Welcome to The Creativeness Within Me

I hope you will enjoy browsing through this blog and looking at My Writings, Photography and Paintings. Painting is a fairly new enterprise but I will take pictures of them as I go along to assess improvement (if there is any). But the point is in enjoying what we do and hoping that what we have to offer brings some pleasure or interest to others, or just plain curiousity.

If you like The Creativeness Within Me you may wish to go to my other blogs: http://www.sbehnish.blogspot.com (Talk, Tales, Thoughts and Things) which is about motivational topics, travel, parenting ... and other things, ttp://www.progressofabraininjury.blogspot.com which is, as the name suggests, about brain injuries and http://www.sebehnish.blogspot.com which is my travel blog.

Thank you for stopping by.

Sylvia Behnish

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Day My Life Changed

(Part of a story)

The day began as each Saturday morning had for as long as I could remember. That is until I saw the box on the top shelf in my mother's closet. It wasn't seeing the box that caused the problem, but rather asking my mother about it that created the difficulties on that early weekend morning.

"Sit down, dear," she said when I raised the question about the box. Although not much bigger than a small child's shoe box and partially hidden, it was very much in evidence to a snoopy teenage girl.

Right then and there I should have declared an absolute lack of interest in it. But I didn't. Instead I smiled and waited to hear the lovely story my mother was about to tell me and to see the old pictures she'd show me. Waiting expectantly, I was convinced the box was also filled with beautiful old heirlooms that would each be fabulous stories in themselves.

"This box is full of history," she began hesitantly. "It's your history, dear." I had no problem with her words but an expression I could not read filled the hollows of her face and made her eyes dim with sadness. Based on the expression on my mother's face, it did not look like it was going to be a good story and I instantly regretted my curiosity about the box.

Slowly the uncomfortable feeling began to pervade my bones and circulate through my veins as I stared into my mother's forlorn face. Her eyes were the watery version of the lake at night with a full moon shining upon its glittering surface. "That's alright. I've got homework to do," I told her as I jumped up. Sixteen was too young to find out about anything that had put that kind of a look in my mother's normally radiant eyes; eyes that usually sparkled like a sunrise with the early morning sun.

"Sit down, Marsha." She emphasized her words slowly as if they had been wet mud dredged from the center of the earth. "Sit down, Marsha," she repeated as she sat heavily on the edge of her bed.

Those words again! It wasn't like she'd said, "Sit down dear and have some chocolate cake," or "Sit down dear, I have fifty dollars so you can buy yourself a new dress." Those were the words I would have rather heard but, "Sit down, dear," spoken in that stranger's voice, so unlike her own, suggested she was going to tell me something I didn't want to hear. Reluctantly I sat down, trying unsuccessfully not to look at the box. Perched as it was on the top shelf, it seemed to have grown in size while it sat there; its mystery compounding by each second that passed.

"There are things you should know," she whispered as she lowered her eyes. "Things I haven't told you before." A solitary tear crept slowly down her pale face.>p> 'Oh Gawd,' I thought. 'This is not starting out to be a wonderful conversation.' I mentally kicked myself for having mentioned the box. Words I shouldn't speak have a way of sneaking out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Think before you speak," my mother has always told me. I wished for once I had listened to her wise words but one never knows ahead of time which are the ones to listen to and which are the ones that can be safely ignored.

Looking up I saw her dark brown eyes fixed intently on my face. "I should have told you this a long time ago but I've put it off. The fault is mine, darling. Your father has been after me to do so long before now," she said. "I've been afraid. Oh Gawd," she said as she buried her face in her hands. And although she made no sound, I knew it would only be minutes before her tears would spill over the edges of her cupped hands like water in an overflowing basin.

'Afraid?' I wondered. 'My mother has never been afraid of anything. She is the woman who stood up against bullies when I was eight years old even though her knees were trembling. She is the one who confronted the neighbor when his son stole my bike and, although she hated to make a scene, she marched into the school and talked to the principal when I got a detention for something I didn't do. And she stood up in front of my class when she was petrified to do so and gave a talk about her work because I wanted her to do it for me.'

As I watched my mother trying to battle her fears, I knew without a doubt it wasn't something I wanted to hear. "Maybe you could tell me later, Mom," I stammered. "If you've waited this long, there's probably no hurry to do it now. I'm sure it can wait." I quickly jumped up and escaping to my own room, closed the door behind me with a dull thud.

My mother did not follow me. She must have agreed with my logic. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I sunk down onto my bed. I never again mentioned the box on her shelf. Even a nosey stubborn teenage girl can occasionally learn a lesson or two.

* * * * * *

Over the years I had forgotten about the mystery surrounding the box in her closet and life went on pretty much ass usual as I grew into young adulthood. That is until my parents' death in a head-on automobile accident when I was twenty-one years old. ...

What Woman, Maria?

(Part of the story)

"You always do that, Campbell," Maria said as she glared at her husband.

"Do what? I have no idea what you're talking about, Maria."

"You stop talking and decide to go do something when we're in the middle of an argument."

"An argument? I thought we were having a discussion and that we were finished." Campbell shook his head, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Did we come to a solution, Campbell?" Maria's voice was beginning to reach a higher octave. Campbell didn't like it when her voice began to climb the musical scale.

"I didn't think we had a problem, Maria. I thought everything was going along just fine." Campbell threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I don't understand women at all."

"And I don't understand men. But that's the problem. You always think everything is just fine, you don't listen, you never seem to understand anything I say and you'd rather walk away than solve a problem."

"But we don't have a problem. You're making a problem when none exists. I'm going to my workshop. When I have a problem out there, I know what it is. It's plan and simple, not something that's been built up out of nothing and exaggerated out of all proportion. Keep it simple, Babe and then there isn't a problem."

"You haven't heard anything I've said this whole last week, have you? The problem is that woman, you Knucklehead." Maria's voice had reached almost the highest level on the musical scale. Not a good sign as far as Campbell was concerned.

"I'm listening and you have my attention but I really have no idea what woman you're talking about. What about this hypothetical woman?>"

"You know very well who I'm talking about; the one at Corey's baseball game." Maria banged the cupboard door to emphasize that what she was saying was something he'd better not miss.

"Which woman at the game? I still don't know what you're talking about. You know, I think this whole conversation is getting ridiculous. When you've figured out what you're really upset about, let me know. I'll be in the workshop."

Maria could feel her blood pressure soar as she watched Campbell walk nonchalantly out of the kitchen, as if he had not a care in the world. She knew he thought she was dramatizing but she had seen the exchange between her husband and Michelle, Matt's mother. And this wasn't the first time she'd noticed them flirting. She wanted him to know that he wasn't pulling anything over on her. 'And he brought me that bouquet of flowers on Friday too. I wonder if it was because of guilty feelings? I'd sure like to know what he's up to?' Maria fumed.

Campbell measured the piece of wood for the garden planter he was building for the back yard. 'What was that all about?' he wondered. 'I don't have a clue what woman she's talking about. Probably another one of her jealousy attacks.' He shook his head impatiently. 'Oh well, I'm not going to worry about it. Hopefully she'll cool down by dinner time.'

As he worked, he could hear the cupboards slamming in the kitchen and an angry outburst directed at one of the children. 'Well maybe not by dinner time. Hopefully by bedtime.' He smiled at the thought of that. Maybe he'd suggest they have a glass of wine later, after the children were in bed. It had been a while. He thought the flowers would have earned him some brownie points but they probably just made her think he was up to something. Instead they had gone to bed that night and she had turned her back on him again and in only moments had fallen asleep. More times than not she was either too tired, had a headache or stayed up until the wee hours of the morning on the computer. 'The wine probably won't work any better than the flowers did,' he reminded himself.

Maria came in to the workshop and saw him bent over the pieces of cedar, tape measure in hand. Picking up the pieces, he began to walk towards the table saw. "Campbell, dinner is ready."

"What? Oh, okay I'll be right there."

'He probably hasn't given what I said another thought since he came in here. It's so typical of a man. Everything in one ear and out the other. He's so good at tuning me out,' Maria thought angrily. "If you wait too long, it's going to be cold," she said as she flounced out of the room. "Then you can bloody well heat it up yourself."

Campbell glanced after her and wondered again what had brought this whole thing on. Shrugging, he decided to cut just a few more of the board lengths before going in for dinner. He knew it would probably be another ten minutes anyway before it was on the table. He'd rather be out in the workshop than go into the kitchen and feel the below freezing atmosphere there.

Whistling as he worked he was planning the other planters he was going to make for the deck. 'And maybe a bench with planters at each end with a trellis behind. That would be nice,' he thought, 'to have clematis growing up behind where you sat. A nice colorful area to sit in and relax.' Coming to the end of his cuts, he suddenly became aware of the feeling of daggers driving their sharp edges into his back. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. 'It has been half an hour, at least, since she called me in for dinner. She's going to kill me.'

Turning slowly, he pasted what he hoped was a charming smile on his face. 'Wine probably won't help tonight, I'm guessing,' he told himself. "Sorry, Honey. The time kind of got away from me."

"So I noticed but why change now?" There was no warmth in her voice, and no humour and definitely no smile on her face. "You know Campbell, it doesn't take much to make me happy."

"Yeah? The flowers I brought you on Friday night didn't seem to make you happy."

"That's the first flowers you've bought me in three years. They made me more inclined to wonder why than to be happy about them. All I need are little things. If you were to come home from work and put your arms around me and tell me you loved me regularly, I'd be ecstatic. And not just when you want a toss in the hay. You rarely do it even then, Campbell."

"We're married for Pete's sake, Maria." He ran his hands angrily through his hair making it stand up in spikey blonde tufts.

"So you don't think you need to show affection when you're married?"

Campbell, looking confused, shrugged. "I show you affection."

"When Campbell?" Maria stood with her hands on her hips. "When we're having sex?"

"Well, yes." Campbell was wishing he'd gone in for dinner when she'd first called him. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. He hated talking about touchy-feeling things like Maria always wanted to do. 'And she always thinks she's right about everything,' he thought angrily.

"You're not affectionate then either. You don't tell me you love me even then. It's an act for you, a physical release I guess you men call it; it's having sex but has nothing to do with making love."

'Wow!' Campbell thought. 'Who the hell is this woman she's been yammering about? That's what probably got all of this started. Now she's going to drag out every little thing that's been bothering her for the last five years or so.'

"I've been thinking, Campbell. I think we should go and see a counselor together."

'Yup, here it goes,' Campbell thought. "A counselor? What in the hell for? I thought we were getting along just fine. At least until the last few days when you started harping on me. I don't get it, Maria. I really don't."

"Because you're a man. Any woman would understand and feel exactly like I do."

"You know, Maria, I'm going to go and get my dinner now. And I know," Campbell held up his hand, "it'll be cold. I don't really care at this point."

"You're running off again, Campbell. We can't have any discussion without you doing the disappearing act. I'm going to make an appointment with a counselor," she said as she brushed past him and did her own disappearing act.

As he put his plate of food into the microwave to heat, he thought, 'I think I'll save the wine. It would just be a waste of good wine now.'

* * * * * *