tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56674536092320623752024-03-14T02:37:00.019-07:00Short StoriesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-8108007747150128832014-10-31T05:53:00.001-07:002014-10-31T05:56:25.012-07:00My first novelHello everyone!<br />
<br />
I have finished writing and publishing my first novel. I'll be writing short stories after learning the promotional skills for my book.<br />
<br />
Here's the link to my new blog with information about the book. Enjoy the videos describing the setting of my novel. The blog also contains a link to my Amazon Author Page, where if interested, you can preorder a copy.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://mcrocco.wordpress.com/">http://mcrocco.wordpress.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://mcrocco.wordpress.com/"></a><br />
<a href="http://mcrocco.wordpress.com/"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I'm excited to be called an author! Please drop me a line sharing your thoughts.<br />
<br />
Thank you<br />
<br />
MaryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-43575393689056009622013-11-09T20:02:00.000-08:002013-11-09T20:02:15.498-08:00Which voice to you prefer, 1st or 3rd?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Noodles at 1 a.m.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
I haven’t touched my noodles in a couple of days and I missed them, but
it’s 1 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s a gal to do? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The way they sometimes stuck to my fingers,
and when hitting the water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the
anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lately, waking up between four-thirty and six-thirty in the evening was
becoming an unwelcomed pattern. There was no exercising happening at the athletic
club, which took its toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This dilemma
needed to be corrected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
My sleep pattern had always been unpredictable and a work in progress.
However, I always managed to get things done and slept when needed. But
whenever it affected going to the pool, it presented a problem. The club is
open 24/7, but to be honest, there was hesitation to go out in the middle of
the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was overcome tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dressed for the pool and walking out to my truck, half expecting to see a
thug hanging around the parking lot. That wasn’t the case, but I quickly locked
my door behind me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling into the main
road and starting to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic
was <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>amusing. Then butterflies took over
- who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Turning into the parking lot, I counted the number of vehicles on both
hands. Experiencing mixed feelings – nervousness to be alone, yet ecstatic to
get my favorite parking spot. Being able to park anywhere in the front lot was
always a delusion. The handicapped spaces were always taken, forcing a long
drive around the side of the building to be able to make the walk. Laughing out
loud again and I thought - what other crazy person would be out at this hour to
exercise? This is crazy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Treadmills enjoyed the rest, as I walked past hundreds of vacant
machines, along with lifeless Karate and Zumba rooms. Again - mixed feelings –
eerie to be alone, yet my loner personality roused. I glanced at the pool
through a window and it looked like a Zamboni just left. Without question and
relishing my 1 a.m. decision as the isolation and freedom to exercise without
sharing was irresistible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dead silence filled the locker room and the lockers stood vacant. Following
a routine of fitting my ear plugs and stepping on the scale, I walked out to
the pool. A young woman in the spa and two guys enjoying the steam room was
pool life at 1 a.m. Talk about liquid paradise . . . pure delight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
One of the club employees came to open the equipment room to get my
noodles. He handed me two and my fingers stuck to them - I smiled and dropped
them in water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the anticipating
liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
******************************OR********************************<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Noodles at 1 a.m.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mary hadn’t touched her noodles in a couple of days and she missed them,
but it was 1 a.m. What was a gal to do? The way they sometimes stuck to her
fingers, and when they hit the water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right
off into the anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lately, she woke up between four-thirty and six-thirty in the evening and
it became an unwelcomed pattern. She wasn’t exercising at the athletic club,
which took its toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her dilemma needed
to be corrected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mary’s sleep pattern had always been unpredictable and a work in
progress. However, she always managed to get things done and slept when needed.
But whenever it affected going to the pool, it presented a problem. The club
was open 24/7, but she hesitated to go out in the middle of the night. She
overcame this tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dressed for the pool she walked out to her truck, and half expected to
see a thug hanging around the parking lot. That wasn’t the case, but she
quickly locked her door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling into
the main road she started to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no
traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With butterflies in her stomach
she wondered who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Turning into the parking lot, she counted the number of vehicles on both
hands. She experienced mixed feelings – nervous to be alone, yet ecstatic to
get her favorite parking spot. Being able to park anywhere in the front lot was
always a delusion. The handicapped spaces were always taken, forcing her to
drive around the side of the building to be able to make the walk. Laughing out
loud again she thought - what other crazy person would be out at this hour to
exercise? This is crazy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Treadmills enjoyed the rest, as she walked past hundreds of vacant
machines, along with lifeless Karate and Zumba rooms. Again - mixed feelings –
eerie to be alone, yet her loner personality roused. She glanced at the pool
through a window and it looked like a Zamboni just left. Without question she
relished her 1 a.m. decision as the isolation and freedom to exercise without
sharing was irresistible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dead silence filled the locker room and the lockers stood vacant. Following
a routine of fitting her ear plugs and stepping on the scale, she walked out to
the pool. A young woman in the spa and two guys enjoying the steam room was
pool life at 1 a.m. Talk about liquid paradise . . . pure delight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
One of the club employees came to open the equipment room to get Mary’s
noodles. He handed her two noodles and her fingers stuck to them - she smiled
and dropped them in water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the
anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-61874271162287754252013-06-02T16:02:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:01:02.232-08:00OPPORTUNITY<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x5KmBSVkPIY/UavOWQaUUoI/AAAAAAAAALg/_HNAYL5fiCI/s1600/boat+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x5KmBSVkPIY/UavOWQaUUoI/AAAAAAAAALg/_HNAYL5fiCI/s320/boat+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Beautiful day to be on the lake,” Barbara said to her
handsome friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Sure is baby,” Russ said, as he reached for her hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Can’t miss his boat, lime green and all,” Gary said, as
he pointed across the lake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Bastard,” Barbara muttered. “It’s not fair he should be
able to have fun, he should be crippled and suffering.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“That can be arranged, baby,” Russ said, reaching for his FBI badge
from the glove box. “Just say the word.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Looks like he’s stopping at the rest island, what do
you say, Barb?” Gary asked egging her on. “I’m feeling it,” as he grabbed for
his badge and gun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Have to admit - looks perfect, his is the only boat
there,” Russ said, looking at Barbara for the go ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Let’s do it,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Cripple or death?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Death is too easy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Russ shut the engine off and coasted into a space on the
island. Gary jumped out making sure he didn’t create a splash. Reaching for
Barbara’s hand, he said, “Go ahead - say your last words to your ex.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I only need five minutes,” she said, opening up her
pocketbook.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Walking to the restroom memories flooded her mind. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We used to have fun</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How could he change so drastically overnight?
How could he abandon his kids? How could he fight child support? He couldn’t
even show up for his own son’s funeral. He deserves this, he deserves to
suffer.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Opening the door Barbara found her ex standing over a
sink washing his hands. He looked up in the mirror and not bothering to turn
around he said, “Going to poop?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Aren’t you funny? I want to show you a picture of your
grandson. He has your hair, wild and crazy.” She unfolded a picture and held it
up for him to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Before he could reply with one of his lame remarks, Russ
kicked in the door. “Do you want to watch, baby?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“No.” Walking towards the door and glancing at her
grandson’s picture, she turned around, “On second thought.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Russ threw Barbara’s ex up against the plexiglas
partition. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Barb, stand by the door, we have work to do,” Gary
said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“With pleasure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
What followed was the beating of his life. At one point
he looked like Jesus Christ being persecuted as he was thrown onto the plexiglas,
spread eagle, with bruises and blood splattered all over his face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
As he stuck to the glass his eyes pleaded with mine. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His nic name of Christ</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seems to fit at this particular moment. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Say good-bye to your legs,” Russ said, as Barbara’s ex
fell to his knees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Picking the scum bag back up, “Would you like the
pleasure, Gary?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The horrifying sound of human bones being broken is
something Barbara will never forget. Never.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Russ and Gary cleaned themselves up before the three of
them left the restroom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Beautiful day to be on the lake,” Barbara said to her
handsome friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Opening her eyes with a racing pulse<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, it’s true what they say about revenge, even 33 years later.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-68053690843653068152013-02-05T14:22:00.002-08:002013-11-09T20:01:30.990-08:00Which voice do you prefer, 1st or 3rd?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Noodles at 1 a.m.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I haven’t touched my noodles in a couple of days and I missed them, but
it’s 1 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s a gal to do? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The way they sometimes stuck to my fingers,
and when hitting the water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the
anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lately, waking up between four-thirty and six-thirty in the evening was
becoming an unwelcomed pattern. There was no exercising happening at the athletic
club, which took its toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This dilemma
needed to be corrected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
My sleep pattern had always been unpredictable and a work in progress.
However, I always managed to get things done and slept when needed. But
whenever it affected going to the pool, it presented a problem. The club is
open 24/7, but to be honest, there was hesitation to go out in the middle of
the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was overcome tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dressed for the pool and walking out to my truck, half expecting to see a
thug hanging around the parking lot. That wasn’t the case, but I quickly locked
my door behind me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling into the main
road and starting to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic
was <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>amusing. Then butterflies took over
- who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Turning into the parking lot, I counted the number of vehicles on both
hands. Experiencing mixed feelings – nervousness to be alone, yet ecstatic to
get my favorite parking spot. Being able to park anywhere in the front lot was
always a delusion. The handicapped spaces were always taken, forcing a long
drive around the side of the building to be able to make the walk. Laughing out
loud again and I thought - what other crazy person would be out at this hour to
exercise? This is crazy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Treadmills enjoyed the rest, as I walked past hundreds of vacant
machines, along with lifeless Karate and Zumba rooms. Again - mixed feelings –
eerie to be alone, yet my loner personality roused. I glanced at the pool
through a window and it looked like a Zamboni just left. Without question and
relishing my 1 a.m. decision as the isolation and freedom to exercise without
sharing was irresistible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dead silence filled the locker room and the lockers stood vacant. Following
a routine of fitting my ear plugs and stepping on the scale, I walked out to
the pool. A young woman in the spa and two guys enjoying the steam room was
pool life at 1 a.m. Talk about liquid paradise . . . pure delight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
One of the club employees came to open the equipment room to get my
noodles. He handed me two and my fingers stuck to them - I smiled and dropped
them in water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the anticipating
liquid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
********OR**********</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Noodles at 1 a.m.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mary hadn’t touched her noodles in a couple of days and she missed them,
but it was 1 a.m. What was a gal to do? The way they sometimes stuck to her
fingers, and when they hit the water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right
off into the anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lately, she woke up between four-thirty and six-thirty in the evening and
it became an unwelcomed pattern. She wasn’t exercising at the athletic club,
which took its toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her dilemma needed
to be corrected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mary’s sleep pattern had always been unpredictable and a work in
progress. However, she always managed to get things done and slept when needed.
But whenever it affected going to the pool, it presented a problem. The club
was open 24/7, but she hesitated to go out in the middle of the night. She
overcame this tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dressed for the pool she walked out to her truck, and half expected to
see a thug hanging around the parking lot. That wasn’t the case, but she
quickly locked her door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling into
the main road she started to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no
traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With butterflies in her stomach
she wondered who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Turning into the parking lot, she counted the number of vehicles on both
hands. She experienced mixed feelings – nervous to be alone, yet ecstatic to
get her favorite parking spot. Being able to park anywhere in the front lot was
always a delusion. The handicapped spaces were always taken, forcing her to
drive around the side of the building to be able to make the walk. Laughing out
loud again she thought - what other crazy person would be out at this hour to
exercise? This is crazy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Treadmills enjoyed the rest, as she walked past hundreds of vacant
machines, along with lifeless Karate and Zumba rooms. Again - mixed feelings –
eerie to be alone, yet her loner personality roused. She glanced at the pool
through a window and it looked like a Zamboni just left. Without question she
relished her 1 a.m. decision as the isolation and freedom to exercise without
sharing was irresistible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Dead silence filled the locker room and the lockers stood vacant. Following
a routine of fitting her ear plugs and stepping on the scale, she walked out to
the pool. A young woman in the spa and two guys enjoying the steam room was
pool life at 1 a.m. Talk about liquid paradise . . . pure delight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
One of the club employees came to open the equipment room to get Mary’s
noodles. He handed her two noodles and her fingers stuck to them - she smiled
and dropped them in water at an ideal 86 degrees; they slid right off into the
anticipating liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Please leave your preference and a comment! Thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mary :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-80508721150307336192013-01-09T02:20:00.000-08:002013-11-09T20:02:45.501-08:00MY TURN<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Upon hearing the knock my anticipation heightened. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What’s wrong with me, I’m sure no one else feels this way. </i>Opening
the door, memories struck me, like an unexpected wave while body surfing in the
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“Hi Miss, I’m Lucy from Merry Maids – Hi Miss, I’m Danny,” the two women
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“Hi ladies, come on in,” I said, as I held open the door. </div>
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Lucy was very businesslike immediately, asking what exactly I wanted
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After a thirty second reply, the women got to work in the bathroom. I sat
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flooded my mind - Lucy standing there with her vacuum and mop, Danny carrying
the supply tote full of spray bottles and brushes in one hand, and buckets and
rags in her other. So familiar . . . that was my life thirty years ago. Clean
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Within minutes the exciting smells of cleaning wafted through the hall
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clean greeted them at the door when they arrived home from my day of cleaning.
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Twenty minutes later the women were in the kitchen speaking in their native
tongue. Not one minute was wasted as they spoke, these women meant business.
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- back breaking is an understatement. Then it hit me, I can’t do this anymore.
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I told myself I would not let this ruin the best Xmas gift ever. The gift
certificate for Merry Maids was a stocking stuffer, but to me it should have
been wrapped in gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing my 844 sq.
ft. home was not cleaned to my previous life’s standards was like walking
around with a lead apron – a heavy burden.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
My Kindle automatically turned off, and I automatically turned it on. But
I couldn’t read, especially now that I had a sneak peek. My son, Bobby, would
get a kick out of the fact that I watched the women clean my kitchen through
the reflection in my TV and stereo glass. It took Bobby until he was a grown
man to figure out how I knew what he was doing in the kitchen all those years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Watching the scrubbing, smelling the clean, I became mesmerized. You know
the hypnotic feeling you have when a hair dresser is washing your hair and you
wish the massage would never end? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much time is left?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The women were now on their hands and knees cleaning the floor. Lucy kept
pulling her shirt from her body as the sweat stuck to it. They continued
grunting as they kept their knee pads from escaping future knee replacements.
Why didn’t anyone tell me to protect my body when I worked so many labor
intensive jobs? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Damn these knee scars.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lucy wrung a mop using her hands and I instinctively started massaging my
hands, imagining the cramps. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Knee pads
but no self-wringing mop?</i> They did split the work, however, which made me
regret my decision years ago to only hire myself<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. And the scarred loner lives on.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
As the women packed up to leave, all sweaty and sore, I wondered if they
had to go home and cook dinner, help the kids with homework, do the laundry,
all before putting up their feet to rest for a minute, only to repeat the same
routine tomorrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I have an hour and a half left on my certificate, ladies; can I request
you both for next time?” I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Yes, Miss, ask for Lucy and Danny,” Lucy replied, eager to get home I’m
sure as it was after 5 p.m. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Thank you, you worked very hard ladies, and everything looks great,
thank you! I’ll see you soon.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
As I started to close the door, Lucy said, “Enjoy your home.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The perfect sentiment.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Inhaling my clean home, I heard my neighbor’s teenage daughter ask her
mother, “Why can’t we get Merry Maids?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Are you going to pay for it?” barked the jealousy ridden mother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Within five minutes I heard the sound of a vacuum. Ha!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I dare my family to ask me what I would like for next Xmas. Wait . . . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my birthday is in May.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-75365566201189192752012-08-20T13:07:00.003-07:002012-08-20T13:07:51.081-07:00My reply from the Olympic Committee<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;">Hello.</span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;">Thank you for your email. Interesting idea
</span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 11.0pt;">J</span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"> The International Olympic Committee charter is related to “physical activities/sports” only –
but maybe someday another organization (like the Mensa group) will create a competition like you describe. You never know! </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"><img alt="Description: institutional_bluerings" height="86" id="yiv1867367494Picture_x0020_1" src="http://f1302.mail.yahoo.com/ya/download?mid=2%5f0%5f0%5f1%5f94458%5fAJjuXkIAALLvUDKVRQu8OAIqX7w&pid=2&fid=Inbox&inline=1&appid=YahooMailClassic" width="89" /></span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 5.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 5.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #17365d;">Erica Hutchinson</span></b><span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 3.0pt;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: grey; font-size: 11.0pt;">Associate Director Visitor Center and Community Relations</span></b><span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: grey; font-size: 3.0pt;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">United States Olympic Committee</span></div>
<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1345492983_0"><div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">1 Olympic Plaza</span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">Colorado Springs, CO 80909</span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: grey; font-size: 5.0pt;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">719-866-4604[office]</span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">719-866-4728 [fax]</span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;">719-330-4050 [cell]</span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 5.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="yiv1867367494MsoNormal">
<span style="color: grey; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1345492983_1">erica.hutchinson@usoc.org</span></span></div>
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-28882155980602593972012-08-19T08:41:00.002-07:002013-11-09T20:03:22.112-08:00Olympics for the Minds<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if we trained young minds for an Olympics?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every four years, individuals and teams would
study educational disciplines to compete for gold medals.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Young men and women would choose a subject to tax the muscles
of their brains. If practice, consistency, hard work, dedication, and determination
to be an Olympic champion for sports, are what it takes to win gold, the same
could be applied for the academic world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doctors communicate to the public that our physical bodies
are as important as our mental health. Why don’t we follow this advice and have
an Olympics for the minds equal to an Olympics for the body?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With an audience of over three billion viewing the Olympics
today, imagine that same number of people learning and absorbing academic knowledge,
from watching an Olympics for the Minds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Repetition is a learning tool. Viewers would no doubt be
absorbing facts from two weeks of competition, while having a good time. Information
would be engrained in brains just like it is when we watch the Olympics today.
Tuning in to an unfamiliar sport, we’ve all said, “I never knew that!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s an incentive for test scores to improve, for the
general public to learn basic skills for the first time, or a refresher course.
And there would be no 14 billion dollar cost for a city to host the games.
There’s just no downside to it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If our Olympic Champions are role models today, again,
imagine what a role model an Olympic Champion for the Minds would be for our
youth. We could hear things such as, “I want to be a geologist, an author, a
biologist, an engineer . . .” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuning in to a different subject, we would say, “I never
knew that!” with an Olympics for the Minds.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-84310911839285656672012-07-20T02:42:00.003-07:002012-07-23T02:14:15.804-07:00Writing my book!Hello,<br />
<br />
Just a quick note to say I won't be writing any new short stories because I want to concentrate on writing my novel. I'm really excited to get started.<br />
<br />
The idea evolved from a short story I was writing. A recent instructor from my creative writing class suggested I turn it into a novel. He gave me the confidence I needed to think I can actually do it. :)<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog! I enjoy writing short stories and will continue in the future.<br />
<br />
I hope you will follow my Living with CML blog: www.marycrocco.wordpress.com I post an entry once a month.<br />
<br />
I also hope you read my book review blogs: www.mrcrocco.wordpress.com OR<br />
<br />
www.mrc-bookreviewer.blogspot.com<br />
<br />
Also join me on Facebook and Twitter! If you like, send me an email! m.crocco@yahoo.com<br />
<br />
Feel free to leave me a comment below! :)<br />
<br />
Thank you!<br />
<br />
Mary <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-61792133740085636152012-06-26T14:39:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:04:00.424-08:00WE ARE THE BLUES WE WRITE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RS184zXkmpU/T-or54AI1vI/AAAAAAAAAG8/WAn1XCM64Q8/s1600/ALEX+1ST+BIRTHDAY+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RS184zXkmpU/T-or54AI1vI/AAAAAAAAAG8/WAn1XCM64Q8/s320/ALEX+1ST+BIRTHDAY+017.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Take out a piece of paper, girls
and boys. Today I want you to write a paragraph about what you would love to do
with your life. What is your dream?” said Mrs. C to her fourth grade students.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Browse any book or movie rental
store and you’ll undoubtedly see various titles such as, Find your Dream, and
Follow your Dream, Unleash your Dream, and Stay True to your Dream. Shelves are
overfilled with inspirational books and movies about Gathering Resources for
your Dream.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
So what ever happened to our fourth
grade paragraphs we wrote to Mrs. C? Did
any of those girls and boys fulfill their dreams?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
We graduated high school and
started college. But what happens if we realized after a couple of years that
college wasn’t for us? If we realized we wanted to pursue our dream from fourth
grade.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Do we quit college? Do we quit our
current job? Most people don’t. It is socially unacceptable to do either. But I
knew a brave twenty-four year old young man who didn’t listen to society. He was courageous and decided to change his
lifestyle to live his dream. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Quitting college was easy for Bob
because he always hated school. Working as a server at a casual fine dining
restaurant for five years, he made 70K a year. The money was good, but not the
job. He wanted so badly to quit and pursue his dream. He tried to do both, but
found it impossible. Never enough time to
devote to his music, he devised a plan to work until he saved enough
money to be unemployed for a year or so to pursue being a songwriter, play
guitar, and perform in different cities.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Bob owned a townhome which provided
a monthly income. He had already saved money to buy a self-contained van to live in
while he traveled. He and his friends drove to San Diego from Las Vegas to
check out a van advertised on Craig’s List. A little too eager, with a lesson
learned later, he bought the van and drove it home. He lived in it for six
months, parked it at different venues around the city and at friends’ homes.
Obviously he didn’t hook up water during this time, so he showered at friends,
his mothers, and the local Athletic Club.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Being thrilled with the van at
first, Bob later realized it was too expensive to maintain. He put money into
it and lost money when it sold. A hard lesson learned, but through life
experience vs. a textbook.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Feeling prepared on the day he quit
his job, Bob felt anxious, but very, very excited. Coincidently, shortly after
he quit his job, his tenant asked if he would mind if he got a roommate. Bob
figured it made perfect sense if he moved in. He saved money from renting a
studio room where he practiced and kept his instruments. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
From day one, Bob worked on
fulfilling his dream. He played guitar and wrote songs to sing. He had friends
in the music business that helped him record and create artwork for his album
and merchandise. He titled his album, “We Are the Blues We Write,” apropos
describing Bob’s new lifestyle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
None of this was easy, but Bob had
the time of his life. He loved the music world. Recording his album was a
learning experience that took him months to perfect. Failing numerous times before he succeeded,
he remixed and remastered, until he completed the album goal before his first
Living Room Show. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Spending countless hours until he
learned how to create a website to promote him and his show was well rewarded.
The site was well done and The Living Room Show was a huge success. He and
three other musicians played for a local crowd of fifty. He sold some
merchandise and was thrilled. Selling items on the road for an income in
unfamiliar venues will be the challenge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Bob networked and followed
musicians who traveled and performed on the road. He learned a great deal from them. Many
musicians couch surfed to save money. He
worked on a list of people and cities and mapped out a route to have a plan. He
already participated by having musicians couch surf at his home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
With upfront expenses for the
album, maintaining a car and townhome, and life’s necessities, he is close to
flat broke. He thought his savings would last a bit longer. He admitted to
being scared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Did he give up? No. He wanted to
follow his dream regardless of how poor he’ll be, how hard it is, or how many
times he’ll fail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
He’ll be ready to travel the
country when he sets up his venues. My son fulfilled his dream he wrote about
in Mrs. C’s fourth grade class.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-10744162558715901042012-06-16T03:51:00.001-07:002013-11-09T20:04:21.247-08:00The Art of Interpretation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mc-qTkJmqog/T-os7KyisgI/AAAAAAAAAHE/uYCrhJsXinU/s1600/Julius+Stewart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mc-qTkJmqog/T-os7KyisgI/AAAAAAAAAHE/uYCrhJsXinU/s1600/Julius+Stewart.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I couldn’t explain what caught my eye in that
painting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Hanging out with a group of women, dressing up, and making
a fuss over flowers, are all my least favorite things to do. So what was it
that made me sit down on the observer’s bench in front of that painting and gaze
at it for so long? What was it that drew me back to the Phoenix Art Museum several
times to view it for hours on end?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
On my first visit to the museum, I felt drawn toward
the painting, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring Flowers</i>, by
Julius Stewart. It was enormous taking up a large area of the wall. The painting was magnificent, an oil on
canvas painted in 1890. The painting’s size was enough to mesmerize any art
lover touring the museum. It’s not a painting you can easily dismiss. Located
on the second floor, I had to walk past it in order to view other artists’ work
being displayed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Strategically placed was a bench right in front of the
painting. This was ideal. It’s pretty annoying when you find art work you
admire and have to move along for others to view. The bench was perfect - I
took full advantage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I grew up with three brothers, and later on had three
sons. I never got used to being with a group of women. I preferred the company
of men, and had a couple of girlfriends which described my comfort zone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Growing up in a male dominated life, I never dressed
up. I wouldn’t say I was a tom boy, but hats, heels, and dresses seemed unnecessary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Flowers were a whole different story. Memories of
arguments between my parents, slight as they may have been, always ended with a
bouquet of flowers being laid on the counter for my mother. This apparently
symbolized an apology. What I learned as I grew up was it also meant the
argument was over and would be forgotten. Even as a kid, I didn’t buy it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Both husbands that came and went knew better not to
present me with a bouquet of flowers if we had an argument. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
So what made me fall in love with a painting of four
women hanging out together, in their Sunday best, fussing over flowers? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I sat and stared at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring Flowers</i> for hours. Trying hard to solve the puzzle, I politely
asked the museum docent for her thoughts. She explained art interpretation. How
we internalize art differently is extremely personal. She continued telling me how
researchers in the field of neuroesthetics actually study people’s brains to
unlock this mystery. She suggested books
to study the subject further.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
A group of women hanging out all dressed up, with fancy
hairdos, fashionable hats for the era, fussing with flowers in a garden were all
my least favorite things, always have been and I would guess, always will be. A mystery indeed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The minutes ticked by until they turned into hours and
I knew I had to go home. The real world awaited me. It was time to cook dinner;
check my kid’s homework, do laundry, etc.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
While completing my motherly duties the beautiful
painting was ingrained in my mind. I was perplexed, no doubt about it. When I
told my family about the museum and the painting, they all laughed thinking it
was a joke. They knew all the things I didn’t like - so why would mom like a
painting like this? I had to agree, but it was what happened, and I felt what I
felt, whether or not there was an explanation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Needless to say I didn’t sleep well. The next day I anxiously
returned to the museum and meticulously gazed at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring Flowers</i> for hours. Even though I was still confused why I
enjoyed this painting so much, I felt peaceful and carefree. I couldn’t explain
these feelings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The following week I returned to once again sit on the
bench and gaze at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring Flowers</i>. As
I turned the corner and took my first step up the staircase I was shocked, like
being sucker punched. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The museum moved <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring
Flowers</i> to the top of the staircase! It looked absolutely beautiful there
as it most likely would anywhere. But I could no longer sit down on the observer’s
bench to enjoy it. A feeling of sadness washed over me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Wondering why, I inquired at the front desk. I was
told the Chief Curator periodically moved artwork - no particular reason.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The empathetic receptionist acknowledged my
disappointment and handed me a poster size replica of the painting. Expressing
my pleasure, I left and had it framed immediately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I’ve moved several times since, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spring Flowers</i> is always displayed on my
living room wall. Every time I admire it all I can do is shake my head.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-61816965198974932362012-06-07T20:35:00.001-07:002013-11-09T20:04:41.808-08:00LESSON LEARNED<br />
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<br />
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On such a beautiful day I thought I
would take a simple walk in the park. Anticipating clearing my mind I briskly
laced up my sneakers.</div>
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Coming up to the children’s swings
after having walked halfway around, there was a pretty young woman pushing her
baby on a swing. My first thought was, what is wrong with this picture? My kids
are grown and I have a grandson I would love to be pushing in that swing. What
is wrong with that woman?</div>
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Continuing my walk I suddenly
stopped. Feeling disgusted for judging this woman I turned around and looked at
her again. </div>
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On second thought, maybe she isn’t
even the baby’s mother. If she is, maybe this is the only place she gets any
free time. Maybe she’s trying to study to get a better job for her and her
baby. Maybe she’s a single mom. There were lots of maybes, lots of
possibilities.</div>
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Learning my lesson not to judge
people was being put to the test today. Immediately failing but ultimately
passing. </div>
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Being at the park, pushing her baby
in a swing, while reading her Kindle, was not for me to judge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
A simple walk in the park.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-81336606990552542362012-04-05T21:16:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:05:13.963-08:00I got beat up at the park.April 5, 2012<br />
<br />
I’ve been feeling really bad lately since my mom is feeling so bad. I talk to her daily, but there is no conversation anymore. We used to talk about the books we were reading, TV shows we were watching, foods we were preparing, current events, and more. But she just makes it to the computer for about two minutes and we talk about nothing. She doesn’t call me even though I suggest it may be less painful. I can’t force her to call instead of using Instant Message. I just hope she does it because she likes it better, not because I hate the phone. I do call her when I just need to hear her voice, but it’s never a good conversation and she makes it short. Sigh.<br />
<br />
She has lost interest in everything. She doesn’t read, watch TV, cook, or keep up with the news. She has pain in her hips and knees. She doesn’t sleep well. This comes from a person who slept for 8 – 10 hours nightly forever. There is no joy in her life whatsoever.<br />
<br />
She has a nurse’s aide daily, she has Meals on Wheels, and now she has a new doctor who comes to her. The only time she went out was to go to the doctors, now the doctor comes to her. Her aide comes back after her regular daytime hours to help her with dinner and going to bed. This is what did it for me. I pretty much lost it when she told me this.<br />
<br />
My mother is a strong woman. She doesn’t tell me things that she knows will make me worry any more than I already do. But I think she is telling me more things a little at a time because I’m going to be there on April 24th for a week. She won’t be able to hide much then. She does this out of love; because she knows what my daily life is like. I visited her 6 months ago and I can’t believe how fast she is going downhill. My brothers live close to her and see her often. I don’t get any calls from them about my mom. I have to figure out for myself how she really is doing.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t too long ago that I set my mom up with everything to make her life easier. I went to the Medical Supply store and got all there was for comfort and necessity. I even got her new hearing aids. She was doing fine. Then she made a bad decision to go to rehab to get strength in her thighs to have surgeries. It was a bad idea and I told her so. I knew the outcome would be exactly what happened. But she didn’t listen to me. She has said she wished she listened. But it’s history now.<br />
<br />
So, today is Thursday. I’ve been pretty sad since the weekend after hearing about the aide coming back at night. I have so many feelings swimming around in my head. I feel sad, I feel guilty, and I feel helpless. I haven’t been to the pool to exercise this week. My ear doesn’t feel right and I figure I better not risk getting water in it. But today I just had to do something because I was left feeling really bad about myself last night.<br />
<br />
So I went to the library to look for pictures to use in my book for my grandson. I spent way too long looking and started feeling pain, but I wanted to walk in the park and get some sun, so I took the books I collected and left. I went to the park and I got beat up!<br />
<br />
I couldn’t believe the parallel between beating me up mentally and being beat up while walking in the park. The day was windy, but beautiful. I was thinking about my mother and how I should be there every day to take care of her and all of a sudden my face was whipped with what felt like shards of glass. At first it took me for a loop and I couldn’t figure out how leaves could hurt so much.<br />
<br />
I kept walking and before long I saw acorns on the path. I picked up a couple and that’s when I realized it was acorns that beat me up. It was like a good slap in the face, but it only lasted a minute. I went right back to feeling like crap.<br />
<br />
So, as I’m walking my hips are killing me and I’m wondering if I can even make it once around the path. I start thinking about when I used to come to this park before I got sick and how many times I walked this path. I’d never counted but I certainly walked more than once and for hours. I had put two of my attackers in my pocket earlier, and took them out now and rolled them around in my hand for a minute. I thought it might get me to change my negative thoughts.<br />
<br />
I now turn the bend in the walking path and see the swings where I used to swing with a boyfriend 11 years earlier. I wanted to swing again so I go off the beaten path (pun intended) and my eyes fixated on a swing. There was a young teenager on the far swing and three empty swings. I didn’t for one minute think I couldn’t swing. I don’t know why, but it never crossed my mind. Well, add to my getting beat up by acorns to experiencing one of the most humiliating moments in my life.<br />
<br />
I get to the swing and turn my back to it to get on and I can’t pull myself up onto the swing. I have no strength in my arms and hands to lift myself up. Oh my gawd. I think, no way. I exercise 2 hours every other day, I can do this. I try again, this time pushing the swing under my butt thinking it will give me an edge. It does not. Now there are two younger girls running to the swings next to me and a father holding onto the swing poles staring at me. I try again and I can’t get on the swing. I look at the dad and I am so humiliated I can’t believe it. So I leave and continue walking.<br />
<br />
Oh I forgot to mention another reason I’m feeling so sad. My 24 year old son, Bob, is currently in Lake Havasu City with friends. I lived there for a couple of years when my sons, Jim and Rich were about 3 and 6 years old until they were about 6 and 9. My sons know I absolutely love LHC. They have wanted to take me there many, many times, but I haven’t made it yet. I always say someday. Bob has been sending me pictures of the lake and asking me to set a date to go. Rich said we should all go in the summer, him and his new family, Bob, and me. Again, I said maybe.<br />
<br />
It’s a double edged sword for me. Memories of my kids are precious. I love thinking of the happy times. But I was divorced in LHC after almost 10 years of marriage and their father never saw Jim and Rich again, (except for when they came to court with me for child support). It was in LHC where I met Bob’s father and was with him in Phoenix for 17 years before we divorced after again almost 10 years of marriage. He didn’t see Bob again either (except for when he popped back into our lives when Bob was 13 years old for about 6 months.) How sad is this paragraph?<br />
<br />
I just had another revelation. I’m thinking maybe another reason I’m feeling so sad this week is because Bob isn’t here. He pops in whenever, so I’m always thinking I can’t be sad or be crying. Now that he’s not around, even for a few days, my guard may be let down. Not sure, but it just has me thinking this may be.<br />
<br />
OK, I digressed; let me return to the park. I have to scroll up to see where I left off. I can’t believe all I’m writing. My hands are just typing away and I have no cramps, which is very odd. OK, so I’m walking the path again, after my humiliation. My hips are burning and I look at my watch and I haven’t even walked for 15 minutes yet! I feel stinging on my hand, so I look down and my pinky finger is bleeding. I guess I cut it on the chain trying to get on the swing. I’m still getting beat up! Oh my gawd.<br />
<br />
As I reach where I began my walk I say to myself, walk it again. I know I can do this. So I kept walking. My hips didn’t hurt as much the second time around. I walked the path again and when I end up where I started, I know I can’t do it again. But I don’t want to go home yet. It’s so beautiful out and I know if I go home I’ll just feel sad. So I sit at a picnic table thinking all is good.<br />
<br />
I start crying and I think, so much for my theory. Oh my gawd. Memories flood back to when I walked here with yet a different boyfriend 13 years ago, and then another potential boyfriend at a later time years ago. I start thinking about how I will never have another man in my life. The tears are really flowing now. My face starts stinging and I think it must be cut from the acorns. Then I feel the heat, I got sunburned! Oh my gawd, I’m still getting beat up.<br />
<br />
I decide to just sit there and cry. What the hell. I’ll get it all out. I mean the acorns beat me up; the swing chain cut my finger, I was humiliated, my hips are hurting, my face is burning, I have guilt about my mother, I’m sad over memories of LHC and the loss of my son, I realize I’m going solo the rest of my life, what else could go wrong at the park?<br />
<br />
So I sit, I think, I cry. I keep changing positions so I don’t turn into a lobster. I’m sitting facing the parking lot because the sun is setting and my legs were turning red facing west. I’m just sitting, thinking, and blubbering when a dog comes up to my left leg. Oh my gawd. I thought, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m going to get bit by a damn dog now? Holy shit on rye. The dog licks my leg and the owner calls her dog and he obeys right away and walks away. Wow. I couldn’t believe I did not get bitten by this dog.<br />
<br />
As I sit there, for some reason the Beatles song, Yesterday, is singing in my head. It’s not a favorite of mine, but there it is singing in my head. Go figure. More tears.<br />
<br />
I decide it’s time to go home. I walk to my truck and begin my drive home. I kid you not, this is the song that played on the way home, Mama Said There’d Be Days Like This.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-85428174776426881092010-10-19T19:49:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:05:33.966-08:00BlacklistedThe position of his ears tells it all: pricked forward, he is signaling alertness, curiosity, or interest. Slightly flopped to the sides, he is relaxed, sleepy, or bored. If rotated backward, he is listening to something behind him. However, if they are rotated backward and flattened down against his neck, he is signaling fear or anger. <br />
<br />
Remember, when you are working with him, he should always have at least one ear cocked in your direction, listening for your next cue. <br />
<br />
This is how my first horseback riding lesson began. My mother had given me a choice, girl scouts or horseback riding lessons. I was ten years old. It was the best summer of my young life.<br />
<br />
Ten years flew by during which I traded horseback riding skills for parenting skills. My children were now the ones listening for my next cue. <br />
<br />
I was 20 years old when my girlfriend asked me to go riding with her at a local Long Island stable. So on a brisk fall morning, I left the pile of beautifully colored leaves for my husband to rake, and I set out on a long overdue day of horseback riding. <br />
<br />
I did expect to be given less rein to ride, but I did not expect to be given no rein at all. A trail leader leads the horses as they walk mindlessly behind the horse in front of them. This was a big disappointment and I concluded that riding a trail horse was not riding at all and I decided I would never ride a trail horse again. I realized that short of becoming best friends with someone who owned a ranch, this meant I may never ride any horse ever again. Or so I thought until six years later -- but with dire consequences.<br />
<br />
My family and I were now living in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. I was 23 years old and being teased with the rich smell of horses, manure, and stables in every breeze. For three years I struggled with my earlier decision never to ride again, but living in the beautiful Arizona desert, with its indigenous mountain trails, I could not resist the temptation. So on a cool winter morning with a forecast calling for daytime temperatures in the low 70’s, I decided to get back in the saddle.<br />
<br />
I arrived at the local stable hours before my reservation and asked a stableman if it was okay to walk around. I wanted to see if the horses were alert, interested, or just sulking in the backs of their stalls. Were they relaxed, or did they act jumpy. My prior knowledge came flooding back like it was yesterday. My heart was racing in anticipation of mounting one of these beautiful creatures. <br />
<br />
Later on in the afternoon, I walked over to the trail horses where a group of people were waiting for our trail leader. I surveyed the group. The first couple was in their twenties, the woman was dressed for anything but horseback riding, and the guy looked like he was nursing a hangover. The second couple was maybe in their 50’s. The wife looked stiff and nervous watching her husband pet the horses. Goofing around, punching one another playfully, were four rambunctious teenage boys, one of whom yelled to his Uncle Russell, “When do we leave?”<br />
<br />
I had my eye on a beautiful stallion and was talking to him when a loud voice announced, “Howdy, y’all, my name is Russell, and y’all are gonna be followin’ me and Banter here for the next hour.” As I continued to stroke the stallion’s chestnut colored mane Russell moseyed on over to me and said, “Can you ride Big Red young lady?” I nodded and proceeded to mount the stallion, sinking comfortably into the saddle and sliding my boots into the stirrups securing a perfect fit. I asked Big Red to stand still for a minute while I adjusted my reins. Then I stroked his neck and praised him before cueing him to walk forward.<br />
<br />
“Well hell, I got me one rider I don’t have to worry about, now don’t I miss?” Russell snorted. Big Red’s ears pricked forward as I balanced my weight in his saddle for a comfortable fit.<br />
<br />
It was well into the afternoon when the ride began. Russell rattled off a few of his own rules as our horses obediently followed him. I decided to bring up the rear so Big Red could trot up to the group. It was my lame attempt at pretending to ride. What I had not realized at the time was that my pretending was about to turn very real.<br />
<br />
We were on the trail for about 20 minutes when our horses abruptly stopped. Russell guided our group towards the fork on the left, pointing out how the right fork led to a steep path down the mountains to the river. My heart skipped a beat as my mind raced with deviant thoughts. I sat there for a minute contemplating this amazing opportunity. I whispered into Big Red’s left ear. Then I gently nudged him toward the right fork, knowing all too well he was programmed to go left. But he pricked his ears forward then cocked his left ear towards me and there was no turning back!<br />
Big Red knew he was venturing on new territory as his steps were cautious, slow, and sure. It took about ten minutes before we reached the bottom of the mountain. I dismounted Big Red and let the cool, slow moving river quench his deep thirst. I paid close attention as his ears slightly flopped to the sides. He was enjoying this reprieve as much as I was, maybe more. I wanted to capture this moment and freeze it for all eternity, but I knew a posse was waiting. <br />
<br />
I gazed along the river and to the right I could see a picturesque field the size of two football fields. I asked Big Red if he was up for it. I stroked his mane and once again he pricked his ears forward. I mounted him and we walked towards the field. I held the reins tightly as he cocked his left ear towards me and waited for my cue. I kicked signaling a full gallop. Big Red pushed so hard off the ground when he galloped that we covered the field in breakneck speed. I yelled at the top of my lungs, enjoying selfish gratification, disregarding any later consequences.<br />
<br />
We returned back to the stables in a cool - down walk. We were met with the expected posse, an indignant group of three men. I was escorted into the office and Big Red was led to the stables. I was scolded and told I put myself and Big Red in danger. One of the men asked me if I even considered for a moment the fact that trail horses were only meant for walking. I was informed that charges may be filed, and I could be arrested. I was told to sit down and wait while the stallion was being examined by the stable’s vet.<br />
<br />
While we waited, I had to speak up; I told the men I would not have considered taking such a ride if I thought Big Red was incapable. I told them I was trained to observe signs of stress. I firmly believed Big Red was in no danger. I remarked how we rested and how much Big Red enjoyed the river and the gallop. My convictions fell on deaf ears, so I paced the room hoping to wear down the anxiety that plagued me.<br />
The office door opened too fast and slammed against the wall. I was startled and dropped my riding gloves on the sawdust floor. I reached down to pick them up and prepared myself for the verdict. The vet glanced my way, and then asked to speak to the men alone. They all retreated to the back room. <br />
<br />
Ten minutes had passed when the door finally opened. All three men took a confrontational stance as one of them took control of the situation. He advised me that due to the astonishing fact that Big Red was not harmed I would not face criminal charges. However, he continued, there would be dire consequences for my actions. I was banned from all operating stables in Lake Havasu City. I was blacklisted. <br />
<br />
Years later, when I was 44 years old, my son Bobby and I moved to Las Vegas. I took Bobby horseback riding at a local stable. As my horse was mindlessly following Bobby’s horse, I started daydreaming about my memorable ride in Lake Havasu City. I was reminiscing that captured moment I had kept frozen in my mind; Big Red drinking from the cool river at the bottom of the mountain, then galloping through the field in breakneck speed. I started thinking of the horse I was riding now as it dragged behind Bobby’s horse, and I wondered if he would listen for my cues like Big Red had done years ago.<br />
<br />
With a sudden jolt I was brought back to reality with Bobby turned around on his horse yelling, “Ma, the guy said there’s a fork in the trail. My horse won’t move! What does it mean when his left ear is bent and he keeps looking at me? What’s he waiting for? What should I do?”<br />
<br />
Do I dare?<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-88009148027406978952010-10-19T19:47:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:06:06.283-08:00An Opportunity to Prove Yourself...An opportunity to prove yourself, it is what we all strive for in life.<br />
<br />
Reading that statement is one thing, but hearing it from the person who signs your paycheck is another. Ms. Palmer related this very statement to Kathy and Wyn, after a meeting with the CEO of Boyle Technology.<br />
<br />
Ms. Palmer was being held accountable for Kathy and Wyn’s intense technology training of Boyle Tech’s new products. The CEO requested a presentation to showcase these products utilizing their technology equipment. This was perfect timing for Kathy and Wyn, as they were experiencing student burnout.<br />
<br />
After a year and a half of sitting through painstaking technology courses, Kathy and Wyn were finally given the opportunity to showcase their new skills in what they both deemed a proper setting. During the past year and a half at Boyle Technology, they were asked to present the occasional workshop using PowerPoint and cartoon graphics, which always produced the usual chuckles, but now they were more than willing and eager to prove themselves worthy of a full blown technology presentation. The only guidelines given by the CEO were for Kathy and Wyn to have mastered the knowledge and application of Boyle Tech’s new products before introducing them to 200 prospective buyers. Ms. Palmer reminded Kathy and Wyn of her previous statement regarding their opportunity to prove themselves as her job was also on the line.<br />
<br />
The presentation was scheduled on a Saturday morning. Kathy and Wyn had two weeks to prepare. The venue was an unfamiliar room inside a local hotel casino. Ms. Palmer gave Kathy and Wyn contact information for Robert, the meeting room coordinator for the hotel casino, and Wyn set up a meeting for early Monday morning. Upon arrival, the first thing the ladies did was to scope out the size of the room. It was a 300 person capacity room. This was going to be a challenge as presentations they had previously given were in a 75 person capacity room. When Robert arrived, they went over the specifics for their presentation. The accommodations were confirmed; the number of tables and chairs, appropriate lighting, the oversized projector screen, and complimentary beverages. Robert would even have signs posted with arrows leading the way to the room one hour prior to the presentation. With just a rehearsal date and time to schedule, they were done for the day. Robert checked his calendar and all three agreed on the Thursday before the presentation as acceptable.<br />
<br />
Kathy and Wyn could now devote their time to mastering the CEO’s new products and applying their knowledge and skills. More than just keeping their jobs; they wanted to be appreciated for their expertise. Ms. Palmer often reminded both ladies of her own career expectations resulting from a successful presentation. Kathy and Wyn were not overly concerned because; after all, they have been working for Ms. Palmer and Boyle Tech for six years and were very well trained, feeling confident they could do a great job. <br />
They were, however, feeling anxious. They wanted to be offered a better position at Boyle Tech after this presentation. This had been their strategy behind the decision to accept Ms. Palmer’s offer to pay them to attend all the extra technology training courses. They loved working with technology and considered being privy to new products a privilege. Kathy and Wyn had assumed they would be asked to be accountable for the money invested in them by Boyle Tech., and anticipated being asked to do some kind of a presentation. If successful, the result would be money in the bank and a name plaque on their door, as they secretly chatted about over many lunches. So this was the opportunity that would indeed prove themselves to both Ms. Palmer and Boyle Technology. It was what they both were striving for in life!<br />
<br />
So, for two weeks, Kathy and Wyn tested the products and created their presentation. They were very impressed with the new products and were excited to present them to prospective buyers. They practiced daily after work until the rehearsal date on the Thursday preceding the presentation.<br />
<br />
The rehearsal went well; Kathy and Wyn were 100% prepared, feeling almost cocky. Kathy made sure they had backup paper copies of the presentation, just in case an unexpected technology problem occurred. They checked and re-checked the products and equipment, leaving no room for error. They packed up and left, thanking Robert for his efforts and agreeing on a 7:30 arrival time on Saturday morning.<br />
<br />
Kathy and Wyn were at the meeting room early on Saturday and were setting up as Robert checked in for any last minute concerns. This was much appreciated and at the moment nothing more was needed of Robert. Buyers started entering the meeting room between 8:30 a.m. – 9:00 a.m., by way of Robert’s much appreciated arrows. At exactly 9:10 a.m. Wyn went to the podium to introduce herself and to announce the standard housekeeping rules required at all meetings. She then gave the podium over to Kathy who introduced herself. After taking much anticipated questions from their audience, Kathy walked over to the equipment table and stood composed waiting for Wyn’s signal to begin. Wyn began the oral part of the presentation and then signaled to Kathy to start the visuals. When Kathy flipped the switch, nothing happened.<br />
<br />
<br />
Epilogue<br />
<br />
The oversized projector screen had been blank of any and all text and graphics that Kathy and Wyn had prepared. They had silently chuckled, exchanging looks which they both immediately understood, and proceeded with the presentation. With so much on the line, Kathy and Wyn had brought their own backup equipment, which was concealed under the table, and Kathy just reached for them nonchalantly as previously rehearsed. <br />
<br />
The CEO of Boyle Technology had an unexpected emergency and never made it to the presentation. However, he did send his assistant, Rich, who was more than willing to report the outcome of the presentation back to the CEO.<br />
<br />
Rich’s table had been close enough to Kathy’s whereby he was instantly made alarmingly aware that a product of Boyle Technology had just failed. He was in awe of the backup plan Kathy and Wyn had ready to handle this potential disaster. They had masked the failure of the equipment and completed the presentation without the buyers being aware of any technological problems. These employees were exemplary, is how Rich relayed his thoughts to the CEO. He added that not only did the presentation continue smoothly, but the evaluations proved the presentation to be more of a success than anticipated.<br />
<br />
Rich showed the CEO the evaluations from the buyers that were handed in immediately following the presentation. Every single one praised Kathy and Wyn on all levels. All but 22 left their names and contact information to set up a future meeting to purchase one or more of the products. There were many that requested Kathy and Wyn to be present at these meetings; there was even one asking for Kathy and Wyn’s personal cell phone number!<br />
<br />
Ms. Palmer was given a bonus for the presentation’s successful outcome. Kathy and Wyn were both promoted, which came with a raise and a name plaque on their door. The first assignment given to both star employees was to determine the reason for the product’s failure at the presentation. <br />
<br />
No buyers were being scheduled for meetings to purchase any new products until they were able to complete this task, and with this Kathy and Wyn were immediately earning their ‘money in the bank’! Repeated once again, they heard………..<br />
An opportunity to prove yourself, it is what we all strive for in life.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-82490398921813078562010-10-19T19:46:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:06:36.251-08:00The ClassifiedThe Ad read: Help Wanted. Individual needed to deliver telegrams. Must have own vehicle and insurance, must know Las Vegas area. Call 555-1212 for interview. Equal Opportunity Employer.<br />
<br />
Matt carefully read the ad and called to schedule an appointment for an interview. He was instructed to come in next Monday at 10 a.m. Jobs were scarce, so he knew he had to make a good impression. This interview was different from all the previous ones because it involved his vehicle, so he immediately set out to clean his van inside and out. He knew the city like the back of his hand, so that part of the interview would be a piece of cake. <br />
<br />
Monday finally arrived and Matt drove to the address given to him on the phone. It was packed with people like him, full of hope for employment. The receptionist told Matt to sign in and wait for his name to be called. He spotted a space near the corner of the room and made his way over and waited with everyone else.<br />
<br />
It was a small building and inside the room was only one door with a name plaque that read, Ms. Reynolds, Assistant Manager. After a short time, the door opened abruptly and a tall, thin, red headed woman dressed in a tight navy blue skirt and matching sweater, was thanking an older gentleman dressed in shorts for coming in. Then she called Matt’s name and he made his way through the crowd into her office.<br />
<br />
Matt answered the standard interview questions, he knew them by heart. He verified his license and proof of insurance and answered all of Ms. Reynolds questions regarding his knowledge of the Las Vegas area. She asked Matt if he would consider taking part in mock telegram deliveries on Thursday. She said it was the best way to screen applicants after the paperwork and interviews were completed. Matt said he would gladly participate. He was instructed to arrive at 10 a.m. <br />
<br />
On Thursday morning, Matt was joined by four other hopeful applicants who made the cut. There were three men and one woman, all were older than Matt. As he sat comfortably waiting, the others nervously paced back and forth. Killing time, they all engaged in polite small talk. <br />
<br />
Promptly at 10:00, Ms. Reynolds opened her office door and welcomed the group of five asking if anyone wanted coffee. She explained she would be hiring only two from the final five applicants after today’s mock deliveries. She advised the group what the necessary criteria would be to secure a position with her company; a timely arrival at five different destinations and the professional manner and presentation of the telegrams. She handed them all a piece of paper with a specific greeting on it. She said it recognized the company and must be read when the recipient accepts their telegram.<br />
<br />
Matt glanced at the paper and was surprised when it stated nothing more than what he would have said on his own; a simple greeting of the day, mentioning his name while handing the person the telegram, and ending with a polite farewell. By specific greeting, Ms. Reynolds only wanted to add the company’s name, Foyle’s Telegram Service. She sent them on their way with a last minute reminder that there would be a representative waiting at each destination and would report back to her with their comments and recommendations. <br />
<br />
Ms. Reynolds answered questions while handing each of them a mock telegram to deliver. Matt read the address and felt confident he could arrive at the first destination without any problems. Ms. Reynolds wished them all good luck as they departed for the first destination.<br />
<br />
Matt arrived at the first address only 23 minutes later. He knocked at the door and was greeted by a gentleman who immediately started writing in his clipboard. Matt introduced himself and delivered the specific greeting respectfully while handing the man the mock telegram. In turn, he was handed a second mock telegram to be delivered. <br />
<br />
This simple task was repeated four more times in spread out destinations across the Las Vegas area. Matt encountered no problems during all five deliveries, even the traffic cooperated. Matt’s deliveries took exactly two hours and twenty - five minutes.<br />
<br />
All five of the hopeful applicants arrived back at the office at about the same time. The receptionist clocked them to assure an accurate time. Matt wondered whether any of the others secretly timed themselves as he did. Since they did all arrive back at about the same time, this could be the deciding factor in the hiring decision. The receptionist advised them all that Ms. Reynolds would call each of them on Wednesday to inform them of their status.<br />
<br />
Matt received an early call from Ms. Reynolds on Wednesday morning. She said she wanted to read to Matt the consensus of what each representative had written in their notes, she read; the young man delivered the telegram as a competent, courteous, individual. She stated that they all believed Matt would be an asset to Foyle’s Telegram Service.<br />
<br />
Matt was hesitant to speak before hearing that he was actually offered the job. Ms. Reynolds, feeling the awkward pause, continued the conversation by saying the job was Matt’s if he wanted it. Matt accepted her offer and he thanked her for reading the comments to him. <br />
<br />
Finally an ad that was true to its words: Equal Opportunity Employer. Matt spun around in his wheel chair confident he got the job on his own merit.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-31348521964543439582010-10-19T19:43:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:06:57.978-08:00Error in Judgment‘My name is David, not Dave.’ That’s how my first conversation with Mr. Perfect ended. My attempt to end our phone call in a relaxed and informal way with ‘see you on Friday night, Dave’ ruffled the feathers of this all too methodical and all too precise David. <br />
<br />
I dated David for a few months. I had mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, his perfection drove me crazy; but on the other hand, I enjoyed his reliability. Or I did until one night in San Francisco when my own feathers ruffled –not with too much informality – but with fear.<br />
<br />
David’s job involved traveling most of the time. He created computer manuals and formally presented them to businesses. He had asked me to join him on many of his trips, but I was not as carefree as David. He had no children. I had a nine year old son and a teaching job. <br />
<br />
As luck would have it, during my spring break, David’s trip was to San Francisco. I was able to make arrangements to join him for two days. The plan was to meet him in San Francisco, at the Clarion Hotel. He would have a key for me at the front desk. When his work day was over, he would meet me at the room and off we would go to see the sites. I was excited to see The Golden Gate City!<br />
<br />
I didn’t wait long before David arrived. He had our itinerary all set and as we left the room I listened to his encyclopedic knowledge of San Francisco and what he had planned for the night: first a ride on the cable cars, next we’d see the Golden Gate Bridge all lit up, and we’d end the night with a walk to the Buena Vista Restaurant for dinner. The next day, we would go to Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli Square. <br />
<br />
The cable car ride was fun! The sight of the Bridge was breathtaking! I couldn’t believe the late April sky colors of blazing oranges and reds, combined with soft blues and purples.<br />
<br />
The temperature fell. I could feel it on my face. It seemed a perfect night for walking -- and I looked forward to the brisk walk and to eating a sumptuous dinner.<br />
<br />
We enjoyed a delicious meal at Buena Vista and decided to continue walking for a while before going back to the hotel. As we walked we heard live music in the distance. Around the corner there was a saxophone player belting out his tunes for a few patrons sitting outside a café. There were two empty tables, so we sat down to enjoy the music. The waitress came over and David ordered two glasses of wine. We enjoyed the entertainment until the sax player ended thanking his audience for listening. He wished us well and a safe night home. It felt good knowing David had planned another perfect date.<br />
We started our leisurely walk back to the hotel. We were reminiscing about the day’s events and talking about Fisherman’s Wharf. After about ten minutes, David got unusually quiet. It was then that I noticed the night creeping in with its stealthy cloak of darkness. I glanced at my watch and was shocked to see it was 1:30 in the morning! I regretted letting time slip by earlier at the café. My mind was now racing with disturbing thoughts.<br />
<br />
Suddenly I knew we were lost. David did too. We heard shouting – jolting and loud --. Our eyes found each other’s and absolute terror found my stomach. I grabbed David’s arm so tightly that my nails dug into his skin. “Mary, let’s cross the street, NOW,” David said. Too scared to utter a single word –and still clinging to David’s arm – I followed his lead as we dashed across the street. <br />
<br />
Before we said another word to each other, two policemen were standing right in front of us. One of them very slowly enunciated the words; “w-h-a-t t-h-e h-e-l-l a-r-e y-o-u t-w-o d- o- i- n- g?” his voice escalating with every syllable. I said as calmly as I could, “We were walking back to our hotel.” The other cop started ranting, “Don’t you know you are walking in the worst part of the city? You can’t just walk anywhere you want. You should know better. For your own safety, we will call you a cab to take you to your hotel. Let’s go.”<br />
<br />
David was speechless until we reached our hotel. Then he said, “I can’t believe I put us in danger like that. I thought the hotel was only two blocks west from the café. How could I have made such an error in judgment?” He was sitting in a stupor, feeling less than perfect, mulling over his mistake. <br />
<br />
As David sat brooding, I thought to myself, go ahead and brood Mr. Perfect, but there would be no more getting lost for me -- no more scares -- no more stealth darkness creeping up on me again. I said I would be right back that I was going to the corner store to get a candy bar. He didn't even acknowledge my words, preoccupied with his own perfect thoughts.<br />
<br />
My real mission had a different purpose. I figured who better than the clerk at the corner store to know what areas of the city light up at night! The clerk supplied me with exactly what I needed to know to survive my last date with David. I picked up a map for backup. The sun would shine all day tomorrow, and into the night, I felt confident of that.<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-78656258454193971172010-10-19T19:41:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:07:18.499-08:00The New GuyWEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 6, 2010<br />
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“That will be $12.13 please”, I asked. “One moment young man,” replied the elderly woman. I waited way too long for an eighty – seven cent tip.<br />
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I threw the change in the pizza bag and wondered how I will pay my new car payments let alone an apartment, at this rate. I was thinking how proud my parents are with my newly established credit.<br />
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“Hey Lee, there was a phone call for you”, chuckled the cook, “and she sounded serious, did you forget you had a date?” He handed me a ripped paper with the phone number. “Cool, it’s the Account Temp Service!” Off the clock, I left to return the call. <br />
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“There is a job for you, take down this number and be at the Golden Slipper, Suite 219 at 8 am tomorrow”, said the receptionist. “Thank you,” I said.<br />
Gravitating towards my closet I dialed mom and dad. “Oh Lee, that sounds so hopeful, a casino” said mom. “Is your shirt ironed, your pants, you have nice shoes right?” cried mom. “Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to wear them yet!” I laughed. I heard mom let out a nervous giggle while she said, “get a good night sleep and call us tomorrow.” “OK, love you mom.”<br />
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I arrived fifteen minutes early to navigate the casino. I took the escalator to the second floor to locate Suite 219. Resume in hand.<br />
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I was immediately welcomed then rushed to a cubicle with a pile of folders and asked to audit the numbers. That was it! I was on my own. At 5:00 I was asked to come back tomorrow. This continued for two weeks.<br />
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On the second Friday, I was asked if I wanted a permanent position with the casino! I accepted and was told to report to Human Resources on Monday. Car payment and rent paid.<br />
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There was a change in the office atmosphere three weeks later. Being the new guy, I didn’t ask. I was enlightened soon enough. On the following Friday I felt a weight on my shoulder. I turned to see whose heavy hand it was. One of the four men from the Executive Offices introduced himself and proceeded to compliment me on the great job I was doing. I was asked questions about my auditing skills. He seemed pleased. I felt proud. <br />
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A fellow worker in the cubicle next to me said, “It always gets uptight in here when an executive graces us with his presence.” He continued, “I heard you were his main interest, even digging into your background.” In the months that followed, I was given more numbers to audit followed by a visit from the same executive. <br />
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With all going so well, why am I sitting in front of my parent’s house, in a taxi, trying to find the strength to tell them that, according to the law, I had just committed my first crime, that I was innocent; I had posted bail, and might be going away for a long time for an embezzling scam at the Golden Slipper? <br />
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No car, no apartment, and good credit are the least of my problems. Dad hugged me longer than expected. I heard mom on the phone; “Russell, thank god you are not in court, your nephew needs you.”<br />
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“That will be $15.15 please,” I asked. “One moment Sir,” replied the elderly woman. I waited way too long for an eighty – five cent tip.<br />
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COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013<br />
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___________________________Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5667453609232062375.post-58896495341949471812010-10-19T19:35:00.000-07:002013-11-09T20:07:39.752-08:00An Essay: To Befriend or not to BefriendDecember 2008<br />
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I believe when a person becomes ill that it is ok not to have friends. Do not misunderstand, this is not a woe is me story. Let me explain. Within seven years I went from being a healthy, vibrant, employed teacher to an unhealthy, idle, unemployed person. The latter is what formed my belief.<br />
In August 2001 I lost my oldest son. It is this overwhelming sadness I deal with daily that was the start of my newly acquired philosophy. This loss was followed by a diagnosis of leukemia in November 2003. Being fully aware of how friends and family are most important at such trying times, the friends component was quickly diminishing.<br />
Between my sadness and treating a chronic illness with daily chemo, the failure of friends to empathize provided more destructive attitude than positive for me. I do not want pity friends.<br />
I will expound my belief that it is ok not to have friends when a person becomes ill. My body is deteriorating due to osteoarthritis. In July 2007 I had an unsuccessful total knee replacement. I cannot sit, stand or walk for an extended period of time. I have tried going places and doing things, but I suffer beyond explanation afterwards and it is that very explanation that is impossible to express accurately to others. When I did have a life after the hours of teaching, I loved walking the Las Vegas Strip, walking the city parks, dating, going to concerts, and basically having a fun and active life. Currently all has changed due to my poor health, hence my choice not to have friends. <br />
I continued to work until October 2008, during which my ailments progressed causing me to take medical leave. This has lead to my early total and permanent disability retirement at age fifty-four which has affected every aspect of my life. <br />
Today my life is much different. I do not have to say no and make excuses to others. No one calls. No one knocks at the door. I have modified my home and life to accommodate my disabilities. I realize my belief goes against my family’s concerns and every self help guru and book currently written about the importance of friends.<br />
I am content and happy with my choice. I will devote my time to writing a book. I have no idea regarding its content, but it will be fiction and it will be fun. My inspiration to write came after hearing Dan Gediman on Book TV talking about the writers in the This I Believe books. This essay will be the springboard for my own writing venture and I will be successful at it, This I Believe.<br />
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COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09108223853781147386noreply@blogger.com0