to type on it, she liked to click with the mouse. She liked to keep track of people she knew from surrounding villages through the internet. She even took college classes because she was far away from any form of available education opportunities, and used the computer to submit her homework over the internet. Her son also used the computer to listen to music he collected from other villages, and to corresponded with his friends. Sarina maintained the computer well. She cleaned the dust out of the USB ports, and rubbed the lint off the bottom of her optical mouse. She dusted the fans now and again. If the computer said that it wanted a new software update, Sarina happily clicked the "update now" box. She did spyware sweeps regularly...