So the highlight of this past meeting was to listen to the fabulous creations of our Scrabble Rousers! Just to give a brief background - those who were at the June meeting played Scrabble. The resulting words were to be used in a story / song / poem / or in another creative manner and were then to be shared at the next meeting. I think we all enjoyed hearing what everyone had to offer. We are encouraging all Scrabble Rousers to post their creations here. Thanks Janet for starting us off (and thanks for including the list of words after your story!) Here's my offering:
"That Kind of a Girl"
by Glynis M. Belec
It wouldn’t be the first time my crazy ideas got me into trouble. I thought perhaps if I were to get rid of the gray hair, slather on some Oil of Olay Perfect Skin Moisturizing makeup and don a pair of my old faded jeans, then I might just beat her at her own game.
I was barely fifty years old and I wasn’t that type of girl – mind, body or spirit. Besides I was not ready for this. I was able to zoom through any given day and daze the daylights out of anyone who crossed my path. My busyness validated my existence.
“Slow down!” my friends used to say. I guess they were in awe at my ability to leap tall buildings and plan my moments. Some told me that the way I worked if I would go mining for ore I would likely hit gold. I liked that. It gave me a sense of purpose!
But on that particular day, I heard she was coming and I was ready.
“Vie for my spot as lady of the hour, would you? I don’t think so, darling.”
My ire was in stark contrast to her calm presence, though, and it started to bother me a bit. My mind raced as if twenty tigers were in hot pursuit. What could I say? What should I do? I considered putting a hex on the whole thing but then I remembered that that would not be the Christian thing to do!
I mopped my sweaty brow, rubbing away some of the Oil of Olay mud. I looked at my hands. They felt like mushy figs.
Everyone stood there, just staring at this new kid on the block. I might as well have been wearing a jute smock…I guess my once girlish figure seemed to suddenly swell into ripples resembling a spare tire or two.
What was I thinking? Who was I kidding?
“Ya’ [sic] know,” I said sheepishly to anyone who cared to pay me any attention, “I guess my gig is up. I’m not fooling anyone with this façade, am I?” I felt like an insignificant gnat.
Then someone touched my shoulder. He was a handsome one, even if he did spit out a pistachio nut shell before speaking to me.
“Hard to believe out of all her ova, God selected the perfect one.”
I looked at him. He seemed sympathetic and gently ignored my kooky attempts at covering up the real me.
“Yes,” he continued, “the fine art of life is not in our hands.” He pointed to the little bundle.
I stared at the child. She tried to suck her tiny, perfect finger. I was done. I suddenly realized that getting older was just part of life. Gray hair is a sign of wisdom. Wrinkles are laugh lines. Something was seeding my senses.
It was as if moss had been fogging up my vision. My brain cleared and I started to slip into the role that I was destined to be.
This precious little child was my healer. At fifty years of age, it turns out that I was that kind of girl, after all. Grandmother – mind, body, and now…in spirit!