His eyes had sinister charm and I was drawn to him. He was precisely my type. I was pleased to meet him but he would be like the others. No names were exchanged.
***
Written for the Trifextra weekend challenge –
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“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” ~ A.A. Milne
~
I write this post through swollen eyes and saturated shirt sleeves. Tonight while watching a scripted episode of a television show I witnessed a group of friends bid farewell to, not only a fellow cast member but, a confidant, a lover and a friend. And although it was scripted, it was a heart-wrenching hour that brought any of the goodbyes I have ever experienced bubbling to the surface of my emotions because it was a genuine farewell to a person who will no longer be in their day-to-day realities. The poignant words of the writing team were presented with a deep honesty because the melancholy was sincere and the pain was palpable.
Anyone who has lost someone can relate to the despair I am currently feeling. Memories of the anguish I felt in the moments of my own losses came flooding back and I envisioned the struggle I endured to force myself to change the definition of those bonds. I cried for their pain and I cried for my own pain. The most difficult part of saying goodbye is knowing that you had something remarkable in your life and it was taken away before you were ready to part ways.
Living through a loss is inevitable. We can never fully prepare ourselves for the roller coaster of emotion that follows that loss. Death is hardest on those left here to endure the sadness. It is a closed door that can never be opened again but I hold strong to the faith that what lies beyond that closed door is filled with happy memories and moments that can be cherished by watching the movie of the life they lived.
The bonds we have with those who have left us still remain. The parameters of that relationship may have been vastly altered but the connections we have still exist. We have memories to cherish and, in time, reminiscing will make that goodbye a little less painful and allow the happy memories to outweigh the grief.
Working in a team environment every day should make you realize that you are only as good as the team you have surrounding you. Being in a leadership role, no matter how confident you are, will only take you so far without acknowledging the many people who follow your lead and give their all for that team.
I am fortunate to work with a great group of people. Their true dedication to performing their jobs to the best of their ability makes my job that much easier. Sure we all have days that we would prefer to be anywhere else but the struggles we face, we face together. And that common bond makes us that much stronger of a team.
We face the hardships together, we jump in where we are needed and we all seem to strive for the same goal. Those things alone would be enough of a recipe for success but we are fortunate to enjoy a sense of camaraderie along the way and infuses our day with laughter and a true sense of friendship. Some days are more of a struggle than others to keep our heads above water and come out at the end of the day with a smile on our faces but somehow we bounce back.
I salute my team members – each and every one of them. Your true dedication through a crazy hospitality season is something to be admired and you make it easy for me to come to work every day.
I hope that everyone reading this takes the time to thank the people who contribute to the success of their daily life, whether it be co-workers, friends or family. A team is team regardless of its inception. Take the time to thank the people who live, support or work with you and make sure that their efforts do not go unrecognized. It is the combination of the team effort that measures the height of the level of success.
It was a mistake. It was a disastrous mistake and one that he should never have discovered. It only happened once, okay maybe more than once but, to her, it really meant nothing.
Her day had begun perfectly. The sunrise was breathtaking and the streams of light tickled the beading on her designer wedding dress as they rose to greet the morning. One Mimosa turned into several as her bridesmaids tended to her every need. Hair was curled, make-up was applied and swollen feet were wedged into dyed stilettos.
Their vows drew tears from family and friends, promises of a love eternal, but below the surface it was all a lie. He played the part of the dutiful groom, picking up the train of her dress when she walked and catering to her every whim. All of his smiles for the photographs seemed so genuine and full of love. If she had only seen the hurt and anger bubbling below the superficial quality of his grin.
His thank-you speech began as she has seen him rehearse it many times but what followed was a shocking turn of events. She was initially intrigued but her curiosity suddenly turned to horror as his words fell heavily on her ears. The sea of dismayed and tortured looks rested solely on her. Each guest held a photo in their hands of a moment in time she would regret for the rest of her life. Three days before the wedding she had slept with the best man and every person in the room held photographic evidence of her betrayal.
Her exit from the reception felt like it was in slow motion. The limousine that waited to whisk them away to their honeymoon sat idle and she jumped in the back seat. They drove for an eternity and finally found a small, seedy pub in the middle of nowhere. She entered and ordered a drink. “Give me a Zombie, and keep them coming until I turn into one”.
Written for the Trifecta Weekly Challenge and inspired by what is, most-likely, an urban legend. (Photo credit: flickr.com)
a : the supernatural power that according to voodoo belief may enter into and reanimate a dead body
b : a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies capable only of automatic movement who is held to have died and been supernaturally reanimated
b : a person markedly strange in appearance or behavior
He did what everyone expected of him. His screams cut through All Hallows’ Eve and the full moon only served to intensify his anguish. His cries echoed. His mask can never be removed.
Artist credit: Dan Duford
www.poisonedplayground.com
***
Written for the Trifextra Weekend Challenge – Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration. What happens next?
I took the time, stepped back from my daily routine to really appreciate the world around me. This reblog felt very appropriate today. Have a great weekend everyone and take the time to really enjoy everything that surrounds you.
It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see – Thoreau
(image courtesy of dreamstime.com)
The panorama of our lives is directly proportionate to the depth of beauty we allow ourselves to ingest. Our lives are like a Kaleidoscope pattern and the aesthetics of that pattern, although they evolve constantly, still enchant us and give us new perspective in each shape that is created. The colors become richer, deeper in hue, and the beauty is carried over from one frame to the next.
The true beauty that we see does not come from looking at the picture as a whole, but by dissecting the pieces and finding the unique qualities that combine in those fragments to create that spectral portrait. The attraction to the harmonious blend of colors cannot be appreciated without recognizing the million tiny little shards of color that make up the sum of…
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“Golf can best be defined as an endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle.” ~ Author unknown
(image credit: therockgolf.com)
After an almost two-year hiatus, I have begun to reintroduce myself to the game of golf over the last couple of weeks. The hiatus was unintentional – my life was a roller coaster and reality seemed to keep getting in the way.
Before my absence on the course, every day off was spent chasing that little white ball around for four hours. The thing I truly enjoy about golf, apart from the breathtaking scenery and communion with nature is the fact that the only real competition on the course is myself. Sure, there may be some side bets with my golf partners, but the only thing I am really trying to beat is my last score.
Last week I put the clubs in the car and met up with some friends. We went to the course by boat and the day was stunning. The picture above couldn’t be a better indication of what we experienced since that is the course we played. (I birdied this hole yesterday!)
Although my game is not as proficient as it was two years ago, my muscle memory is making it easier to pick up where I left off. Each time I swing a club it feels more familiar and comfortable than the swing before.
Being back in the office today and looking at another gorgeous day through the window is tough, but at least I know I’ll have a few more games before the snow flies. Why didn’t I start this in the spring?
It is the first day of the month and, like every beginning of the month, the first words uttered in my waking moments were “white rabbit, white rabbit, white rabbit”. I’m certainly not a superstitious person but this string of language is a long-standing family tradition. My great cousin Agnes, a delightful lady with a thick Scottish brogue, introduced me to this tradition when I was still in single digits. She was in her 80’s and she will be an influence in my life that I will never forget.
The idiom is meant to bring luck for the remaining days of the month but reciting that phrase gives me pause to remember cousin Agnes and the other family members and friends who are no longer with me. When my dad was still with us, my phone would ring in the wee hours on the first of the month and, before even saying hello, we would say our white rabbits on the phone together. Call display eventually helped to avoid the confusion of people on the other end of the phone if they happened to call before my dad. He was a very early riser and, as unlikely as that was, it happened once or twice and left a few bewildered callers wondering why I was shouting about albino bunnies.
Those simple words this morning were more important because today would have been my dad’s 77th birthday. Saying those words on the first of this month was like my phone call to Heaven and I could hear his voice in my head saying them back to me at the same time. Though the distance that separates us is immeasurable, he is still never far from my heart.
In those brief moments when darkness still envelops the morning I find a sense of peace in those words. Those two words, repeated three times in the haze of my waking moments, weave new threads into the blanket of my history. That phrase warms my heart with memories of people and places that have been etched into my past. That simple string of words uttered three times in a row will be with me paving the way into my future.
May the next thirty-one days be filled with good things for all of us.
Happy birthday Dad. xo
polysyllabic profundities 