Sunday Scribblings - Red Nose Optional

For the Sunday Scribblings prompt costume.

I'm going to tell you a story about a reindeer. A reindeer in spandex named Conrad. A reindeer in spandex named Conrad who didn't make the cut at the North Pole.



Well, actually, he wasn't a reindeer. He was a giraffe. This did not deter him from pursuing his dream. Not one bit. All of St. Nick's old reindeer had retired with a pension of hay and hot chocolate. He had heard from an unidentified source that Santa was recruiting new talent for the annual run, so Conrad stole a rack of reindeer antlers from a hunting shed in Siberia while the hunter concentrated on eating his borscht with a bent spoon.

The journey northward seemed endless, but at last he found the fabled village. Billows of brightly-colored sparkles belched from the stacks of the toy factory. Elves scurried and hustled about their business. The Day was only weeks away. Conrad's blood pressure rose as he waited in line nose to rump behind a long line of other smelly butts outside the staging shed where the jolly old elf housed his sleigh.

The line stretched across about a hundred yards of freshly fallen snow. "How long you been standing here?" he asked the mammal ahead of him. He blinked when the animal turned its head. The other applicant was not a reindeer.



"A couple of days… weeks… hours… I don't know." The yak stomped a hoof in a mound of something that smelled vile. Wisps of steam rose from the pile. "The old guy is kind of… slow." He slung his heavy rack from side to side, dislodging a few tenacious flies. "Name's Formaldehyde. But you can call me Al."

"Conrad. But you can call me Con."

"Nice to meet you." The yak studied Con's outfit. "What's with the spandex?"

"Oh, this. Well…"

"Hey, if it's personal—"

"No. It's just… Okay, I ran away from the circus—"

The yak melted into fits of laughter. "Oh man, that's rich. You ran away from the circus? Why would you leave a good gig like that?"

Con cleared his throat, loosening the phlegm. "Well, there was a little problem with dynamite and an elephant—"

"Whoa, buddy. Did you dynamite an elephant?"

"Of course not. I swear I never touched the elephant." Con tried his best to look offended. "No matter what that clown says I never laid a hoof on her."

"Well, if you did, I wouldn't blame you. Elephants are kind of—"

"Hey!" said a rather large pachyderm while turning a malevolent eye on Al.

Conrad stepped back from the menace. He'd seen enough of elephants to last him a lifetime.

The yak turned his back on the elephant and continued his probing into Con's embarrassment. "What happened?"

"Well, you see… I swallowed several sticks of dynamite."

"Okay, you got my attention. Why would you swallow dynamite?"

Conrad puffed out his cheeks. "It really wasn't my fault. Lion Tamer was standing in the door of Pretzel Woman's trailer. You know, he was always talking to PW. I think he had an itch for her. She could do this thing… Never mind. It's not important." He cringed and shook his head at the memory. "Knife Thrower stopped throwing knives after the… um… accident, so he threw fireworks that looked like sticks of dynamite. Made for an exciting show. Well, we had a new guy in the manager's office, and he got mixed up. Ordered real dynamite. So when Knife Thrower was passing her trailer, Pretzel Woman sneezed, and the Lion Tamer got a face full of spray. PW is known for her bad breath. Lion Tamer backed into me, I tripped Knife Thrower, and Pretzel Woman knocked the dynamite out of Knife Thrower's hand." He looked hard at his audience. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Several animals nodded.



"Okay, well, I was yawning. I do that a lot. And I sort of… you know… swallowed the dynamite."

By now the waiting hopefuls had gathered around them to hear Con's sad tale of woe. Most of them stared at Con with wonder and awe reflected in their eyes. After all, it's more customary to run away to the circus, than from the circus.

"Go on," urged an elk.

"But I'd had a lot of hay for supper, and you can imagine the gas build-up—"

"Oh, yeah, man," said an alpaca. "That can be murder."

Con stared at the alpaca. How much did he know?

"I belched, the dynamite flew out of my mouth, and the elephant… It wasn't pretty."

"That's awful, man," the yak said.

"I had to leave. No one could be sure if I'd expelled all the TNT yet." Con felt a familiar rumble in his gut. "Guys." He backed away from them. "This can't be good."

A collective look of horror spread across the contingent of would-be Christmas Eve replacements.

They don't call it the North Pole any more. It's more like… the North Crater. And Con? There was no room on the team for someone with such a ghastly gastrointestinal disorder. Word is that operations might resume in time for Christmas next year.

© Denise Moncrief 2010

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The Agony of Defeat

The cliff wall called to Mike, just one more siren beckoning him in his search for release from the pain. It towered above him, immovable and implacable. If he could conquer that huge rock, he could conquer the terrible empty feeling Joy left behind. He drove the piton into the face, dropped the mallet, backed away, and accepted defeat.

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His Dry Wit

elastic wit

pulled to the fringe

dry twisting elemental humor

labor of pleasure

doubles the fun

dissolves the gloom

cancels the harsh

sounds of too much serious

I was thinking of my hubby when I wrote this. His dry wit first drew me to him. Not everyone gets his humor, but no one makes me laugh like he does. When I need it most.

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Bitter Fruit

reach for the forbidden fruit again

the apple at the end of the branch

stretched arm, fingers twitching with desire

the last bitter lesson lost in instant gratification

the heart wants what the heart wants

that beating, thumping deceitful organ

ignore the cost of indulging the itch

the sticky, sweet moment of satisfaction

turns sour, dripping the acrid aftertaste

regret swirls and then dives and pierces

consequences crammed into deep wedges

of experience, should haves and could haves

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The Hurricane

The eerie sound of laughter rang across the landscape, incongruent amidst the ruin and devastation. Marie stopped and listened to the hideous noise of joy. The futility of struggling to survive pressed against her heart. The storm that raged only days ago had taken her last morsel of hope.

She pushed aside a two-by-four, torn from its structure and roughened by the wind's fierce onslaught. Beneath a sludge-encrusted sheet, she found the box, still taped shut. A score of memories flooded her soul, yanking at her spirit, refusing to allow her slow descent into despair.

Her mind rewound the day she stuffed all of Sadie's toys into the packing crate and sealed it with a kiss. So much anticipation. One more day. Just one. And they would have been on the road to a new home and a new life.

She yanked the tape from the box and tossed toys on the still wet ground. At the bottom, she found Sadie’s teddy bear. Gulping back her tears, she pushed it against her chest--a vain attempt to keep her heart from leaving her, never to return. For although she had lost Sadie to the storm, she refused to lose her memory.

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The Shadow

It bounced with the beat of my heart. Every time I moved, it moved. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, but the shadow wouldn’t disappear. How could I get past it? Behind me, my self-inflicted prison yawned like an abyss. If I plunged back into the depths, my descent would take me straight back to the pits of hell. Before me, the thing refused me the right of passage. It morphed into grotesque shapes and shifted from left to right. The sweat rolled down my backbone. I clenched and unclenched my hands willing my stubborn digits to cooperate. Grasp the light, my tortured mind demanded. Grasp the light and conquer the fear. My fingers wrapped around the base of an oil lamp. Its blue-black flame flickered, teasing the dark. Now or never, my mind screamed. Take action. Defeat the fear. Rushing the remaining few steps, I faced the shadow and challenged it on its own turf. The ethereal form coalesced into a human shape. As I tossed the lamp at my biggest fear, the fire engulfed the negative image of my soul. My mind cleared, and I stepped into the light.

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The Heart Of a Giant

 

“Come fly with me,” Penelope said and nudged Tucker on his shoulder.

He stretched his long arms and plopped his size twenty feet on her coffee table. “Today’s a bad day, babe. I have thousands of things to do. The fence won’t rebuild itself you know. The stones are heavy, and there’s just me to lift them.”

“You could ask Toggle for help. He’s big and strong and—”

“Are you saying I’m not?” he asked, a hint of injured feeling in his tone.

“I’m not saying that at all,” she replied as she lifted a spare key to the gate from the hearth. Tuck was a sensitive giant.

The fluttering started again. Her breathing increased its fractured pace before it settled into a normal rhythm again. She had almost forgotten the large bump that weighed her abdomen down.

“Come on, Tuck,” she begged. “It won’t be too many days before the baby comes. Then I wont’ be Able to fly for a long, long time.” When he didn’t immediately object, hope began bubbling and bouncing in her tired soul. “You know I can’t fly without you,” she wheedled. “When you’re with me, I feel as if nothing in the world can stop me—”

“Okay, okay,” he said and rose to his full height of ten feet. The top of his head brushed the underside of their thatched roof. He smirked. “Grope around in the storage bin for my crash helmet.”

“Must you use the word grope? It sounds so… so….”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“And must you be so smirky about my flying abilities. I can’t help it if my steering gets a little… off sometimes. At least I can fly.”

“Do you want me to fly with you or not?” he grumbled.

Without another word, she found his crash helmet. Should she dare flash him an appreciative smile? She did and he smiled back. Tucker loved her in his own way. The heart of a giant is larger than most and filled with strange and unusual emotions. He didn't see her the way others saw her. He filtered his view of her through what resided in his oversized heart.


After he smashed the helmet onto his head, he took the key from her hand and led her out onto the open field in front of their small cottage.

“Hang on,” she said.

“I always do. I don’t want anything happening to the baby… or you.” With a boom and a shock they lifted from the ground, veering left, then right to clear a large tree directly in their flight path. He turned to her, squeezed her hand, and grinned. “We both know you couldn’t fly without me.”

It was true. Penelope’s power only stabilized when her hand was in his. Together they were invincible… if she didn’t plow them into a tree.


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Frolicking On the Edge Of Normal

Frolicking on the edge of different

Eccentricity or insanity

Shades of normalcy

Quirky personality or secret insecurity

Defined by cultural norm

Exotic or psychotic

Popular keepers of the social covenant

Who decides what’s normal


(c) 2012 Denise Moncrief


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Festive Festivities

Deck the halls with boughs of holly

It’s a wonderful life

Bells are jingling, ring ting tingling, too

Voices singing, let’s be jolly

Ignore the stress and strife

Just left the shopping mall, aka the zoo

 

Gazing on the depth of folly

Despair cuts like a knife

Let’s get it over and face the year anew

Christmas lost in all the commotion

As the world sinks deeper in darkness

Going through the motions

Then…

A Ray of Hope Flickers in the Sky

John 1:4-5 “In him was life,

and that life was the light of men.

The light shines in the darkness,

but the darkness has not understood it.”

(c) Denise Moncrief 2011

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The Gift

 

Mommy, what did Santa bring me?

Mommy, give it to me now.

Three special gifts I gave her

Wrapped with tissue, box, and bow

Trappings torn and tattered

Tossed upon the floor as if my hard work didn’t matter

From the box she pulled

Happiness and turned it side to side

Good health received a fleeting glance

Before she found her fulfilled life

Enhanced with family, faith and friends

Her cherub face dissolved in tears of disappointment.

Where is my fame and fortune?

Instant gratification?

The triple pack of self-centeredness

Selfishness and self-absorption

My heart was torn between two inclinations

To give my baby what she wants or what she really needs

After looking back on thirty years

I turn my face towards today

My daughter with her children

As she tells them what my mother told me

Dear children, these are the gifts that

Bring more than fleeting pleasure

These fundamental things bring peace, joy, and satisfaction


(c) Denise Moncrief 2011


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Wake Up Sleeping Beauty

 

Wake up, my sleeping beauty

Not all dreams are crushed by the uncaring

Nor all hopes dashed

Forget him, your prince not charming

Not all dreams are denied a happy ending

Nor every wish unfulfilled

Did the glass slipper fit?

Did the soft kiss awaken?

Did the knight's armor shine?

Or did the coward sneak out the back door?

Did the glitter diminish?

Did the prince turn into a dragon?

Write again, my sweet lyricist

Not all music is inspired by unrequited love

Nor all words empty

Seek the truer heart

Dream the better dream

Write the sweeter song

(c) Denise Moncrief 2011

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Wishing Makes It So

I try to focus, peering through the clouds drifting over the fuzzy dreamscape. “Where am I?” I ask the man on the cloud next to mine.

“This is the land of wish fulfillment,” he proclaims as his jeweled headpiece shifts.

“How did I get here?” I ask.

“You made a wish, didn’t you?” he answers.

“Am I dreaming?” If my subconscious is manufacturing this scenario, I need to make some adjustments. Surely, this man should be better looking. All the men in my dreams are gorgeous. Tall. Tanned and ripped.

“No, you are not dreaming. I’m not a figment of your limited imagination.” He sneers and rolls his eyes—one green eye and one blue eye—very distracting. And that piercing in his lower lip reminds me of the waiter at TGI Friday’s last night. That’s it. I had one too many sweet potato fries. Overindulgence explains the surreal state.

Okay, I know what’s happening here. My psyche is playing another horrid mind game. “How many wishes do I get?” I ask with a knowing smirk.

“Wishes? What do I look like? A genie in a bottle? You don’t get three wishes. You only get one wish, and you’ve already wished it.”

I feel cheated. “What did I wish?”

“Don’t you remember?” he snaps.

My nose tilts upward. I don’t like his attitude. How am I supposed to know what’s going on? Isn’t this smarmy, little twerp invading my lullaby land? He should tell me how the deal works without the fuss.

“If I remembered…” I begin my rant and stop. Right before I fell asleep, didn’t I wish I could retract those awful words I uttered so many years ago? I ponder my self-revelation, tapping my pointer finger on my chin.

“You see, you do remember. Now, I’m going to grant your wish,” he says with a hyena-like laugh. I expect him to wave a wand or blow magic dust in my face, but he doesn’t. His raucous cackling sends shivers of dread down my spine.

“Wait!” I yell.

“Not changing your mind, are you?” He growls with disgust, inspecting me as if he’s seen my type.

Hope skitters across my heart. “Can I?”

“Look, lady, I have twenty cases to oversee tonight. I don’t have time for your self-doubt. This isn’t the land of indecision. This is the land of wish fulfillment. It’s too late to take your wish back.”

“Before you do this, you should know that I didn’t know my wish would come true. I was ignorant of the process. Surely, you should cut me some slack. I am a beginner at this—”

He beams with impish delight. “Hah. Ignorance is no excuse. Wishing makes it so.”

“I wish—”

He shakes one gnarly finger at me. “Ah, ah, ah. No more wishing. One wish per customer,” he barks before I can wish him out of my dream.

My mind gropes for an exit strategy. “But I didn’t mean it. I was mad, and I spoke those words in the heat of the moment.”

“Just as you spoke those silly words on impulse so many years ago? Hum?” Condescension slithers from him and wraps around me.

“What?” I sputter, attempting to shake off his disdain.

“Don’t you remember telling your husband he should beef up like John Cena?” I wince. My conscience stings. Whatever possessed me to say such a thing? Now after years of early mornings and late nights at the gym, I want my husband to spend more time at home with me. Is that too much to ask?

I retreat from my belligerent position. Bluster will not sway this pseudo-genie to reverse my blunder. “Will this send me back in time?”

“Of course not. You should be so lucky.”

Before I can blink, I face the consequences of my impetuous wish. Reality slaps me in the face. Disbelief slams me in the gut. I awake to find my nightmare is more than a nightmare. My husband no longer resembles a pro wrestler. The man sleeping next to me looks like… Oh, wait …He is the science geek from my tenth grade biology class.

(c) Denise Moncrief 2010


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Joy To the World

When I was a pre-teen, I would imagine that someone had given me several thousand dollars. Then I would study the Service Merchandise catalogue and choose which pieces of jewelry on which to spend my newly acquired wealth. After I calculated the cost of the pieces I wanted the most, I had never given myself enough pretend money. So I just pretended myself some more. This sounds like a silly child's game, and it is. But during this season of extravagant consumerism, I wonder if sometimes adults play this game for real, assuming that more is better. That more will somehow satisfy. Maybe even that more is the key to happiness. Will buying more make a more joyous Christmas? Will acquiring (fill in the blank) bring happiness, fulfillment, satisfaction, success, etc.?


There is a huge difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is fleeting; joy is foundational. Real joy settles deep down in the soul, in the essence of my being, regardless of circumstance. Joy is an overwhelming sense of well-being, of hope in the face of hopelessness, of contentment when life is in flux, of being settled and comfortable with my "self"--the essence of who I am. Joy bursts into my life when I find that place of spiritual definition. 


Things cannot give me joy, or even happiness. A healthy spirit can.


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