WHEN WRITERS AID WRITERS, coming through their wry ~ By Absolutely*Kate for all sparks

YOU'VE HAD YOUR FIRST LESSON IN LEARNIN' THE BLUES   ~ photo ala rudolfo elias

WHEN WRITERS AID WRITERS,

coming through their wry

By ~ Absolutely*Kate for all sparks

Hey. Straight out. Our next showcased writer under spotlights AT THE BIJOU has style, talent and after she wrote and sent the following story, "TOYS" through a dark night, she discovered she has a cancer fight. We won't give that crappy c-word any more power over her, as she's fighting cool and she's going to conquer, classy.  The spark in so many writers I know and you know have known it too ~ that when troubles come'round, having it tough is certainly having too much a share of enough. 

By day, Ryn Cricket is a wise teacher. She taught me what she taught this day:

RYN: "I thought about saying the C-word, or never addressing like Voldmort, but I'm taking the Harry Potter path on that. I'm comfortable talking about this.  I've had to tell six classes today, and I don't feel like crying about it anymore.  --Not saying the feeling won't come back. I think work must have been good for me, because i feel a lot more chipper than yesterday! Thank you so much Kate!"

Absolutely*Kate:  Ryn ~ What's going on? The prognosis? Your spirit? The goodness around you? Treatment options? Your inner core? Feel my energies swirl across Rte 80 into our Ohio'lands and then N to that place by Lake Erie. OK to run your story and let folks know to likewise pour the strength of good/great/grand energies your way? It's what I figgered I could do . . . for now. But I'm there, bolstering you to do Everything You Can Which Makes You Feel SuperGood About You.

RYN: "Kate! Thanks, I look forward to it. The prognosis is that I have a long road ahead of me.  I haven't been able to eat much for a week.  The cancer was in my tonsils, throat and neck, so I had a tonsillectomy. --That sucks at 41!  Well pretty much all of this sucks right now, doesn't it?  My doctor suggested milkshakes today.  That works.  On the 8th, we set-up my chemo/radiation plan. I'll know more after that.  My parents have been extremely helpful.  We're being taken care of by them well.  I guess my inner core is somewhere between angry and desperate.  I hadn't thought about it, but that's about where I am. The story "TOYS" was the first thing I had written in a long while, and it was before the whole cancer surprise.  I am going to get a flowering plant to show I believe in myself though.  Thanks for the idea."


By all sparks, Ryn Cricket is a wise writer. She taught me what she thought this day:

Absolutely*Kate:  Ryn thanks for filling us in ... I've been concerned. We'll rally 'round each step of going forward ... There's nothing like a warm rush of positives for kickin' back the crap/crud which comes at you. Fellow writers know sparks and have several helpings of wry before breakfast and coffee. They can dish it out to keep cheer in high gear. But first ... tell me will you, of WHY TO YOU, writing in the writing*world we've stepped into matters the more at times of aggravation in life's churnings? Thanks dear lady ... and may there be parts of each day that embrace you. Open your eyes to who is helping and showing up and you may very well come through this with a slew of new meaningful people who are lifelong keepers. Surprisingly, I did.

 
RYN: "I think writing for me is like an ache -- in a good way.  Maybe like a runner aches to run.  Usually, a character starts talking to me, name first, and gives me an inkling of direction.  And usually, it's at an inopportune time like when I'm driving or in the bathtub.  But they stay with me until I have a enough time to sit down and let them talk.  My favorite part, I have to admit, is that I'm always surprised by the ending.  It always ends in a way never expected.  I think right now, with all this chaos going on on my life, it grounds me." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

FOLLOWING ~ IS ~ "TOYS", 

RYN'S LATEST TALE. 

RYN MISHA CRICKET CAN BE FURTHER ESSENCED AT HER BLOG, Katherynpeace, FURTHER CHEERED ON FACEBOOK OR  FURTHER INSPIRED THROUGH HER E'MAIL.

LET'S SPARK AS WRITERS DO

AND HELP HER WRY ~ SMILE 

THROUGH HER FEAR AND SORROW, 

WRITER SPARKS ARE EVERYTHING  ~ photo by cecl

S H A L L   W E ?

TOYS ~ By Ryn Cricket

TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE  ... dynamic photo ~ ala ART&SOL

 T O Y S

By ~ Ryn Cricket

Halfway home from work, I looked at the clock in my car.  It screamed “4:45!”  I was never going to make it in time.  Was he going to be pissed?  Maybe he wouldn’t even wait.  Fuck!  I tried to get out of the office faster, but all these new employees decided that was the time to bombard me with questions.

            “I really have to go!”  I finally told them.  “I have an important appointment.”  To which they all apologized as I literally ran out the door.  Of course I wasn’t going to tell them it was an appointment with “Jack.”  But then I never divulged my social life outside at work.  That only caused problems.  You tell them one bad thing, and it’s the only thing people remember, and then dwell on.  Anyway, Jack was different.  He held on to his own mysteries and only divulged small pieces of them like little pieces of chocolate that I was always honored to receive. 

            He was a writer.  So amazing with words.  And even though I’m well-read, and well-educated, Jack would often use words I would have to look up when he wasn’t looking.  He always picked the most precise words.  I loved waking up to his little gift of words to start my morning, and talking to all hours of the night.  Even on a work night, I didn’t want to stop or tell him I should sleep.

            My job was so full of pressure, and asserting myself at home was just tiring.  There was no reason to exude confidence, when I could just let the power be usurped.  It felt good to not have all that responsibility and just relax into a complete lack of power struggle.  I certainly couldn’t do that with someone I didn’t trust.  But he loves me.  He shows me all the time.  I could feel a smile coming over my face just thinking about his words, telling me how beautiful and perfect I am, telling me how much he loved and desired me.  Maybe he had told other women that in the past, but he told me I was the one who was everything he had been waiting for.

            I am not going to make it!  DAMN!  I really will be the one he is waiting for if I don’t get home in time.  I hate letting anyone down.  And I will be so disappointed if he’s not there.  Nights without him seem so dark and quiet.  I wonder around looking for something to occupy me and sleep early waiting for the next day that he will enter.

            He sent me all this obscure music that I fell in love with, I don’t know if because I felt it was such a beautiful gift or if it was because I actually really like it.  I made a CD collection and put it on my iPod, just so that it would provide me the soundtrack of my days.

            Finally!  Pulled into the driveway, a little faster than anyone really should, left my bag –I’ll get it later.  Ran in the house, went to the bathroom so I wouldn't have to pee when I was with him, checked my hair and face, ran a brush through my hair, put on some lipstick.  Ok, just the way he likes me.  Went back into the living room, opened my laptop.

            “There you are, Alyssa!”  he said.

            “I know.  I was late.  Work was crazy!”  I began to apologize.

            “It’s alright.  You’re here now.”  He smiled.

            “Yeah but I hate missing any minute with you!”  I said.  He smiled at me again.

            Then he laughed.  “We have our whole future together.  What’s a few little minutes?”

            “That’s true.”  I smiled and laughed back.

            “I know what you need, you understand my needs.  We have quite a future, don’t we?”  He said.  “You’re blushing!”  He caught me.

“When can we actually meet?”  I asked him.  “I want to feel you so bad!”

“Hold on a second, please…Ok, I’m back.  A train ticket from me to you is just $69.  I can be there anytime you purchase one.  I see an interesting irony in that number.”  He laughed.

As we continued talking, I secretly worked on booking the seat.

“You know, I could wait all day to talk to someone who is intelligent, beautiful and knows herself the way you do.”  He said.  I blushed again.  I tried to look normal on the cam, so he couldn’t see what I was doing, or how happy I was about it. 

“I think, my lovely dear, you have charmed me into loving you!”  I blushed again.  I had the two screens open at the same time.  I even got out my credit card, without him seeing.

“It’s done.  I bought it.  You’ll be here Thursday at 8:30 pm.  You’ll be here!  WOW!  In just a few days.  That’s….78 hours, and 42 minutes!  WOW!  I’m so excited!”

“You never cease to surprise me!”  He laughed again, at what I thought was my over zealousness, but really, it was because he had had this exact conversation.  This was the eighth time he was able to convince someone to send for him this summer.  Not only would he get laid, he’d win that $500 bet with Mark.  Hell, maybe he’d even get to see that movie everyone’s been talking about.

 (c) 2010 ~ Author Ryn Cricket

         

How 'bout that? When a writer meets a writer ~ comin' through the wry? Ryn Cricket can chirp wry and encompass 'why?' ... yet you'll never catch this writer'gal being high and dry. As the old tune warbles, "She's got highhhh hopes" < and she knows how to use 'em!

I've been glad to come across her gutsy writing style in the worlds she reaches and to feel a glimpse of that resilient spirit at each passing smile or smirk or "Atta Girl" that her words evoke. They go personal, they go passionate and perennially they hold her up and bolster past where any storm may enter.

You keep chirpin' Cricket.

We're listenin' ... Write ... write ... write. 

BIJOU BOUQUET ~ pic ala GeraldBrazell

Absolutely*Kate
and our fine staff of renown

AT THE BIJOU,

  sending best of good good good vibrations to conquer those damnation critters ~

"Lady be a Champ!"

ENTWINED ~ By Ryn Cricket

~ E N T W I N E D ~

By ~ Ryn Cricket

You meet me
in that floating state
between sleep and being awake,
and I swirl around your body
softly moving inside
and out like a ghost.
Mingling cells flow
back and forth between owners
in waves of energy
and soon I’m more awake than sleeping.
I join you in rhythmic movement
and total acceptance.
The bright moon shines
between the slats on the shades
and makes shapes
over every curve and crease
remaining stationary
as their canvas slides out of focus.
Concentrated energies squeeze
each drop of juice into the glass,
and each movement becomes
less subtle and more deliberate,
more forceful,
more demanded.
The kiss always remains
the gentle connection in the chaos,
always gentle,
always soft,
in the midst of fear.

(c) 2010 ~ Author and Artist Ryn Cricket 

Photo flikrd ala Crusty Dolphin

Talents abound in splendour when Ms Ryn Cricket steps out smooth and silky upon our stage into the swathe of her single spotlight AT THE BIJOU. She loves the embrace of that light. She knows it feels just right as she continues on, channeling a voice from her heritage for her novel to be. Writer ~ muser ~ sensation of sensuality and artist sketching life . . . yeah, she's all that  . . . and more.

But you find out ~ KatherynPeace's Blog shimmers.

There you'll enjoy Ryn Cricket's chirp galore.

Thanks Ryn for showing up during your Birthday Celebration. We're all wishing your writing wishes to candle true. (like you)

~ Absolutely*Kate

and the fine staff of renown

AT THE BIJOU

TOUGH LADIES TRIALS OF TRIBULATION ~ Double*Feature Tuesday & Thursday, AT THE BIJOU

Tough Ladies Trials of Tribulation

May they Triumph

 

Gusty Ladies

and Gutsy Gents

* AT THE BIJOU *

~ poignantly presents ~

From Cleveland to Sweden,
The RETURN of ~

RYN CRICKET 

A N D

JELENA VENCL OHLROGGE

( MAY IT ALL BE OK, SOMEDAY ) 

~ Absolutely*Kate, believing in believers,

defining definitely this Double*Feature of dashing dames

IT'S NOT YOU ~ By Ryn Cricket

IT'S NOT YOU

By ~ Ryn Cricket

Katie and David were sitting on the couch while their mother paced back and forth in front of them.  She looked like a lawyer about to give her final argument, but they didn’t know what it was.  Both of them were doing well in school, in soccer, in everything.  They didn’t hang out with the “wrong kids.”  They had no idea why they were summoned to the couch.

“I have something to tell you.”  She began.  Minds were racing –death, disease, moving…

“Your father and I are getting a divorce.”  That wasn’t even an idea in either of their heads.  Nothing they had braced for or imagined.  By the look of shock on their faces, she felt she must continue.

“I really want you two to understand something.  I know most kids think it’s their fault when this happens, and most parents try to explain that it isn’t –because it isn’t.  But somehow, the kids never believe them.  But here’s the thing, your father and I stayed together so long because of you –not for you, but because of you.  What I mean is, as the four of us, we are awesome, aren’t we?  I mean dad coaches the soccer team, you guys play, I’m the team mom who bakes cookies, and we all go out for pizza.  We have fun.  We are a great family.  –But the two of us are just horrible.  And when you two aren’t around, it’s miserable.  When you start dating and hanging out outside without us, and go to college, we might resort to killing each other –that’s a joke…” she laughed nervously.  “You’re getting close to that age, and we can’t face it together.  I know this sucks.  I know.  It sucks for me too.  I LOVE the four of us, but the two of us, just aren’t working.”

Katie and David just sat there stunned.  You could see their minds reeling through moments.  Did they miss something?  How did they not see it?  Were all of their great times fake?  There was just nothing they could say.  They didn’t talk at dinner.  Since their father didn’t come home that night, it was a very quiet house.  Both of them left the table after dinner mumbling something about homework.  And that was it.

Their mother was left sitting by herself on the couch all night, hoping, praying they understood, hoping they didn’t hate her or resent her, hoping she could do this.

The next morning passed without a word.  Both Katie and David woke up and got ready without any prodding.  They had their usual toast with cinnamon sugar and orange juice.  And they grabbed their packed lunch, without a word, without looking in their mother’s eyes, without looking at anything.

It wasn’t 30 minutes before the phone rang.  The voice on the other side said, “Is this Mrs. Haley?” 

“Yes, who is this?” she answered wondering if she should change that after the proceedings, or should she keep it to be the same as her children.

“This is the police, ma’am.”  And he paused for a long time.  Long enough to wonder what kind off trouble her husband –soon to be ex-husband was in.  Or no, maybe David skipped school and he was picked up somewhere…

“You have a son, David, and a daughter Katie?”

“Yes.”  She said almost quietly.  David would cut school, but Katie, never.  “What is this about?”

“Their school bus was in an accident this morning, and I’m sorry, but…”

 (c) 2010 ~ Author Ryn Cricket

We're proud to say . . . Written to play  ~ AT THE BIJOU

Ryn Cricket, sensitive strong and true, writes from along the shores of Lake Erie from voice and experience that knows the world. I believe her great grandmother speaks stories directly through Ryn sometimes (that novel of tales is up to page 76 already!) . . . whereas other times a spirit of peace simply (thus strongy) stirs up from this author's colourful past:

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Hey dear lady, why is the sensation of peace used so strongly in that which ushers you in, Katherynpeace's Blog?

  
RYN:  The name "peace" comes from two things:  When I spent some time in an ashram I acquired the name "shanti" which is Sanskrit for peace, and also, because I was in the Peace Corps, I love that word too.  About 20 years ago I had a bracelet I wore everyday with the word peace engraved in all different languages.  And I have John Lennon doves all over my house.  So another thing in common with you, former Ohio girl.  -- That and I was called Kathy growing up too. Thanks for the wonderful e-mail though, because even your e-mails are a joy to read.

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Same backatcha Katheryn, but our readers wonder since writing from you breezes in like when the windows first get screens in spring*time, you work hard and easy at life, don't you?

  

RYN:  When I talk to people, I always hear, “I always wanted to do that,” or “You’re so lucky!” I NEVER want to be the person who says those things. I am not lucky, I make things work. I don’t think I want to do that.  I do it.

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: When NIKE calls my promotional offices, Ryn, I'll be sure to send them your way! Thanks for composing this piece AT THE BIJOU and for the lovely writings from you which will appear after Harbinger*33 sets sail in my upcoming book ~ WOMEN*LOVERS*FRIENDS&MOTHERS. It's always a pleasure to have your stuff hanging 'round where good readers feast their need to read.

 

That reaffirming Bio'stuff: When Ryn was in the seventh grade she thought she wanted to do three things when she grew up, she wanted to be an English teacher, a writer and a mother.   All of that traveling, adventure, and Peace Corps was just research for what was to come.  After more than twenty years of being told she would never be able to have children, she had two beautiful baby girls, a year and a half apart. She spends many of her daytime hours teaching English at Case Western Reserve University, and all of the rest of her time, inspiring her two little girls, or being inspired by writing at the writers’ workshop she calls “home. More Ryn? Stories That Lift make it so.

*Clink* to always making it happen!

~ Absolutely*Kate and

our fine staff of renown,

AT THE BIJOU

MOTHER, MOTHER, HOW DO WE COUNT THE WAYS ~ Double*Feature Tuesday & Thursday ATTHE BIJOU

How do you Mother-In 

a New*Year, a New*Decade

AT THE BIJOU?

Ahhh, two swings of thought

 two talented writers have wrought

swirl us along . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   

Yearning Ladies and Churning Gents

AT THE BIJOU

most proudly presents ~

the sweet smooth

and squishy edgey

DOUBLE*FEATURE

It's-A-Whole-New-Year Baby!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

Enjoy "Security Question" ~ by

 RYN CRICKET,

And then table-fable down for 

"The Mouse, The Cat, and The Canary" ~ ala

HAZAR WORTH

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Happiest New*Year ~ New*Decade

of where your mind gleans ultimate *zing*

   ~ Absolutely*Kate

THE SECURITY QUESTION ~ By Ryn Cricket

 
The Security Question

~ By Ryn Cricket

“And what’s your mother’s maiden last name?”  The bank teller asked mindlessly.  I hated that question.

“Umm, funny story.  I don’t have one…a mother, that is.”  I hated that answer.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  It says that right here.  It’s just a security thing you know.”

I nodded.

I don’t know how it came to be that my mother gave me up.  I was told I lived with her for a while before she came to that decision, but I was like eighteen months or something, so I don’t remember her.  I also don’t know why I was never adopted.  I lived in several foster homes, but it was always temporary, like staying at an aunt’s house.  You never really unpack.  I remember just feeling like I was waiting to be picked for a basketball team.  The teams were formed and playing and I was still sitting on the bench.

After you’re eighteen, you’re out of the system.  It’s sink or swim then.  I’ve tried my hardest to keep from sinking.  I’ve seen some of the others:  addicted, homeless, dead on the streets, and a few who joined the military because it was a sure job.  I didn’t want to kill anyone –especially myself, so I got a job as a nursing assistant in an old folks’ home.  You don’t need special education or experience, you just have to be strong and know how to listen.

After I cashed my check, I walked back to work because my lunch time was almost over.  One of the perks of working at the Golden Lake Rest Home was free food, so I could always grab something if I walked through the kitchen.

“Hello, Georgia!”  I said as I checked on my first charge.  “How are you doing today?”

“Oh Mandy, I am doing fine, just fine.  Why don’t you sit a spell?  I’ve been dying for someone to talk to.”  Georgia’s family lived over 100 miles away and they were pretty poor, so she didn’t get many visitors.

I’d love to,” I told her.  “Just let me check on the others, and I’ll be right back.”  Homer was napping.  Betsy needed a pitcher of ice water, but she was other-wise happily chatting on the phone, and Diana was downstairs playing bingo.  I got Betsy her water, and returned to Georgia’s room.

“So what have you been thinking about, Georgia?”  I said as I sat in the straight chair near her window.

“I was thinking about when I was your age.  Some things were harder and some things were easier.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”  I agreed.

“But sometimes it’s all about our attitude and our choices.”  She said slowly.

“I have to agree with you there too.”

“Take us for example,” she said leaning forward in her rocking chair and patting my knee.  “How old are you now?”

“I’m 19.”  I told her.

“When I was 19, I was married and pregnant with my second child. –Now, I’m not saying that’s the right way –no, not at all.  But times were different then.  That’s what a young woman did.  But now, you have so many choices.  I watch these soap operas and I think Mandy is more beautiful and so much more smarter than the women on them.  What do you want to do, Mandy?”

“I don’t know really.”  I said.  “Sometimes it’s hard enough to think past the next rent payment.”

“Whatever you want is out there waiting for you.  If you want to go to college, there’s a way to find the money.  If you want to own this place,” she said sweeping her hand across the room, “there’s a way.  Just don’t limit yourself.” She said sternly pointing her pony finger at me.

“I have something for you.”  She got up and opened the little treasure box on her dresser.  She kept the object that she pulled out enclosed in her hand before she placed it in mine.  It was round and gold and looked like a pocket watch with a very detailed engraved design of schooners sailing on high waves.  When I opened it, I saw that it was a compass.  “It was my grandfather’s.”  She said.  “So you can imagine how old it is.  He was a merchant marine and he kept that compass with him.  It has been to Africa, and India, Japan, Peru, Brazil, China –you name it.  All you need,” she said patting my hand, “is a little direction.”

The thoughts that ran through my head about sailing and flying and far-off places swirled around until I was dizzy with them.  I couldn’t think of anything to say right then, except a quiet “Thank you.”  It was time for my shift to be over and time for Georgia to go downstairs for dinner.  As she got her little white cardigan out of her closet, I turned around in the middle of the doorway.  

“Georgia?”  I asked, “I was wondering . . . . What’s your maiden name?”

(c) 2010 . . .  Author Ryn Cricket . . . 

Ryn Cricket is a lovely lilting and incisive writer I came across expressing the story which her heritage bade her bring out, to offer a suppressed woman’s greater shout. I recognized both a Slovak great grandmothing heritage into an Ohio region where this talented dame was finding both writer’s voice and deeper understanding of choice. But there’s more . . . there’s always more ~

When Ryn was in the seventh grade she thought she wanted to do three things when she grew up, she wanted to be an English teacher, a writer and a mother.   All of that traveling, adventure, and Peace Corps was just research for what was to come.  After more than twenty years of being told she would never be able to have children, she had two beautiful baby girls, a year and a half apart.  She spends many of her daytime hours teaching English at Case Western Reserve University, and all of the rest of her time, inspiring her two little girls, or being inspired by writing at the writers’ workshop she calls “home.”

~ THANKS*SO*MUCH Ms Cricket for chirping this soft sweet swirl of a tale . . . as well as informing me that my green bean casserole of New Year’s Day night to accompany my love’s salmon-dill specialty was indeed “the state vegetable offering of Ohio.” Wearing proudly our past heritage into all our new beyonds is SO what Life’s about, isn’t it?

~ Absolutely*Kate and the very smiling staff of fine renown,   ~ AT THE BIJOU