Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Retreat (as in quiet time away) (08/01/05)
TITLE: WHERE THE WILD THINGS... AREN'T
By h o'hara
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But let’s just say that it suffers from “estrogen deficit disorder.” Even our cat is male!!
Jesus himself had to row to the other side for a rest, and so do I.
So Thursday nights, the men of the house ( both big and small); are on their own. Then I steal away like Max did in the children's story Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak:
...Through night and day, and in and out of weeks, and maybe over a year...
...to where my wild things, uh... aren’t!
I specifically chose Thursday nights for my weekly retreat because that’s when most of my girlfriends have their “girly –girl” home parties.
So if I’m feeling social; and in need of creamy creams for my terrible eyes, and nail polish for my terrible claws, and belching kitchenware so that suppers can stay hot;I go to the party.
But if I’m in a reclusive mood, undoubtedly pushed there by my two adorable boys who that morning made mischief of one kind, or another; I skip the party and head for the mall.
Specifically, I go to the Barnes and Noble, in Greece. (As in Greece, New York. No, no, not that "other" Greece! Unlike Max,I don’t have a private boat. In fact, I don’t even own a passport.Please refer to last weeks “Writers Challenge” entry for the pitiful details.)
The thing I love about Barnes and Noble is that they have those big cushy chairs to relax in. If I time my arrival correctly, one chair is empty for me.
If not, I end up in a stern, wooden, hard-backed chair over near the diet book section; where they make the…“SHWIWSHISHKCKCKCWIWWWWWW”…cappuccinos*. This is a considerably less desirable location; but it will do in a pinch.
I sit and peruse my stack of books. If I end up in the wooden chair, I occasionally look up and fantasize about roaring my terrible roar and gnashing my terrible teeth, and telling one of the cushy seaters to “git outta my chair,” a la Archie Bunker. However, I restrain my flesh, as imitating Norman Lear television characters in public is not a very good Christian witness.
So I go back to my stack of books. Though the subject matter is widely varied, from art, to fitness, to the spiritual; my choices usually have one thing in common: most of these books I already own and have at home! Yet reading them at the store the only way I can actually get near them!
Then all around the world I smell good things to eat...
So after I finish reading, I head to the Taco Bell near Wal-Mart. I order and eat my usual,a burrito. No matter how many times I read Where the Wild Things Are to my kids; It seems that Max always escapes his imaginary monsters. In my case, however,the half pound beef and potato burrito gets the upper hand and starts a wild rumpous in the lining of my esophagus!
I check my watch and that love me best of all.
So I travel back over Greece, through Parma and Ogden, in and out of Spencerport, and maybe over to Brockport,(if I take the long way); and back to Clarkson... to where my "wild things" are. There’s no denying that about two-thirds into my weekly retreat, I started to miss my husband and kids.
Even so, I try to return so that the kids are already in bed when I get home. I love to see their adorable, sleeping faces; snuggled in their beds. So peaceful, so content.
Yes, I slip in quietly, and find my wild ones waiting for me.
And,(more often then not) they are still...
* comments cheerfully accepted on how to spell the sound that comes out of a cappuccino machine. A shameless ploy to solicit reader response, I know, but, hey, I’m new here.
Words in italics from the children's story Where the Wild Things Are,Trophy Publishers
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