My first novel

Hello everyone!

I have finished writing and publishing my first novel. I'll be writing short stories after learning the promotional skills for my book.

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.

http://mcrocco.wordpress.com/

I'm excited to be called an author! Please drop me a line sharing your thoughts.

Thank you

Mary

Which voice to you prefer, 1st or 3rd?

Noodles at 1 a.m.

 

I haven’t touched my noodles in a couple of days and I missed them, but it’s 1 a.m.  What’s a gal to do?  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.

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.  This dilemma needed to be corrected.

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.  This was overcome tonight.

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.  Pulling into the main road and starting to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic was   amusing. Then butterflies took over - who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.?

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!

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.

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.

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.

******************************OR********************************

Noodles at 1 a.m.

 

 

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.

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.  Her dilemma needed to be corrected.

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.

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.  Pulling into the main road she started to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic.  With butterflies in her stomach she wondered who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.

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!

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.

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.

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.

COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013

OPPORTUNITY

 

 

 

 

“Beautiful day to be on the lake,” Barbara said to her handsome friends.

“Sure is baby,” Russ said, as he reached for her hand.

“Can’t miss his boat, lime green and all,” Gary said, as he pointed across the lake.

“Bastard,” Barbara muttered. “It’s not fair he should be able to have fun, he should be crippled and suffering.”

“That can be arranged, baby,” Russ said, reaching for his FBI badge from the glove box. “Just say the word.”

“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.

“Have to admit - looks perfect, his is the only boat there,” Russ said, looking at Barbara for the go ahead.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

“Cripple or death?” he asked.

“Death is too easy.”

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.”

“I only need five minutes,” she said, opening up her pocketbook.

Walking to the restroom memories flooded her mind. We used to have fun. 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.

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?”

“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.

Before he could reply with one of his lame remarks, Russ kicked in the door. “Do you want to watch, baby?”

“No.” Walking towards the door and glancing at her grandson’s picture, she turned around, “On second thought.”

Russ threw Barbara’s ex up against the plexiglas partition.

“Barb, stand by the door, we have work to do,” Gary said.

“With pleasure.”

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.

As he stuck to the glass his eyes pleaded with mine. His nic name of Christ seems to fit at this particular moment.

“Say good-bye to your legs,” Russ said, as Barbara’s ex fell to his knees.

Picking the scum bag back up, “Would you like the pleasure, Gary?” he asked.

The horrifying sound of human bones being broken is something Barbara will never forget. Never.

Russ and Gary cleaned themselves up before the three of them left the restroom.

“Beautiful day to be on the lake,” Barbara said to her handsome friends.

Opening her eyes with a racing pulse, it’s true what they say about revenge, even 33 years later.

 COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013

 

 

Which voice do you prefer, 1st or 3rd?

Noodles at 1 a.m.

 

I haven’t touched my noodles in a couple of days and I missed them, but it’s 1 a.m.  What’s a gal to do?  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.

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.  This dilemma needed to be corrected.

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.  This was overcome tonight.

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.  Pulling into the main road and starting to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic was   amusing. Then butterflies took over - who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.?

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!

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.

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.

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.

 

********OR**********

Noodles at 1 a.m.

 

 

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.

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.  Her dilemma needed to be corrected.

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.

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.  Pulling into the main road she started to laugh out loud at how easy it was to drive with no traffic.  With butterflies in her stomach she wondered who would be exercising in the pool at 1 a.m.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Please leave your preference and a comment! Thank you.

 

Mary :)

COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013

 

 

 

MY TURN

Upon hearing the knock my anticipation heightened. What’s wrong with me, I’m sure no one else feels this way. Opening the door, memories struck me, like an unexpected wave while body surfing in the Atlantic.

“Hi Miss, I’m Lucy from Merry Maids – Hi Miss, I’m Danny,” the two women announced.

“Hi ladies, come on in,” I said, as I held open the door.

Lucy was very businesslike immediately, asking what exactly I wanted done. I loved it, my kind of person, direct and to the point. For some reason, I don’t meet many people with these qualities often.

After a thirty second reply, the women got to work in the bathroom. I sat down to read a new book on my Kindle when I began reflecting as the memories 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 as a Whistle was my business name, and I was the only employee.

Within minutes the exciting smells of cleaning wafted through the hall and into the living room where I sat with my thoughts - my book waiting to be read.  I can’t concentrate.  So this is how my customers used to feel? I was told many times how the scent of clean greeted them at the door when they arrived home from my day of cleaning. Now it was my turn.

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. Soon I heard grunting as they scrubbed and I remembered how hard this work was - back breaking is an understatement. Then it hit me, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t clean my own house. Tears welled up in my eyes.

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.  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.

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.

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?  How much time is left?

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? Damn these knee scars.

Lucy wrung a mop using her hands and I instinctively started massaging my hands, imagining the cramps. Knee pads but no self-wringing mop? They did split the work, however, which made me regret my decision years ago to only hire myself. And the scarred loner lives on.

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.

“I have an hour and a half left on my certificate, ladies; can I request you both for next time?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss, ask for Lucy and Danny,” Lucy replied, eager to get home I’m sure as it was after 5 p.m.

“Thank you, you worked very hard ladies, and everything looks great, thank you! I’ll see you soon.”

As I started to close the door, Lucy said, “Enjoy your home.”

The perfect sentiment.

Inhaling my clean home, I heard my neighbor’s teenage daughter ask her mother, “Why can’t we get Merry Maids?”

“Are you going to pay for it?” barked the jealousy ridden mother.

Within five minutes I heard the sound of a vacuum. Ha!

I dare my family to ask me what I would like for next Xmas. Wait . . .  my birthday is in May.

COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013

My reply from the Olympic Committee

Hello.

 

Thank you for your email.  Interesting idea J  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!  

 

 

 

 

 

Erica Hutchinson

 

Associate Director Visitor Center and Community Relations

 

United States Olympic Committee

1 Olympic Plaza

Colorado Springs, CO 80909

 

719-866-4604[office]

719-866-4728 [fax]

719-330-4050 [cell]

 

erica.hutchinson@usoc.org

Olympics for the Minds

What if we trained young minds for an Olympics?  Every four years, individuals and teams would study educational disciplines to compete for gold medals.

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.

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?

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.

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!”

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.

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 . . .”

Tuning in to a different subject, we would say, “I never knew that!” with an Olympics for the Minds.

COPYRIGHT MARY CROCCO 2013