dsrmousey

My comment to an entry 'There, but for the grace of God, go I' by furzicle

dsrmousey — Thu, 30 Jun 2022 01:23:06 GMT

This was thoughtfully written. More women will die. The clear and present danger to the US is the Supreme Court. The are corupt and far from impartial. But that is just my opinion. Peace~~~Desiree

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Week five

dsrmousey — Wed, 06 Apr 2022 23:02:58 GMT

Melting flavors of sugar
Butter and cacao swirling together
Sliding down my throat,
In the warmth of my mouth,
As I reach, blindly
For another to find the bag empty.
The disappointment begins.
Along with the guilt of
Eating the whole thing.
Tomorrow will find me
Cash in hand,
Buying more to satisfy the craving.
I, am an addict
I must have a taste of my
sweetest weakness.
Chocolate.

dsrmousey — Sun, 06 Mar 2022 21:17:51 GMT

Through cracked eyelid I watched my sister Eisha, pad across the room in her small clothes. She grabbed her woolen stockings, long sleeved heavy cotton shift and indigo blue pinafore from her chair and quickly headed to the fire, poking at the embers until they gave in to her ministrations and the small pieces of kindling stared to burn. I snuggled down further in the covers enjoying the warmth of the bed we shared.

Eisha purposefully headed back to the bed, rudely shoving my shoulder telling me,
"Come on Sarai, no lying about. We've got to move Pasha to the second paddock before papa goes for him."

"Don't worry so Eisha. Papa won't do it. You know how he is." I replied, making a beeline for the chair where my clothes were strewn willy nilly. Dressing hurriedly, I couldn't help comparing my sister and I.

Where Eisha was orderly and pragmatic, I, to my parents dismay, was not. The three I's were how my parents described me. Impulsive. Impractical. Impatient. Where Eisha was the three P's, Practical, Prudent and Polite. We were even opposite in appearance! She's a willowy blonde with grey green eyes and was born graceful. She's also my elder at seventeen years.

I was like a gangly colt with arms and legs I needed to grow into. Reddish brown hair that was not at all manageable, and my eyes brown as a common deer's. By the time I turned seventeen I hoped I'd be as poised and pleasant as my sister, but my fourteen year old self couldn't see that happening. Some days, I could positively whine about how inferior I was! But that's the bit of dramatic in me, my mother used to say.

Eisha, tying her boots, looked up at me and voice quavering said, "I don't want to take the chance Sarai. Papa's likely to have a sore head this morn from too much ale at the pub last night."

Papa didn't really drink and carouse at the pub anymore since mama died. She and my little brother Nikolai, passed three years ago of the typhoid. I thought we were going to lose Eisha too, but she rallied round and recovered. It made me cherish my sister more.

"I understand 'Sha. I know how much you love Pasha. I remember the day papa gave him to you! You were so proud! Riding your own horse! Tell me how I can help."

"Gather the eggs for breakfast and start a rasher of bacon along with them. Make good strong coffee. And make sure there are two slices of bread, with honey too! If he asks why you're cooking and not me, tell him the fence on paddock eight went down. Please."

"Eisha, that's a lot of trouble to go to, maybe you should try reasoning with him?" I said trying to soothe her frayed nerves. "Why not wait until he's halfway finished breakfast? He won't eat until we're all together and he needs a least one cuppa' before he's human anyway. I'll move Pasha if papa gets stubborn and won't see sense."

"Alright we'll try your plan 'Rai, but pray papa was only angry because it was the first time Pasha bit anyone." Eisha said, looking at me with despair. She continued, "But Pasha wouldn't bite unless he was sick or hurt somehow? I don't know, I can't figure out what it is."

"It's alright Eisha. Papa knows how much Pasha means to you. He'll do the right thing. I'm sure of it."

I finished tying my boots. Crossing the floor I gave Eisha a quick hug, and began helping to make our bed, moving in tandem and ease as we went about our task, but my sister's nervousness showed and I missed her humming as we worked.

After tidying our room, I went to gather the eggs and bacon while Eisha brewed the coffee. I brought what I'd gathered in to my sister and went to milk our cows. My father sat at the table when I came in carrying the fresh milk.

There wasn't any of the usual morning banter between my sister and father I noticed and I could feel my sister's nerves. Papa must be nursing a sore head I thought, and that's why he didn't feel Eisha's misery.

Papa finally noticed Eisha's unusual silence, and glancing at me, he winked! before his gravelly voice rose from a parched throat no amount of drink could ease, and spoke.

"Come Eisha, quit your fretting, I'll not be taking Pasha from you. He's not worth the glue makers time. The vet and I had us a chat at the pub last night and he'll be by to check him. That big brute doesn't bite without reason. Told him to bring that young assistant with him too." Papa winked at me again.

I watched the tension pour from my sister's shoulders as she made papa's plate. Dancing a little dance, she brought him his eggs and bacon, setting it before him with a flourish. "Yes papa!! Thank you!!" She replied merrily, kissing the top of his head. Papa chuckled and made short work of his food.

I was left wondering how Eisha could do that little jig and not spill anything at all! Not a crumb! Maybe I'll be graceful like my sister at seventeen, if I'm lucky. But my fourteen year old self couldn't see it happening. That's the bit of dramatic in me as my mother used to say.

My comment to an entry 'LJ Idol: 3 Strikes - Prompt Two - What Really Matters' by bleodswean

dsrmousey — Wed, 23 Feb 2022 07:17:22 GMT

Wait... Did the mother die? Or was she caught in a remembrance, because it was mid-spring in the beginning. Had to look up incarnation to make sure it meant what I thought it meant! LOL. Always teaching me little things. I like this bit of reverie. Thank you for this write. Peace~~~D

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What really matters...

dsrmousey — Mon, 21 Feb 2022 21:11:26 GMT

Trigger warning*** abuse

Richard hadn't heard her come home and wasn't aware she was there. Kelly watched with horror as Richard's face twisted with rage and pulling back his arm, slapped their daughter's cheek. Miri, knocked back a foot, startled and scared, started to wail.

Kelly closed the distance between she and her daughter in a heartbeat. She glared at him while trying to soothe Miri's hurt.

Richard backed away guiltily, calling her name. Kelly, flashed him a withering look of disgust, crossed to their bedroom, and began hastily filling suitcases and bags.

She and Miri were leaving, and leaving now. Thoughts in neon red flashed through her brain, blinking on and off. Why? How could he? God she's only two!

Richard was low level management at the factory, while she waitressed at the diner during evening shift. Tips were better then. Her extra income came in handy with the price of diapers and wipes. Work sent her home early tonight, business was slow and they didn't need her.

Thank goodness they had or Kelly wouldn't have known. God, she's only two!

Kelly tossed their bags into the car, strapping the baby in her carseat. They'd go to her mom and dad's. If her rust bucket didn't make the three hundred miles, she'd call home. Her father wouldn't hesitate, he'd drop everything to come get his girls.

Anything she'd forgotten they could buy. Mom already had a room set up for Miri. Her old room had not been changed either, left for when they could come spend holidays or vacation. She'd call them when her heart stopped racing and she could be coherent. Right now, they had get safe.

It was hard not to blame herself for this. She should've trusted her intuition the first time Richard hit her. She put it down to his having been drunk then. The second time he was sober, and jealous over Kelly spending time with her friends, when her 'place' was at home with him.

She had left him then, and didn't go back until he agreed to anger management classes and counseling. He told her he went. She found out later he lied.

This time, there'd be a restraining order, proof of counseling and only supervised visits, at her convenience. Most likely there wouldn't be any visits. He wouldn't take the classes, and he couldn't lie saying he did, not with the courts intervention.

Kelly wouldn't fall for his act again. These were her conditions. Otherwise there would be child abuse charges.

She watched her daughter sleeping through the rearview mirror. A thousand tears coursed down her face, as she slapped at the steering wheel, while a thousand questions stomped through her mind.

Questions of, Why? Why didn't she figure this out sooner? How could She not have known? Why was she so blind?

Miri sometimes had bruises Richard would explain away with, "She fell." or general toddler clumsiness. He always sounded so plausible when speaking to her. Yet there wasn't a trace of guilt for not having caught her soon enough, or stopping Miri before she got hurt. She should've known but she had been caught in "Happy family dreams." This was nightmare.

"How Richard? How could you? Dear God, she's only two!" She smacked at the steering wheel in frustration and fury.

After a while, the tension between her shoulders eased as her rust bucket continued eating up the highway. She smacked the steering wheel one last time, drying her tears with the back of her hand. Kelly turned on the radio and began to sing along to what was playing, Tom Petty's Free Falling.

"Perfect." She thought as she sped down the road.

"...Because I'm free, free falling!"

A short video...

dsrmousey — Thu, 10 Feb 2022 04:04:20 GMT

A video of me and my apartment! 😄https://twitter.com/buitengebieden_/status/1491484889706905600?t=bklmET8qXpj8Ol-F5xSWow&s=09

LJI wk1 2022 Black Rainbow

dsrmousey — Sun, 06 Feb 2022 06:55:13 GMT

Mama and I lived in a cozy flat, above a small consignment shop she owned in town. She'd bought the building with the insurance money from when papa died in the big mine collapse eight years ago. A quarter of the town's people lost brothers, sons, and husbands that day.

I wasn't born yet so I don't remember papa. Sometimes I wish I had been though, and old enough to be able to stop it somehow.

When I get all blue about not remembering my papa, mama ruffles my hair and tells me how much papa would've loved me. She says he wouldn't want me to put so much weight on my shoulders, and that little boys shouldn't worry so much about what is fated.

See, I was born under a black rainbow, that's what mama told me. I didn't understand what she meant until the visions started. Colors swirling all around some people, seeming as if they'd swallow a body up! This used to scare me until mama told me papa had the 'sight' sometimes too. What I was 'seeing' she explained, were auras. Every person has one, and all were weaved different. What I could see, most folk couldn't.

Other boys don't have my vision, I told her. She said, no they didn't, but that just made me special. All I could do was tell people what I saw. The rest was in their hands.

The sight I had into their auras would pulse, like a heartbeat. Their colors swirling together, changing sometimes with a person's mood. Those that stopped suddenly shining and pulsed grey and black, those were bad, mostly accidents, and very hard to discern ( I learned that word from mama ). It's as if you're squinting at something really hard because it's shiny then suddenly -poof- it turned to smoke.

Sometimes I would glimpse the danger and try to warn that person. I'd let them know to be careful while driving, or to watch their step. But danger comes from many directions, too many to tell from where. I hated that. Why have such a thing and not be able to tell people. Especially the ones I knew.

Then there were times I could see a sickness. There'd be a sickly green thread streaming out from whatever area in a person's body was doing poorly, and it would wrap itself into their aura's colors. I'd warn them, telling them they needed to visit the doc to check them over. Sometimes they'd listen. Others, they'd give me an awkward smile and a pat on the head as they went on their way.

Those were the ones mama and I would hear about sometime later of having died of the cancer or the sugar disease.

But ones like Mrs. McNamara, who truly listened and believed, I could see right then that sickly black thread turning into a lighter shade. Mama would be sure to tell me when she had any news about her.

Mrs. Graham, who worked with Mrs. McNamara came for tea with mama, and said Mrs. McNamara was almost recovered from the cancer treatments. They caught the cancer early. She was expected to live, and sent me a hug! As soon as she was out our way she wanted to take me for ice cream! With mama's permission of course!

That made me feel like I did something important and good.

Then there came the dreadful day. It seemed like everywhere I'd look, someone in our town had a grey- black thread wrapped around themselves. I just knew something awful was going to happen. If only I could see what.

Worse- When I went to tell mama, she had the thread too! We were supposed to go to my Aunt's house for my cousin's birthday, I begged mama to let us stay home. Mama said No! Even knowing what I told her! I just sat straight down and burst into tears.

But mama had a plan. She said the only thing different for us about today was driving to Aunt Becky's house. Well, we'd start the drive and I'd watch mama's aura. When it would start getting closer to whatever doom was going to happen her aura would get darker. We should be able to tell by that where the awful thing would happen.

Mama bought large pieces of heavy construction paper and nailed them to posts. On the papers she a drew large *WARNING* in Red and black - Robert Sanford says to go back!!! Proceed at your own peril!!! *DANGER*

We packed up the signs and my cousin's present, and set out. I asked mama what about the people who wouldn't listen? She cupped my face in her hands and told me that whatever happened I did my best. She hugged me close and told me how proud papa would be, and that not everyone could escape their fate. And that wasn't my fault.

Mama started the car, and we began to drive.

We drove along for a few miles when mama's grey thread started to darken. I told mama, and she said to pay attention to the road signs and traffic. We took a turn into the roadway for the bridge to Aunt Becky's side of town. Mama's aura was almost totally covered in grey and we knew! It was the bridge! Something would happen at the bridge!

There were two bridges that cut the town, ours went one way, and Aunt Becky's bridge brought them our way. I once asked mama why they weren't built together, and she said it had something to do with weight and suspension. I pretended to understand, but now I was glad because we wouldn't be able to warn the people on the other side.

We stopped the car a mile before the causeway going over the water! Mama posted a sign below the bridge sign. We turned the car around and placed another sign a half a mile before that one and left another across the road.

We posted all the signs we had and headed back. Mama's aura started to lose the dark thread the closer to home we got. I looked at Mama and gave her the biggest hug I could.

"So what do we do now mama?" I asked.
"We wait." She replied pulling me close.

We heard about the barge running into the bridge on the news. It did something to the foundation and the bridge toppled into the water. The newsman said that while there were 8 people who died, there was less traffic on the bridge than usual, and many lives were saved. Most likely because of all the warning signs that had been posted before the accident happened.

Then they thanked ME!- Rob Sanford!- On television! Mama said papa would've been so proud!!

I guess my sight's not so useless after all.

Ok, I'm going to try to do this again.... We'll see how far I can get!

dsrmousey — Sat, 08 Jan 2022 03:30:47 GMT

Mouse trying to get back in da' house! Hi everybody! I missed scurrying around the floorboards, and nibbling on crumbs and snippets of words and phrases. I'm going to try to get back into this.

I've been working out every morning with my 16mos. grandson. He is a sunny child and he gives me a purpose to get up in the morning. His pop has to leave early in the morn for work, and though his mother is rallying around out of post partum depression, many times she's still a wet noodle. She's terrified of being a bad mother, so often she doesn't mother at all. (Sigh.)

So it is left up to 'wheelchair mouse' to get the boy up, perform a 'buttectomy'and replace it with a new and fresh butt, then feed the hungry little tot. We have fun together and he knows to hold on when I'm wheeling him around. I love our little routine and would be lost without it.

I am admitting here that a fair to middling part of me is glad she hasn't pulled around. I get my little man all to myself. We get silly, read books and I chase him around the kitchen island and he just giggles and laughs. But still he needs his mother. (Bigger sigh.)

Anyhoo, am going to attempt to write more! And probably more organic than my fantasy writes. We shall see together, eh? I need to know when we will truly start. Am going to have to pop in more often!
Bye for now. ~~~D

Nothing really...

dsrmousey — Sun, 28 Feb 2021 20:43:48 GMT

We had a bit of drama with my son, but that has resolved itself. He had been without his psyche meds for five days and was looking for a fight. I forgot and was a bit pissy about the state of the kitchen (dirty) and made an offhand remark saying "I raised you better than this." He smart mouthed me back.

This brought my poor slew footed husband from the bedroom demanding he apologize to me and the two of them got into a shouting match. Nick looked like he was going to punch Joe (who has had Multiple Sclerosis for twenty years) but he stopped and started punching things in the laundry room. He dented the dryer, and we thought he was going to put his fist through the glass of the door. He didn't. He did however crash through the baby gate and and cut his knee all up. He then just broke down in tears.

Honestly, that was what he needed. Everyone hugged and made up before we went to bed. I apologized to Nick for starting it. I was in a bad mood because I have accumulated so many medical bills that I can't pay for.

For some people $3,000 isn't a lot. But when you're on a fixed disability income of $1350 a month, and your husband is on social security, it's rough. Nick lost his good paying job due to Covid in August before the baby was born. Joe and I are carrying all the bills and there's no money left over. Nick works for Door Dash and the little money he makes keeps the baby in diapers and formula. Nick's fiance is very damaged and should be on disability herself. Not only that she needs to be on WIC, and I believe this family of five qualifys for food stwmps. We've tapped the food banks a few times and my niece picks up boxes for us also.

The most discriminated people in the US are the poor.

So yeah. That's about all I've to report. Love you all!
Dmouse

Am slowly collecting my flist back

dsrmousey — Fri, 19 Feb 2021 12:46:00 GMT

Am finding everyone slowly but surely! I need to ask Alicia or as they now prefer Alex, how to make the font bigger. I can barely read what I type. I do know I'll have to start writing in my e-mail again if i can't. My eyes are getting bad but there is no funds for glasses and I'm already at a 3.25 in readers. Ah well. I'll muddle through it.

My hubby and I bought my son and his fiance a doublewide, 3 bedroom/2 bath, mobile home when they were pregnant with my backpay from disability. We moved in with them fully on
October 29th. We're still unpacking boxes. Never knew how much stuff we had in our tiny apartment until we had to move it. We are going to try to get a shed to put some of this collected crap in.

Welp, fingers are tired, and time for eating and meds. (Have an ulcer so I have to eat first.) I'll write more later! Goodness I've missed this!💗

I'm back!

dsrmousey — Sat, 13 Feb 2021 16:23:52 GMT

So, after not writing for over two years, I've decided to try my hand (tremors and all) again. I miss it. I miss the joy of writing in a community. I miss the people. Most of all I miss using my imagination. If I belonged to a clan or tribe, I would be the storyteller. A keeper of histories and lore. I wish I had taken more creative writing in school. I would've learned more about building and sustaining characters. How to outline and fill in, and streamline the ramblings. And most of all punctuation! Goodness knows I need help there.

My pieces may be shorter now due to arthritis and Parkinson tremors, but slow and steady, I will place words to a page. I'm determined. It will help me be strong. I need the strength. Along with the Parkinson's I have Congestive Heart Failure. My heart problems are congenital. I have Aortic stenosis, a Thoracic Aortic Aneurysm which gives my cardiologist fits.

They thought I had lung cancer four years ago, I didn't. It was a horrible lung infection which had walked itself off called Actinomycosis. You get it from breathing in dental decay. As I was an expanded duties dental assistant - the dentist would drill, I would fill. Or remove old crowns (caps) and place new ones, or drill and Caleb the decay from them while my Docs prepped the tooth for me to build back up and use their old crown again. So this infection made perfect sense to me. It's rare, but if anyone would catch it, it would be me.

Thank goodness it as in my right lung (which has three lobes, as opposed to two on your left) and was not towards the Thoracic wall which would've given my cardiologist fits. They removed a portion of my right middle lobe, and I was on IT antibiotics for three weeks and strong oral antibiotics for six months. I believe this was when I had to leave LJI the first time. The second time again I fell ill. It upset me too because I had just made it to the top ten. Making it anywhere amongst the top twenty of these delightful people tickles me because many are professional writers or editors. I have learned much from them.

Next time Idol starts I want in. As I stated before, I miss the community and the interaction with the 'contestants '. So watch out for me... I'm coming back!

dsrmousey (new name, couldn't get in to my old account)