The Ring - Chapter 7

 

MARGO LOUD STEINER

AN ANTIQUE CHRISTMAS tree sat on the small table next to the afghan-covered couch.

The tree had been in Hans-Peter’s family forever, but because Bethany loved it, he insisted Margo take it. That was the year that Bethany had been with her. With all its glass ornaments, not just bulbs but birds, Margo loved it too.

The knitted afghan with its assorted colors hid the holes in the leather. Margo had found the couch discarded by the side of the road. When she had time, she’d go to Goodwill to see if they had anything better.

Tonight was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, the earth and the sun would choreograph their dance into spring as they had done forever.

When she lived in Germany, she would watch her husband put real candles on the tree as his family had done for generations. He claimed the trees never caught fire, but to make sure Margo always had a fire extinguisher within easy reach.

The reason for the table tree was Camille might regard a floor tree as an indoor toilet for herself.

Not that she was new-agey, but she also had a few pine branches she brought into her home to mark the solstice. In a way she felt it guaranteed spring would come.

Lasr month, Camille had been welcomed at Heather’s Thanksgiving table, or rather under it, where Margo and Henry slipped her pieces of turkey.

The people around the table were limited to Heather, Grayson, Henry and herself. Over the years, grandparents, uncles and aunts and miscellaneous cousins had disappeared to other tables or had died.

For the first time, their mother wasn’t there to prepare the meal. The cancer had whipped through her body so fast that no one had time to prepare mentally for her absence.

Grace, Heather and Grayson’s daughter, was at her boyfriend’s house in New Jersey.

Bethany was coming for Christmas. Two international trips would be too expensive for her and although both parents were tempted to finance their daughter’s travel, Bethany wanted to stand on her own.

She’d reached the point that she could do some of her research wherever there was the internet; someone else had to take over her lab work. At Christmas, however, some students were anxious for extra work and/or experience. They also wanted to avoid home dramas, leaving Bethany free to fly to the States.

As for Margo, she was looking forward to having her daughter under a roof for the holidays.

So many little things had gone wrong since Thanksgiving including needing a new kiln. Costs for what she wanted were in the $11,000 range. Thank God that the sale of her mother’s house was eminent. Getting the old one out and the new one in place would take some heavy-duty equipment.

Her New York exhibition had been cancelled, because there’d been a fire in the gallery. The owner said he wasn’t sure she would reopen; it was time to retire the owner said, something Margo couldn’t imagine doing.

When Margo woke most mornings, ideas for new designs or decorations on her china were already in her head and she couldn’t wait to get to work.

And there were a series of annoyances since she and Heather had finished emptying her mother’s house. Margo had lost her wallet and spent too much time worrying about getting a new kiln, never mind replacing her driver’s license and other cards.

Good thing she only had one credit card, which had been used by whoever had stolen her wallet.

Good thing she had a record of the email cancelling the card an hour after it was stolen. They still billed her.

When she’d also telephoned the credit card company, they denied she’d contacted them, but she sent them copies of the emails from her and to her saying they received her email. They were still refusing to back off the $3,000 of camping equipment the thieves charged to the card. She hoped the thieves had gone camping and frozen to death.

The next letter to the credit card company would be from her lawyer.

Camille jumped on Margo’s lap. With each passing day, Margo grew more attached to the dog. She slept on her bed above and below the duvet depending on temperature. In the morning she’d wake Margo. If it were raining, the dog decided whatever natural functions were required could wait. It was during bad weather that Margo named her “The fastest dog piddler in New England.”

The dog was almost a fuzzy tumor attached to Margo. Maybe she was afraid Margo would disappear like her former owner.

Bethany reacted to the photos of the dog by saying it pleased her that her mother had company.

Free Write : Hang Your Clothes

 I was extra curious about what we would do with this prompt. For me it was one of the hardest.  

Julia's Free Write  

There was a party coming up; she was down to only three trousers that fit and looked decent; she needed, yesterday, a new cotton blouse.

Sigh

She preferred hardware and thrifty stores to boutiques.

The odd time she did venture into even a department store, she refused to try on anything unless she could find at least 3 items. Calling a salesgirl for help simply wasn’t in her nature – not that most stores had one anymore.

A week later: the party was only 4 days away; one of the three trousers had holes along the inside seems; and even online she couldn’t find a blouse.

Time to grit her teeth and get going.

She chose the largest department store in hopes of finding at least one item.

Several trousers, a couple of blouses and still no party frock she was off to the dressing rooms.

She finally picked one trouser, one blouse and decided that an old dress would do for the party.

At least this time she had had help in the dressing room:

A coat rack with 4 signs: a check mark for o.k., a question mark for maybe, an X for no and a bag for purchasing.

She’d use this store again.

 

D-L's Free Write

 

"This apartment doesn't have any closets, Megan said. "And where's the kitchen?"

 It was the first flat they had looked at since moving to Stuttgart.

She hadn't been excited about moving to Germany, but Tom's promotion, huge raise on top of the lower cost of living was too advantageous to pass up.

She hadn't wanted to give up her job. She had loved her third graders. 

The apartment building was beautiful next to the public garden with a pond, ducks and flowers. Unlike at home, this garden didn't need mowing.

The real estate agent took off his jacket and hung it on one of the four hooks and strange drawings near the entrance. The rooms were large with long windows and a balcony.

"Kitchen?" 

Tenants bring their own from their old apartments or buy a new one.The agent must be about their age - late 20s early 30s.

"Closets?"

"You bring your own wardrobes."

I want to go home, she thought. 

Rick's Free Write

Geoff was the type of guy, when we were growing up, that we called a “neat freak.” He only got worse as he got older.

For Geoff, everything… everything… had to go in its proper place. Dishes, clothes, books, pillows, tools, towels…

Loading the dishwasher, he insisted that only the same utensils be placed in a slot, including separate slots for large spoons and small spoons. On the bed and the couch, pillows must be arranged by size and colour. Books were to be shelved by fiction and non-fiction, and the novels were to be alpha by author. At least he didn’t require a sub-sort by genre.

Geoff was worst when it came to frequently used items. Come in the door – put the keys on the first hook. The dog collar and harness on another hook.

Geoff’s partner, Liam, tried to inject a bit of humour in the routine. He stenciled “guides” above the hooks of the coat rack. A check mark for Geoff’s jacket, a question mark for Liam’s. An X for whatever a guest wore. A picture of a purse for any lady visitor.

Geoff was not amused.

After Liam walked out, Geoff got out the paint and brush.

About the Free Writers 

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry  top stories . He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

 

 

Raising Rapists

In October 2024 Seven students, members of a frat, raped a woman. The university investigated and handed out the harshest penalty possible -- write an essay. 

There was no AI to help them do it. 

Poor babies. Were their fingers tired from typing on their keyboards? How they must have suffered. 

Supposedly after they finished with the group fun, other boys were invited in to have a go. They were never identified. 

No exhausting essays to write. Lucky them.

Did you not get the sarcasm? 

Why didn't Cornell expel them?

Why weren't they charged and imprisoned?

Maybe some of the parents did say tsk tsk or maybe they wondered where they went wrong in teaching their sons how to treat women? Or maybe they were just grateful no one learned who their boys were. 

Some people blame the girl. She should have known better to get drunk in a frat house or at least her parents should have warned her, that a girl/woman should fear her fellow students.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone to a school that has frats and fraternizes. Cornell certainly has a lot. It has been called a party school. 

Did rapists have mothers and sisters who they would think it was okay to rape a woman?

If I were really snarky I would ask...Do you think that is the route to being a Supreme Court Justice?

Cornell’s undergraduate tuition is: 

• $73,946 per year for endowed programs 
• $49,816 for eligible NY residents.

That's a lot of money times four years. 

Maybe all the rapists weren't from families with money. 

Maybe some parents scraped and saved to get the tuition? 

Maybe! Maybe! Maybe!

I've never been raped, but I know too many women who have and the trauma it creates. 

I don't have a son, but if I did and my son was a rapist I would disown him and feel guilty the rest of my life that I didn't do a better job raising him. The same if it were my husband, brother, nephew, grandchild. And I would disown my president if he were a rapist. 

Oh wait, the president is a convicted rapist. 

Notes: The term sexual harassment was coined at Cornell in the 1950s.  

https://www.collegefactual.com/colleges/cornell-university/student-life/diversity/ 

The Ring - Chapter 6

 

MARGO LOUD STEINER

CHILL GREETED MARGO when she opened her front door. Camille, her new dog, something she didn’t expect to have, didn’t greet her. It only took Margo a few minutes to discover why.

“It’s not your fault,” she told the dog. “I left you too long.” She went for paper towels and a plastic bag.

Margo had walked in her front door to see Camille, her late elderly neighbor’s Japanese chin. She’d been named for Camille Claudel, the woman’s favorite artist. The dog huddled between the sofa and wall, only her tail showing.

Margo had dog-sat frequently for her while her neighbor went on holiday or visited her grandchildren.

It was a sad day when she had discovered the body. She had gone inside her own home long enough to drop leftovers from the restaurant where she’d eaten on the kitchen table then went through the pine grove to Maud’s house. She had a present for the woman, a mug with Camille’s portrait she’d painted.

The house was dark. As she used the key Maud had given her, she feared the worst and her fears were justified.     

     

Maud’s son didn’t want the dog. Margo thought she would keep her until she could find someone to take her, except Camille settled in. She was pleasant company. When she Facebook-messaged Bethany with a photo of Camille curled up on the bed, her daughter told her to keep her, adding, “We always liked her and she’s cute.”

“Now I don’t have to worry about you being alone,” Bethany claimed when Margo texted her about the dog. Margo didn’t need to remind her that her daughter had regularly switched countries between Germany and the United States, leaving her mother alone for the better part of a school year.

“You never were before,” Margo reminded her.

“I didn’t want to call attention to it,” Bethany said.

Margo talked to the dog as much as she had to her daughter, except Camille would give Margo’s face a quick lick and curl up in her lap.

“You know,” she said to the dog, “the sale of mother’s house will give us financial security. Your dog treats are guaranteed.”

The house was chilly. In winter the house could be drafty, but this was late fall.

Camille watched her clean up the dog mess and start a fire in the black iron stove. She was a great fire builder. A fire saved on heating oil and often she picked up faggots and fallen branches from the woods behind her house.

Her mobile rang.

“I forgot to invite you to Thanksgiving,” Heather said.

Just like my sister, always planning ahead. Halloween wasn’t for another three weeks. “Sounds good,” she said. 

HEATHER LOUD POWERS

HEATHER STRUGGLED TO hold the box against the front door to keep it from falling on the top step. She rang the doorbell. Let Gray be home, let him be home, she thought. She grabbed the box tighter in case he opened the door and everything fell out.

Her husband reached the box before it fell. “What’s this? Why didn’t you call for me to help?”

“I should have, but I was halfway up the walk when I thought of it. I wasn’t sure you were home. I didn’t see the car. Pick an excuse, any excuse.”

“The car’s in the garage. What’s in the box?”

“My mother’s good dishes.” Heather had been able to get the service for six safely wrapped and into the biggest carton she could find. Her mother used the set only for special occasions. It was delicately decorated. When you held it to the light, you could see your finger shadow through the china.

She hadn’t been frightened that Margo would want it. After all she made table settings for clients. Her worry was that Margo would put it into the estate sale so she could have half of the money. Maybe she should have asked her sister, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Did you finish?” Gray asked.

“One more day or maybe two.” Tomorrow, Heather would work the 9-2 shift at the library. Margo had said she would start in the morning, but Heather told her better that the two of them do it together. Heather did not want to lose control.

“Do you want me to check your pricing?” Grayson asked.

Heather had removed her coat but still had to hang it in the hall closet. Walking over to her husband, she put her arms around his neck. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ve a good idea of market value.” Their representative from the estate sale firm had said that they would price everything we couldn’t. He also said the women should inform him what they would accept if someone wanted to bargain, but Grayson had their only interests at heart.

Some of Medora’s furniture had become antiques over the years. Some had come from Aunt This and Uncle That over the last hundred years or more. None of the furniture was wanted by either sister.

The sisters did not want to be there during the sale. Unlike Margo, who had far fewer good childhood memories, Heather’s were much warmer and cozier. Heather had heard the stories about the time Medora’s brother had cut holes in the soft chair, the apple pie that had fallen off the maple table and everyone was relieved because Aunt Julia was a terrible baker and now no one had to pretend that the pie was any good.

When Grayson went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of Pinot Noir, Heather sank into the couch. For the first time since she had arrived at her mother’s house earlier she could relax.

Grayson has turned out to be the perfect husband for her, although when she met him while she was getting her master’s in library science at Simmons, he seemed much too stuffy. He still was stuffy, but stuffy brings quiet.

That he earned a good living as the Chief Financial Officer of an education publishing company made her working unnecessary. He insisted what she earned she should keep. Regularly she squirreled her measly paycheck away over the years until her savings reached the five figures.

Grayson was frugal (read stingy) and he had invested wisely enough to pay for Grace’s studies. They had bought their house right before the market went crazy and paid it off in fifteen years. Heather had furnished it from garage sales, selecting only quality pieces. Margo didn’t get all the artistic talent she would tell friends who complimented her on her taste.

Overall, she had lucked out in life, one of comfort. Some money would come from the sale of Medora’s house. She was lucky. Now if she could only find the ring.