Jul 18

Coffee Shop Chronicles: The 5 Senses

FullSizeRender (4)

Starbucks

Route 1, Princeton, NJ

September 2000

 

Why do we stop ourselves?

–5:42 PM–

There’s a woman here without socks on, sandals with toes sunning themselves as legs boldly thrust forward into the world.  Chunky heels, a firm step, a heavy stomp.  Somehow it makes them stronger.  Women who wear pointy high heels, they teeter-totter and tip over.  These are practical feet who want to walk.

My feet, also in sandals, while bare, they have an ankle strap.  These are easier to walk in, but don’t look as free.

It’s a Frappuccino night despite the A/C making it downright frosty in here.  I treasure my nights here, despite it being cold.  Without socks on, my feet are cold.  I definitely need a sweatshirt.

–6:25 PM—

A blonde haired mom and two kids walk in.  The round boy and the girl in a blue dress squeal and play hide-n-seek between her legs.  She says, “Hush!” when they yell.

I smile at her.  “They’re cute.”

“It saves them from a lot,” the mom replies.  “If they weren’t cute, they’d be in a lot more trouble.”

I flip through the book One Day My Soul Just Opened Up and it speaks of closure.  Famous Kitty Carlisle says to her reflection every morning, “I forgive you for yesterday.”

Be compassionate; it’s as simple as that.

–7:35 PM—

A little brunette girl walks in behind her dad.  She is all sunshine, excited about everything.  She pushes her dad’s unshaven but fit legs away as he almost steps on an ant.  The floor is dry.  She moves the “Beware. Wet.” yellow cone by the counter.  She is as free and expressive. as we all should be.

What prevents us from being our wonder-full selves?

Okay, I forgive myself for the pity party I threw myself on my previous journal pages.  I allow myself to move beyond my distress and enjoy the happiness I’ve been given.

I will not always be happy and I am allowed to dwell on the negatives for moments in time.  I forgive myself for being moody.

–8:50 PM—

I go up to the counter for my second venti Frappuccino and I smell flowers, like a shampoo or shower gel.  The scent is not overly floral sweet but like bubble gum candy.  It’s the woman behind me.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.  “It’s delightful.”

“It’s cucumber melon antibacterial gel from Bath & Body Works,” she says.  She wasn’t aware anyone else could smell it.  I don’t know why.

Her male companion pipes in.  “It’s a great smell, huh?”

“Do you use it?” I ask him.

He rubs his hands together.  “Sometimes she gives me some.”

“A man who appreciates a good scent,” I say with a proud nod.  The friendly couple smiles.

My second frapp is vanilla, but it doesn’t taste very vanilla-y.  I don’t feel like going up to get another one.

–9:00 PM—

Two guys now sit across from me, reading.  One of them takes notes on a yellow pad of paper.  He asks his friend about “syllogisms.”  I’ve heard of the word, and I wish I could interject with the answer, but they are both devastatingly cute.

They look older than your typical college student if that’s what they are.  Who else would read in a coffee shop?  Syllogism Guy has dark hair and a dark goatee.  He’s wearing a black shirt, black shoes holding a yellow highlighter in his right hand.  He reads from what looks like a library book.

It’s a quick glance I make because staring is too obvious.  I pretend my gaze radiates throughout the store.  Yep, I’m suave.

They discuss logic, both respectfully silent when the other one talks.  The only sound between them is of the pages turning.

The other guy, I’m attracted to his voice.  He argues respectfully with Syllogism Guy.  He wears faded blue jeans, a grey T-shirt and has dark hair.  His fit body is pleasing, too.  Could I be worthy of such a guy?

Should I give him my phone number?  The idea both thrills and scares me.  Be safe?  Or risk?  Another glance.  “Venti CM” is written on his cup.  Does that stand for Caramel Macchiato?  I could ask him.

His phone rings.  He ignores it.  He has sideburns.

Suddenly, Syllogism Guy closes his book.  They stand and walk out.  I was not courageous.  I watch them through the window as they drive around in a circle.  Rugged Voice left his coffee cup on the ground in the parking lot.

He’s too good not to be taken.  If he’s here next week, I’ll talk to him and offer my phone number for sure.  After all, what’s the harm in that?

He may have thought the same of me.

Jul 15

MRI Exam

My MRI technician seemed competent enough and left the room as I slowly unbuttoned shirt and trousers. I wanted to be the first person in the morning while everyone in the MRI facility was still fresh. I arrived before an 8:00 am appointment, spending ten minutes glancing through a waiting room pamphlet entitled “Magnetic Resonance Imaging – An Inside Look.” It was supposed to inform and calm the fears of MRI first-timers during check-in, but had someone actually included an idiotic pun as part of its title? An “inside look” indeed. The booklet was helpfully illustrated in a cartoon-style for morons. 

The first page asked “What is magnetic resonance imaging (MRI)?” before answering itself, “It’s a way to look inside the body without using X-rays.” I hoped the rest would prove more enlightening. Further explanation wasn’t all that reassuring, to wit, “Your body is composed of tiny particles called atoms. Under normal conditions, the protons inside these atoms spin randomly.” 

I paused a moment. Was this why I occasionally feel disoriented listening to local newscasts? And what happened to all the molecules I learned about in high school? I continued reading. “A magnet creates a magnetic field which causes the protons to line up together and spin in the same direction, like an army of tiny tops,” the prose intoned. 

Who in heck wrote this? Five-year-olds are mesmerized by armies of tiny tops all spinning in the same direction, but I wasn’t captivated quite yet. Magnets don’t normally generate anything other than magnetic fields. Was I, in my seventh decade of life, anticipating my protons lining up together like tiny tops? I assumed my protons have figured out how best to align themselves without outside assistance after all these years. 

The pamphlet continued, “A radio frequency (RF) signal is beamed into the magnetic field, making the protons move out of alignment – similar to what happens to a spinning top when someone hits it.” I suddenly remembered a childhood wooden top bouncing off my grandmother’s kitchen walls accompanied by shrieks of alarm. Would my body’s protons begin bouncing off walls when they were moved out of alignment by a radio frequency signal? I read on, more disconcerted. 

“When the signal stops, the protons move back to the aligned position and release energy. A receiver coil measures the energy released by the disturbed protons and the time it takes, and a computer constructs an image on a TV screen.” I pondered the words, “the protons move back to the aligned position.” Why did the writer use the singular word “position” instead of plural “positions?”  Would all my spinning protons gather into a single golf-ball-size cluster-position instead of their previously normal happy positions? Where would this new golf-ball-size cluster reside? How would I greet my wife later in the day? “Hi, Honey, I won’t be eating dinner tonight because I feel really heavy on one side. All my protons have moved back to one aligned position.” 

Besides, how much energy is released during a typical “proton alignment” process? Would I become a walking grenade? How “disturbed” were all of my protons going to be after realignment? Would I feel a little buzzed while they were quieting themselves, like a Friday night martini? How do they know to resume their original positions? Would I have the same outward appearance or look like an alien in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers?” I guessed I shouldn’t bother asking the MRI technician. 

But what was I to make of the next section called, “Understanding the Risks and Benefits?” Why was it necessary to bring up the subject of risk at all? “At the scanning site, due to the strength of the magnetic field, you must remove all metallic objects before scanning. For example, jewelry, glasses, zippered clothing, nonpermanent dentures and credit cards must be removed.” What happened to people who don’t have “nonpermanent dentures” but permanent dentures? Would their permanent dentures turn into six-inch balls of exploding debris? 

I took the pamphlet into the changing room and snuck a last glance at it, discovering a perturbing statement, “In general, an MRI scan cannot be done if a person’s body contains a metal object that contains iron – the object may be moved out of place by the magnetic force.” Yes, I could foresee a problem with long-forgotten surgical staples suddenly exploding like shrapnel from internal recesses, flying through the air and sticking to huge surrounding magnets. I left the changing room to discover a second business-like technician, clipboard in hand. 

“I know you’ve been asked this already,” she said, “but do you wear a pacemaker, or have defibrillator wires, surgical implants, plates, screws, or prostheses in your body? Have you ever had surgery, a gun-shot wound, or imbedded metal in you that you’re aware of?” She inspected me closely as if I were hiding something under my flimsy hospital gown. “Come with me,” she commanded, leading me into the next room with a ceiling-high, ten-ton, evil-looking machine with a hole in its side into which I would soon be inserted, but could hardly accommodate my shoulders. 

Handing me a pair of ear plugs, she said, “Take your shoes off and lie down. There’s a lot of noise when the machine operates so put these in.” I had been wondering if I should insert the plugs into other orifices than ears. “After you’re settled in, you cannot move until the scan is complete. Here’s a panic button to push in case you need it or something goes wrong. This should only take 25 minutes. Don’t worry.” She seemed unconcerned that “something might go wrong.” How was I supposed to know how something was “going wrong?” If “something went wrong”, I might be slightly too dead to push a panic button. 

BZZZZZ … the noise was incredibly loud and went on for more than a half-hour. Suddenly there was silence, followed by bangs and clanks, and I felt myself sliding into light. Maybe this is what being born was like. 

I donned my clothes and returned to the waiting room to read the last page of the pamphlet while the receptionist finished paperwork. There was a final comment I had missed, “Though the use of magnetic fields is not thought to be harmful, short and long-term side effects are unknown.”  

Whoa! I didn’t especially mind long-term side effects, years in the future, like after I’m buried would be good, but what sort of assurance was a statement “short-term side effects are unknown?” Did this mean I might, through no fault of my own, begin dropping favorite activities like reading, writing, alcohol, and long walks in the fall, not necessarily in that order? 

Walking back to the car, thankful it was over, I was dismayed to find I still couldn’t predict where the Dow Jones Stock Index was headed the next day.

Jul 10

Hot Blacktop Ch. 13 – Mechanical Difficulty

Mercenary Garage Dublin

[1]

“This has to work,” Sienna said. “I’m no good,” the words a shadowy litany she couldn’t escape. “He’s safer without me.”

She sighed. She loved Saint, but still she couldn’t deny what had happened in her past relationships. They’d all ended in disaster. This one would too.

She closed Twisted Metal for the night and went straight to the Speedway. Her car tinged and snapped after she shut it off. Sienna watched Saint teach class outside surrounded by bikes, the paddock busy with the boys and Tina and the mechanics busy like always. Even a few people sped around the lit track. She worried her fingers together in her lap until they turned a splotchy red and white. He hadn’t seen her yet.

Danny jumped on the motorcycle like it was Christmas. She smiled. What was his life like beyond the bruises? Did he have friends? Did he feel trapped, in a repetitive loop like she did? Could they help him? She shook her head. But her smile soon vanished when her thoughts turned back to what she was there to do. Break things off clean and quick with Saint. She didn’t want to get out of the car.

Sienna took an unsteady breath and opened the door. Like getting hit by a death blow in an old western, her wobbly legs moved toward the end of what never should have begun.

Hiding from Saint almost a week, she knew he was frustrated. Meg’s was as well since her friend helped her avoid him. Megan disagreed with her decision to end it. It was the only thing that would save them from an emotional mess later. Nothing would change her mind.

When he finally saw her, his smile eclipsed the sun that was slowly sinking over the horizon burning a line through the landscape. Saint said something to the class, and he walked toward her. Danny tagged along. Danny looked up at Saint as he spoke to him. The boy’s face turned back to her with a sneer and then he raced off around the building. He shook his head. When he neared and then reached for her, she began to pull back, but he took her in his arms, and his lips locked onto hers in a kiss that made all her decisions up to this point rattle in her brain, her confused emotions dancing alongside what she knew was right. But was it? She pushed him away, and her heart cracked a little more.

Saint frowned. “You’re not still thinking we won’t work are you?”

Sienna gazed over Saint’s shoulder. She saw Danny peek around the corner, his face twisted in anger. His glare felt like shards of glass thrust into her chest. She regarded his tortured face seeing her painful past that mirrored his. She didn’t blame him for what he’d become. Look at what a mess she was. Sienna shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had to convince the boy she means him no harm. She wanted to reach out and take him away from the pain. Her shoulders fell. It didn’t matter what she wanted to do. She wouldn’t be around anymore. Saint would make sure Danny was safe. She gathered her courage and looked into his eyes.

“Can we talk in private?” Sienna fidgeted under Saint’s pointed gaze. Sometimes it felt like he could peer into her soul, opening a window that she never thought she wanted to open again because it hurt too much to let anyone see what she wanted to be left alone.

“Come on, let’s talk in my private bay.”

When he tried to take her hand, she walked faster out of his reach. She peered up at his face and saw he’d drawn down his brows, suspicion and confusion there. “I have to leave the garage open so I can see the kids. Okay?”

She nodded.

Saint crossed his arms and stood next to a lift that held a motorcycle. His muscles stretched the cotton shirt he wore emphasizing his gorgeous chest under his leather jacket. She licked her lips, couldn’t help it. “What did you want to talk about?” he said. “Sienna?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to talk.”

The breath that tattooed in and out of her chest slammed into her heart like and ice ax, the ache growing more vicious as she began to speak, her resolve chipping away at what was left of her heart. “We can’t do this anymore.” Saint’s arms fell, and he took a step forward. She lifted her palms up to ward him off. He stopped and began to speak.

“Sienna…”

“No.” She didn’t look away from his eyes that lit with fire. She steeled herself even more. Get this done she thought. Move on with the life you deserve. She knew what she was about to say would hurt him. She’d barricade herself in her studio and create her jewelry 24/7, and hid from the world if it meant Saint would be safe from the disaster that was her. “This won’t go on any further. All you were was a good fuck!” She said with a level tone that she didn’t feel. “Now that I’ve gotten you out of my system, I don’t need you anymore.”

His eyes went molten, and his whole body seemed to grow larger, his mouth going rock hard as the tick next to his eye started to pulse in time with his clenching and unclenching fists. He moved.

Sienna backed up and rammed into a workbench the force of it rattling the tools to match her nerves. Saints fists hit the table behind her to surround her and his strong biceps flexed, his eyes closed, and his breathing blew in and out of his lungs like a bull ready to fight to the death. Her eyes flicked everywhere but his until a force drew her gaze back. When he opened his eyes, and they locked onto her she froze. “Lies!” He whispered, his rage prickling across her skin as he spoke the one word.

“Step back,” Sienna said.

“You feel that?” He pressed his body deeper into hers. “Just because you turn me on every damn time I get near you…” He held her tighter. “This isn’t about sex,” he growled. “We’re more than just sex. You know it.” His voice became soft and seductive. She saw what he felt as he looked back at her. It was more than two bodies sating each other. She couldn’t say that, though.

She looked around frantically for an escape route, but she was trapped. In this state, she was afraid he would take her upstairs and make love to her, hard and fast. Make her forget that she was going to end it. In this state as her nipples hardened and her breathing erratic, she had to do something to get away from everything stimulating her response to him, to mate, to stay, to do anything he said. But before she could speak again, he took. His lips met hers and he hauled her up against his body in an unforgiving grip that only made her hotter. “Oh!” she moaned against him, couldn’t hold it back.

He bit her lip and licked. His fingers went into her hair his grip hard, and he pulled, angling her head where he wanted her. He devoured. She cried out the sound contained by his kisses. Her hands came up, and she pushed with everything she had, but he was an immovable force when he wanted her like this. Sienna had to stop him. He wasn’t safe. They weren’t safe together. She wasn’t worth the effort.

Sienna bit him, hard, tasted blood. Taken by surprise, he stepped back and wiped his lip, his fingers bloody. She groaned in dismay and covered her face. Did she really just do that? Her head snapped up when he shifted. The instant he opened his stance, she pushed him back. She did it again and again. “We’re done!” she screamed, her mind full of emotions she couldn’t deal with, Tortured. She snapped. Words she never meant to say tumbled out of her mouth. “You don’t want me.” Her voice cracked. “You’re like every other man who used me and threw me away. You just want a body to sink into, to fuck!” She pushed him again, and again. His steps taking him back further and further. She knew he would never hurt her, so she did it again and again.

“I love you!” he roared. Saint tried to grab her.

“No, you don’t!” He reached for her again, but she gave another hard shove and ran. The echo of those three small words… They ripped her soul to shreds. Because her soul was his in every way and always would be, even if he hated her for what she’d said. She knew she didn’t deserve his love.

Tears swam, spilled over, blurring her vision. Shaking fingers fumbled with keys. She unlocked it, collapsed in her seat. Started the engine, and looked up. Sienna wanted to see him one last time, but he’d already disappeared. He would come after her. Saint wouldn’t give up, so she went to Twisted Metal. Not home. She would never really be home now. Not without him.

*****

Danny hid around the corner. Gunner would pick him up soon. The argument escalated between Sienna and Saint. Maybe Saint would finally get rid of her. He smiled.

The other kids had left. Class over. A female racer that Tina had cornered, her name was Jo or Josephine, walked Tina to her mother’s car. His head snapped around. Sienna was shouting. Danny couldn’t hear what they were saying until Saint yelled three words that he’d never heard before, at Sienna. She yelled back and started to push Saint over and over. And Saint just took it. “Fight back,” Danny said. “Fight back.” But Saint didn’t touch her. Danny closed his eyes. Was he just like the man his mother married? Danny shook his head. No, he thought. Saint couldn’t be. He wasn’t. Danny went after Sienna, determined to tell her that she didn’t deserve a man like Saint. But her tires squealed, and her tail lights dotted the long drive out of the parking lot. When he turned to help Saint he didn’t see him. He ran to the bay. Saint was on the ground. He wasn’t moving.

“Saint!” Danny fell to his knees. There was blood. “Saint! Wake up.” He didn’t dare touch him.

“Oh, shit!” came from behind. Jo, female racer knelt down next to him. “He’s breathing. She grabbed her phone from a side pocket, but Danny didn’t register what she was saying, all he saw was the blood on Saint’s forehead. His anger dripped off of him in red waves when he turned toward where Sienna’s car had disappeared. He got up to go after her even when he knew he would never catch her. A large hand gripped his shoulder. He looked up, tried to yank himself free. Gunner.

“Take a breath, boy.” Danny stood up, and he dug his nails into his palms.

“I’m not a boy.” His nostrils flared. “I’m the guy who’s going after that bitch.”

“Sienna?” a whisper came from the floor. “Where’s Sienna?”

“Why do you even care?” Danny said with closed eyes. “She…she hits you all the time.” His memories flashed to his mother. His lids slowly opened. Saint was sitting up.

“Not her fault,” He groaned, blood now on Saint’s fingers from touching the wound. “She’s just confused.”

“It is her fault!” Danny’s stomach knotted with pain. “It is her fault. It’s all her fault. She’s no good for you. Why can’t you see it?” The last word an agonized whisper. Gunner’s grip was painful now when Danny stopped. He was standing over Saint now. Danny’s body vibrated, to do something, anything to remove Sienna from Saint’s life once and for all.

“No,” Saint said. “It’s not her fault.” He moaned this time as he went to stand up, but Josephine held him still. He could hear sirens. Someone must have called an ambulance.

“Go,” Josephine said. “There’s nothing ya’ll can do.” Gunner’s hand loosened a bit as she spoke and he looked at her. Danny didn’t move. “He’s gotten his noggin hammered that’s all. A few stitches and he’ll be right as rain.” She turned back toward Saint.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Saint said as he took a careful breath. “Look the bleeding’s stopped.”

“If anything, he’s got a slight concussion. But I don’t think so,” she’d continued.

“I’m not leaving until I know for sure,” Danny said. But he could see Gunner’s concern as more than an ambulance sped down the lane.

“You guys go. I’ll be fine,” Saint said. A police car followed the ambulance.

“I’ll call Saint later. See how he’s doing,” Gunner stated.

Danny’s lips thinned. “Alright.”

*****

Once Danny was back in his house he couldn’t settle so he walked. His mother’s property was large, the gardens winding with hidden pathways. He would have gone after Sienna, but security cameras lined the property, eyes on him all the time. When he went to turn back he heard voices. He crept closer.

“You want the money owed you. Let me take care of things my way,” a strange man’s voice snickered. “I’ll make the exchange for the money like we talked about. But I need to get rid of the old bitch. She can’t take much more. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it now. Beating the shit out of her every day and sending pictures to that whiny bitch of a daughter, Sienna…” Danny’s ears perked up even more. “She’ll cave soon and give us what we want. I’ve watched her. She cares just enough to do it. I’ve got to get her alone. But she’s always with that Paulson guy. I can’t ever get close to her.”

“I don’t care about the money. Not now,” It was his mother who spoke. His heart started to race faster. Danny peeked around the corner. She was with one of her higher-ups. There was something wrong with her voice. Was she scared? “We have bigger problems than a junkie owing me money.” He was so close to them the backdrop of light from the house shadowed her face. Her eyes looked like black holes. Danny shivered. Her mouth tightened down as her anger resurfaced. “There’s someone in our organization that’s playing alongside the feds.” She straightened and then leaned forward. Danny could see the slightest shake of her hands as she spoke. He noticed the man flinch. “I want you to find out who it is. Take care of it,” she said in an all too familiar sickly staccato.

Danny gasped. Her head jerked toward the sound.

“Well, well.” She struck him quick and hard. Danny fell backward on the soft grass that might as well have been needles piercing his skin as fear and new pain slithered through his pores making him sweat. Like a flailing crab he retreated, but she was quicker, even in her high heels. She grabbed his hair and yanked him over toward the man. He whimpered as he spied a gun under the guys suit in a holster. His eyes flicked back and forth between them. He tried to grab the hand holding his hair, but she shook him and shook and shook.

“I don’t have time to take care of the leech that I birthed. You do it. Any way you like.” Her smile spread when she looked at him and a chill danced across Danny’s skin. “Just make sure he’s alive afterward.”

“You’re the boss,” the man said with a shrug. She threw him toward the man and clicked away on the stone path. Danny fell to his knees and then got up to run. “Uh, uh,” the man whispered as he grabbed him by the collar and held him, his lips touching his ear. “Mm, just old enough to fight. I like it when my boys fight.” His grip was ruthless.

Danny started to tremble. There were worse things than getting hit.

“This is going to be fun.” The grip shifted, and Danny’s chin lifted to avoid the man’s touch, but there was nowhere to go as the arm tightened around his neck. Danny balanced on his tip toes. Then the man’s other hand went to Danny’s hip pressing him closer, his fingers digging into his bony hip.

Danny’s mind and body went still as a mouse. This couldn’t happen he thought. Then his fear coalesced, and he went wild. He dropped his mouth and bit the man so hard it went through the suit.” The man screamed, but the grip around his neck didn’t loosen.

Danny had to think. Think. Think. He opened his mouth, but fear seemed to cripple his voice. But the man ground his hips into Danny’s butt. Oh, God! NO! He tried again. “I know…” He gulped. “I know where Sienna is,” he choked the words out as he gasped for air, black spots dancing in his vision. “You can get the money you’re  owed,” he finished. The man’s grip loosened. “My mother said she didn’t care about the money. You can keep it all for yourself.” His grip loosened even more. “She’ll never know.”

The man’s fingers curled around Danny’s neck, and he ground his hips even deeper. Danny held in a whimper.

“You better not be lying boy, or I won’t try and make it good for you.”

Danny nodded and prayed that he could find Sienna.

 

[1] Mercenary Garage, Dublin

Jul 08

It’s Greek to Me – Fates and Furies (Part 2/3)

GreekLauren Groff’s writing style leaps from the pages. She molds sentences, paragraphs, and scenes to convey her story and move her plot across not one, but two, lifetimes. The author uniquely structures her story in two independent, separate and equal parts—one Fates and one Furies.  A flip through the pages reveals style from first glance to the basic blocks of words and sentences.

At First Glance

Fates and Furies builds on a knowledge of Greek mythology. Short stories use this premise to shortcut the character and story development. For example, if characters have a known history—Achilles, Samson, and Delilah or even Little Red Riding Hood—than there is less to create. A writer simply builds on the history inherent with the name or situation.

The title is an early tip to find the college mythology book – preferably of the Greek variety. Fates include Clotho (the spinner), Lacheis (the measurer) and Atropos (cutter of the thread of life). Except for the gal with the scissors, the Fates are a pleasant enough group. The husband in the story, Lotto, is guided by symbolic Fates—mother, sister and wife. The Furies are three sisters, monsters, that punish the guilty in the underworld and seek justice and vengeance. More specifically, the spirits go after people who have murdered family members. An internet images search on the Furies results in women with snakes, wings, fangs and crazy-eyes. This is not a huge spoiler to remind you that Mathilde known by Aurelie at the beginning of her story had a deadly mishap with her little brother, and her life was forever changed. The Furies – Mathilde’s family, employer, friends and even herself – punish for life.

Lotto adds more to the Greek theme with his play about Antigone. In dialogue, he explains his concept for the play, but Groff takes it further. Through Lotto, she writes the play. Did she create it for this book? I would like to ask her. A writer’s repertoire is fair game for any project.

Worthy to note is the influence of Shakespeare. Lines of verse, italicized and offset, forcibly inject the English playwright into the narrative. Characters happen to quote meaningful lines from Shakespeare in conversation. And on stage, the reader sees Lotto and “mystery character Land” assume leading Shakespearian roles. Quoting Shakespeare must be the trendy thing to do. Only a few chapters into The Revenant  by Michael Punke, Shakespeare earns a quote in this frontier survival and revenge drama.

The White Space Around the Words

An artist will do a value study to assess darks and lights. For a writer, a similar study might include the white space around the printed words. In paragraphs, shapes emerge from scenes, dialogue and sentences.

Groff liberally uses white breaks to jump to a different scene and to exit scenes all together in order to enter the mind of one of her characters. The reader samples Lotto’s plays such as “Antigone” and Mathilde’s quotes from Sylvia Plath and Florestan in Beethovan’s Fidelio.

Time advances in Lotto’s life through his writing, production of his plays and reviews of his plays. In one section, Groff centers the play title in all caps followed by the year. The reader zooms into the aftermath of each play and its effect on Lotto and Mathilde.

Both Lotto and Mathilde’s points of view use a phrase or sentences in brackets.  [Like this.] Every review of the book compares the bracketed asides to a Greek chorus. The chorus hints of the future—foreshadowing tragedy or irony. In an interview with The Atlantic, Groff mentions the brackets as an author’s whisper, such as Virginia Woolf used in To the Lighthouse. I’m embarrassed to admit that I have not read this novel but add another one to the “must read before I die” list.

The Words

A good writer spoils the reader with sentences that dance and imitate the real world albeit in art. Since reading Fates and Furies, I’m a harsh judge of writing style. I want Lauren Groff’s word choice, sentence structure, and imagery.

My first exposure to Groff was in a short story called “Ghosts and Empties.” In an interview, she explained that this piece’s long ambling sentences were like walking. That comment stayed with me—manipulating the flow of words, voice, for the setting of the story.

The long sentences are gone in Fates and Furies. The author seeks another style goal in this novel and is precise with her language. On the other hand, along with imagery is metaphor applied to take this story to an artistic level. Her prose draws comparison with Nabokov’s quick words and tone. Groff draws much of her storytelling from Virginia Woolf. Again in the Atlantic, Groff says “The greatest texts, I think, first dazzle, then with careful rereading, they instruct . . .subversive ways of portraying time, of looking away from the human to the far more terrifying, far more immense texture of time beneath the minute span of a human life.” And this is an example of Lauren Groff’s magnificent way with words.

Next month, “For Better or Worse” (Fates and Furies part 3/3) examines relationship and attraction according to human psychology studies.

Jul 06

The Trip of a Lifetime: Australia and New Zealand Part 3

Thursday, March 24: After a hot breakfast and a short coach ride, our tour group boarded the Great Adventures Catamaran for a ride to the Great Barrier Reef. Several of us chose not to snorkel at the reef and disembarked at Green Island. We rode in a glass bottom boat and took the Island Rainforest Walk. A few took a swim at the beach. We had a buffet lunch at the Canopy Grill as part of the excursion. During our time on Green Island, we understood why this is called a rainforest. The heavy downpour continued for quite some time and my raincoat did nothing to keep me dry. Our tour guide, Ronan, said the green itinerary sheet represented the Rainforest. It should have had streaks of blue to represent the water that drenched us.

My husband, Roger, thoroughly enjoyed snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef. He saw a fantastic variety of coral of many different colors and shapes and a wide variety of fish, but not in large numbers. The tourists who rode to the Great Barrier Reef had a hot and cold buffet lunch onboard the catamaran.

After the snorkelers finished their fun, they picked up the rest of us who were as wet as they were. We returned to the Double Tree by Hilton Hotel to freshen up before taking a two-minute walk to the RSL Club for a four-course dinner.

Friday, March 25: Roger and I decided to relax, do laundry, and take a walking tour of the city. Most of the group went on the optional tour of the Tjapukai Aboriginal Centre to taste bush food, learn about bush medicine, and take boomerang throwing lessons.
Later that afternoon, everyone gathered at the hotel for a Learning and Discovery lecture on the Aboriginal Culture and Life Today. Afterward we left to have dinner on our own.

Saturday, March 26: Some members of our group took the Hot Air Scenic Balloon Ride at sunrise while the rest of us slept in. At 9:30 am our briefing about the Sydney visit was followed by a short coach ride to the Cairns Airport for a three-hour flight to Sydney, Australia. We moved our watches forward one hour, then went directly from the Sydney Airport to Nicks Bar ‘n Grill at the Darling Harbour for dinner. At about 8 pm we checked into the Holiday Inn Darling Harbour.

Sunday, March 27: Our blue sheet itinerary (blue represents the ocean) indicated we were on our way to a guided tour of the beautiful, impressive Sydney Opera House. It was sad to learn that the brilliant Danish architect, Jørn Utzon, who designed the multi-building structure, resigned during the construction and never saw the finished product.

During our next coach ride we saw a spectacular harbor view and stopped for a photo op in Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair. More than 150 years ago, Lady Macquarie’s husband, Governor Lachlan Macquarie, had prisoners carve exposed sandstone rock into the shape of a bench on the peninsula in Sydney Harbour so that she could enjoy the panoramic view of the harbor and wait for her husband as he sailed home from a long journey at sea.

We continued to the Opal Centre for a shopping opportunity. To my very young grandchildren, I sent a picture of a beautiful opal I selected as a wished for birthday gift. The opal only cost $162,750 in Australian dollars. It’s a little cheaper in American dollars, but not by much.

That evening while on the Sidney Harbour Dinner Cruise, we had a perfect nighttime view of the harbor, a splendid view of the opera house, the beautifully lit Sydney Harbour Bridge, and a colorful fireworks display on the harbor.

Monday, March 28: The tour group went by coach to The Rocks at Circular Quay and learned about Sydney’s historical beginning. Because Britain’s prison system was overcrowded, some convicts, skilled tradesmen, and farmers convicted of trivial crimes were shipped to Australia to colonize the island continent. Some of the convicts were later given pardons and parcels of land to farm.

At 10 am we took the two hour Sydney Harbour Coffee Cruise then spent the afternoon exploring the city. At 6 pm the group took a 10-minute walk from the hotel to Stacks Taverna for dinner.

Tuesday, March 29: Several members of our group took the 3 ½ hour walk over the awesome Sydney Harbour Bridge. The participants were tethered to the bridge and not allowed to wear jewelry or carry cameras, purses, or other loose items. The bridge authorities didn’t want anyone or anything falling onto the vehicles on the bridge deck below. Does that give you an idea of how difficult the walk is?

Roger and I opted not to “enjoy” that adventure. Instead we took the coach out of Sydney, toured the Featherdale Wildlife Park, and then stopped for lunch at Roger’s favorite place to be, a golf course. We went to the Blue Mountains for a tour of the canyon, took a ferry back to the harbor, and then took a cab back to the hotel.

Wednesday, March 30: We took the three-hour flight out of Sydney to Queenstown, New Zealand. We had to set our watches forward two hours. Managing the various time zones was sometimes confusing. Thankfully our tour guide Ronan McChesney reminded us of the correct local time. Because we arrived at the airport at 2:30 pm and dinner was scheduled for 6:15 pm, he suggested we buy lunch at the Queenstown Airport. At 4 pm, we arrived at the Rydges Lakeland Hotel to check in and freshen up. At 5 pm we met in the lobby of the hotel to take an orientation walk which ended at the Ballarat Trading Company Restaurant. The décor of the restaurant depicted a replica of the old trading post chalkboard showing the prices of the cattle, sheep, and other items sold there many years ago.

Thursday, March 31: We walked 10 minutes to the Steamer Wharf to take a steam ship to the Walter Peak Sheep Station for a guided tour of the farm. (What we call a farm, they call a station.) While there, we had afternoon tea, coffee, scones, and cakes in their comfortable sitting room and veranda. We also watched a sheep dog herd sheep and saw a demonstration of sheep shearing.

Friday, April 1: At 7:45 am the tour group met in the hotel Lobby to board the coach for a day-long trip to Milford Sound (a fjord). We photographed spectacular scenic waterfalls, some seals, unusual rock formations, beautiful mountains, and took a one hour forty-five-minute boat ride up the fjord with a turnaround at the Tasman Sea. In the first hour, they served a delicious hot buffet style meal on the boat. During the captain’s interesting commentary about the fjord, he told us from which side of the boat we could take good pictures of the various sites.

Those who chose not to take the long trip back by coach could take a $250 scenic flight back. Roger and I chose to take the coach back. We’re a thrifty couple. As a diversion during the long ride, Roger and I played Scrabble on our iPads. At 8 pm we arrived back at the hotel and had dinner on our own. We rested in preparation for the next day’s adventures on a jet boat and on a gondola.

Tags: Great Adventures Catamaran, Great Barrier Reef, scuba dive, Green Island, glass bottom boat, rainforest, RSL Club, Tjapukai Aboriginal Centre, boomerang, Aboriginal Culture, Cairns, Sydney, Nicks Bar ‘n Grill, Darling Harbour, Hot Air Scenic Balloon Ride, Sydney Opera House, Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, Opal Centre, Sidney Harbour Dinner Cruise, The Rocks at Circular Quay, Stacks Taverna, Sydney Harbour Bridge, Featherdale Wildlife Park, Blue Mountains, Queenstown, time zones, Ballarat Trading Company Restaurant, Steamer Wharf, Walter Peak Sheep Station, Milford Sound, fjord