Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 14

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 13 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

Sid had been on the sidelines for most of this adventure, tapping away at his keyboard and quietly marshalling resources. On Saturday, when we had our final planning meeting at Martin Gardens, he had announced that a variety of media would be joining us on the appointed day to watch the installation. Greta had invited all the mucky-mucks of her parent company, but none had responded. Her immediate boss had given her a lukewarm okay to the idea of planting a few flowers and generally sprucing up the landscape.

"I wasn't entirely honest with him," she admitted to me over a glass of wine. We'd become pretty good friends. I had learned that she, too, was a single mother. Her husband had abandoned her shortly after they learned their son had Down Syndrome. Freddie had struggled through life, but recently found a place at halfway house (I guess that's what you'd call it) for adults with disabilities. He bagged groceries and loved his freedom. However, he still had a wide variety of medical needs that drained Greta's resources.

"Why didn't you brag to Mr. Salazar? This has turned into a really, really big deal!" Skye tucked her legs under her bottom and curled up on her futon. Admittedly, her apartment had become our gathering spot. She'd done such a fantastic job of turning trash into treasure with her decor that I never failed to get inspired after a visit.

"He's prickly at best. Doesn't like me. Doesn't think I'm qualified. Doesn't think I show him the proper deference." She paused. "A bit of gossip. His nephew applied for the same job that I did, but I got it and he didn't. Rumor has it that Mr. Salazar wants me out so he can bring Paul in and crow about my failure."

Each visit began with the "How Is Helen?" report. This had been no exception.

"She's fading fast. Manages a bite of food now and again. Extremely cachetic. Um, that means she's wasting away and 'extremely' is redundant to be precise." Greta was usually precise except in matters of the heart. I found her an odd juxtaposition of rigid and soft, almost as if both sides warred within her.

"Will she make it through tomorrow?" I was worried. Kookie had been installed in his new cage. Poppy had concocted a sort of small sized hurricane shutters that could be lowered when the sun was too bright or the wind too fearsome. We didn't find any more of his feathers on the ground, so the plucking seemed to have stopped. He wasn't eating much, but now instead of shrieking Helen's name, he cooed and sang lullabies.

"Almost as if that durn bird knows she's on her way to eternal rest," Poppy had observed.

Skye took all this a bit hard. She'd always wanted a bird. Then along came Kookie. And she'd willingly given Kookie back to Helen. But I could see the sad light in her eyes each time we visited. However, Skye was no stranger to loss. I had a hunch that in her mind, she chalked this up to yet another disappointment that life had thrown her way.

~To Be Continued~

Author's Note: Oh my gosh! I asked you to "talk" to me--and I was bowled over by your response! I'm taking a series of online classes right now. One teacher says that Facebook is a TOTAL waste of time for authors. That we're only fooling ourselves. But I think we've found a wonderful way to share with each other--and because I feel closer to all of you, I get tremendous energy. So here's a big HUG from me to you. Have a great day! -- j  

Sea Trash Brooch

8 MILLION tons of plastic are added to our oceans every year. But we can all do something about it! Next time you walk the beach, pick up that plastic and transform it. I'll tell you how in a future post.

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 13

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1, and 12 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

 

It took us a week to get everything organized. Knowing that the pieces wouldn't come together quickly, Poppy volunteered to handle getting Kookie's cage in place so that he and Helen wouldn't be separated. I brought him lunch the first day. His ability to think through the steps amazed me. He'd paced off where the walkways would go, and he'd measured how much room to leave on all sizes of the cage. Before pouring a concrete pad, he'd figured out how to attach the legs so that the cage could be replaced, if and when it disintegrated, as does a lot of metal so near the ocean.

 

On the second day, I stopped by bright and early to find him constructing a Tiki Hut sort of roof that would fit over the cage.

 

"Gotta give the bird a way to get out of the hot sun. Mother Nature's materials are best. The roofs are made from Florida palms. See? The heat goes right through them, but they keep it cool because the air circulates underneath." My grandfather lectured me as he stapled the thatching on to the frame. "This here'll last for years and years."

 

Meanwhile, my old boyfriend Cooper Rivers had been working magic. He went to all his current clients and asked that each of them contribute a small portion of supplies toward the landscaping job. While he did that, MJ and Skye set up a sale. Sid wrote the ads, made posters and fliers, and called the news outlets. Each customer who brought in a plant or shrub could draw a discount from a fishbowl. While I wondered how effective the sale would be, I figured it couldn't hurt and it might work.

 

Meanwhile, I talked to our friend Detective Lou Murray. Lou spoke to his pals on the police force. There were scads of people scheduled to do community service, so Lou suggested that they all show up on Saturday, once week hence, to pitch in.

 

Not surprisingly, MJ had a landscaper she's been dating. With a bit of arm twisting, she managed to get him on board. He sent a crew out to prep the grounds. "If I can take off a week to go on a cruise with him, he'll oversee the whole job at no cost to us."

 

I was happy enough to agree, but Skye stopped me. "Don't you think we should do something for all these area businesses that are chipping in?"

 

"What did you have in mind?" I chewed my lip. If she was proposing that we pay them, I didn't know where I'd find the money.

 

"I figured I could paint signs on driftwood. I can put names on them. They can go on a fingerpost, you know. That's one of those--"

 

"Those signposts with all the small pieces pointing in a variety of directions," Honora finished for her. "That sounds positively splendid!"

 

I concurred. Seeing all this happy industry made me proud. But it also made me worried. I'd stayed in close contact with Greta Morgan, the administrator at Martin Gardens. From her daily reports, I'd learned that Helen Berger was failing rapidly. "Her will to live is strong, but her body systems are struggling. The cancer has spread. We're giving her morphine. As you might imagine, she's sleeping more and more. It's common for people who are actively dying to turn away from their loved ones and pets. There's a different focus. Rather than looking to the outside world, they turn inward. It's a very natural process. She isn't eating. That's her body's way of shutting down."

 

Would our project be done in time for Helen to enjoy it? To see it? To know that her love was the spark that light our fires?

 

I wondered.

 

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Author's Note: Obviously this short story has gotten out of hand! That happens sometimes. A story will be as long as it needs to be, and that's my "story" and I'm sticking to it! So show me some love, peeps! If you haven't "liked" my Facebook page, please do. If you haven't told a friend about this serialized (not so short) story, please do. If you haven't written a review of one of my books, please do. All those activities mean so much to me--and they keep me writing. But what means the MOST is knowing that what I do matters. So email me or "talk" to me on Facebook. Sometimes this is a lonely business. I rely on you to keep me going. Much love--j

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 12

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.


Greta was drying her eyes when Poppy wandered in, making his way past the other tables, greeting diners and shaking hands. Since the closing of my grandfather's gas station and bait shop, he's been at loose ends. Normally a workaholic, Poppy doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Granddaughter? Have you made this poor woman cry?"

Trust Poppy to draw attention when I was hoping he'd let a tough situation slide.

Pulling him next to me in the booth, I shushed him. Then Skye and I tried to explain what had happened with Helen Berger and her cockatoo.

"I know Helen," said my grandfather. "Used to bring her car in all the time to have it serviced. Nice woman. How come she can't have that there pet of hers in your facility?"

Greta explained about the health department. Poppy, to my surprise, listened carefully. "But them birds don't need to be kept indoors. So what are you on about?"

All three of us women blinked at each other. Finally, I broke the silence. "Come again? What do you mean, Poppy?"

At that moment, Honora joined us. "I saw Dick walk in. EveLynn just dropped me off, so I hope I'm not intruding?"

Of course, Skye and I had explained to her and MJ why we had come back without the bird. They met Greta as she picked up Kookie's gear. Honora had been quietly emotional when we told her about the reunion between Kookie and Helen. To accommodate our newcomers, Greta scooted over so Honora could sit beside her, while Poppy dragged over a chair. It didn't take long to get them up to speed with an explanation about Mr. Salazar, his threats, and the Health Department.

Poppy took over from there. "Don't none of you remember Parrot Jungle? That place outside of Miami? It was a bird sanctuary, of sorts. You could pay your entrance fee to walk around and look at the birds. Cara, didn't your parents take you there when you was young?"

A vague memory gathered form and substance. "Tiki huts. Coconut thatch roofs. Big cages, A winding sidewalk. Shows. They did shows, didn't they? The handlers brought out the birds so they could do tricks."

"That's right," my grandfather nodded encouragingly. "They done moved that whole shooting match to an island. Now they call it Jungle Island, 'cause it's more than birds. Suppos'd to look like the Everglades. Point being, that bird don't need to be inside. Exceptin' in really bad weather maybe. If you put it right outside her window, Helen could enjoy Kookie and the Health Department cain't say a word about that."

Honora's mouth trembled. "Dick, dear, I don't think you know the full story. There is no landscaping at Martin Gardens. None. For someone to service Kookie's cage--clean it, change his water, and whatnot--they'd have to wade through mud and weeds."

That prompted an explanation of the financial dilemma faced by Mr. Boehner. My grandfather impressed me by listening carefully. As he stroked his chin, Greta rooted around in her purse. "I actually have with me a brochure that illustrates what the finished landscaping would have looked like."

Poppy squinted at the image. "You got the plans?"

"Yes, of course. They're in my desk back at work."

"Shoot-fire. What are we waiting for? Alls we need to do is grab ourselves a half dozen railroad ties, gravel, paving stones and concrete. Then we pour the walkways. Once you got them down, half the battle's won. Seems to me, you're talking about getting through the muck, right? That can be tough when you're using one of them walker do-jobbies."

"Who's going to pay for all this?" I asked.

Poppy leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at me. "Ain't you your father's daughter? Good old Thomas Delgatto wouldn't have set still for this kinda nonsense. He'd a found a way to get it done. Tell you what. There's more'n a handful of people in this town who owe me favors. I'll see what I can round up. You, Granddaughter, need to visit that friend of your'n whose an architect. Dollars to donuts, he's got extra supplies he can write off. Laborers? What about that young man whose been squiring you around town? The project manager? Bet he could spare a warm body or two."

"We could do a fundraiser at the store," said Skye, as her eyes snapped with energy. "Bring in a flower, and you get to draw a discount from a jar. Wouldn't that help?"

Honora nodded. "I can contact all the clubs I belong to. Maybe if each club would buy a shrub--"

"That rhymes," giggled Skye.

Honora nodded, "Then we'd be most of the way along to doing the landscaping."

"Make it so," said my grandfather, winking at me. When my jaw dropped, he added, "Sid introduced me to Jean Luc Piccard. I been missing Star Trek!"

~ To Be Continued ~

Author's Note: Of course, just because our friends have come up with a solution doesn't mean the problem will go away. Not hardly!

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Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 11

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

"Now what," I said more to myself than to Skye or Greta. All three of us had tears in our eyes while Helen stroked Kookie's crest. Even Libby was sniffling.

Helen pushed herself to a seated position. Kookie rubbed his beak against her face, cooing and talking a mile a minute.

"That's the most animated I've seen her since she moved in," Greta said. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the two reunited friends.

Skye nodded. "I don't think I can bear to separate them. Frankly, the vet told us that Kookie won't live much longer if this depression continues. So taking the bird back to the store..."

"Isn't a wise idea." Greta squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. "Mr. Salazar isn't supposed to visit us again for another two weeks. Libby? What's your feeling about this?"

Libby's dark brown eyes were huge with wonder. "I never been around big birds, but I don't want Miss Helen to have to say goodbye to her pet. Lord above, I thought she was all but, well, she was really poorly. Now she's acting like she's got her will to live back again."

"That bird does make messes," Skye said. "To be fair, I had to tell you."

Greta smiled, a tiny rueful grin. "All our residents make messes. How about this? Leave Kookie here. We'll see how things go."

With that, we made arrangements for her to stop by the store to pick up the perch, the cage, and the bird seed.

**

One week later, Greta called to ask if Skye and I were free for lunch. A hitch in her voice suggested she was upset, so I asked, "Is Helen all right? And Kookie?"

"Both are fine, but we have a problem. I'd rather discuss it with you two in person. Is it at all possible that we meet today?"

Over three salads at Pumpernickel's, Greta reported an unexpected visit from her boss, Mr. Salazar. "To make a long story short, he gave me twenty-four hours to find Kookie a new home. According to him, we're breaking all sorts of health department regulations."

Setting down her fork, Greta sipped water. Her eyes had been downcast since we walked in the door. She's chosen a back booth, a place where we could talk in private. By unspoken agreement, we didn't tackled the main subject until the server, a friend of Skye's, set our bowls in front of us. Now, my appetite deserted me. I couldn't imagine separating Kookie and Helen, and I said as much.

"He's adamant. Even wrote me up and threatened to fire me on the spot." Greta's face was a mask of grief. "I need this job. Even if I didn't, my replacement would be in the same predicament."

Skye toyed with a piece of tomato. "We all knew it couldn't last. Not long. But is Helen better? I don't want to sound rude, but I had the idea she wasn't going to live much longer. I guess I figured she'd be gone by now, and you wouldn't have to cope with this."

"If I'd been a betting woman, I would have laid odds that she would have passed over by now. However, she and Kookie are happy as can be. Of course, there are all sorts of visitors who drop by daily now. Everyone loves the bird. I've promised I'll see about getting other animals, but Mr. Salazar suggested that he was not interested. First there are the health regulations. Then there's the mess. Finally, there are liability issues. I prepped all sorts of articles about the therapeutic value of pets in an assisted living care facility, but he wasn't impressed. I guess if we could find therapy animals with trainers to come and go, he'd be okay with that. But live-in animals? A non-starter."

"Any word on the financing issue?" I pushed my food away. "If that gets taken care of, maybe the landscaping would help. The residents could look out the windows and see something--anything!--that would cheer them up."

"Mr. Salazar told me that it's taking longer than Mr. Boehner had predicted." Greta folded her hands in her lap.

None of us spoke.

Finally, she burst out with, "Look, I like both of you a lot. Let me be really frank, but this has to stay in the room, Mr. Salazar does not like me. He thinks I'm unqualified for my job. He's not interested in keeping me in the loop. He's a numbers guy, and that's what moves the needle on his dial. He's one of those old-school admin people who thinks of residential care as warehousing. Since he couldn't be clearer about that, I have to rethink my future at Martin Gardens. This isn't what I signed up for. This isn't who I am!"

Then the tears started.

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Author's Note: I know you'll want to read this story in its entirety when I'm finished. (And I'm not done yet!) Just so you're aware, I'll bundle it with other Cara Mia short stories and make them available as e-publications.

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 10

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

 

 

Walking along behind Greta, Skye and Kookie attracted a fair amount of attention. The bird seemed to know his friend was nearby, because his pupils flared and contracted repeatedly. Each resident stopped to remark on how beautiful the blue-eyed cockatoo looked. I bit my tongue rather than add, "If you think he's lovely now, you should have seen him before he plucked most of his breast feathers out."

 

"Are you going to have animals here?" Skye asked. "I've read about nursing homes that have cats and fish and other pets. From what I've heard, the residents really enjoy the interaction. Most of them wind up being given light chores, feeding, watering, cleaning cages. It's mentally stimulating."

 

"I sincerely hope we can. Things are rather at sixes and sevens right now. Mr. Boehner and I haven't even met, officially. We Skyped my interview. With the financing problems, he's been incredibly busy. Of course, I've tried to talk to my direct supervisor, Jose Salazar, but he seems reluctant to move forward on my ideas."

 

A tone of her voice suggested that Good Old Jose was more than reluctant. But I had to admire the fact that Greta couched her remarks in a neutral way, rather than out and out complaining about the man. All this conversation came forth in bits and drabs as one elderly person after another waved a greeting to Greta or begged Skye for a closer look at Kookie. As they busied themselves, I had a good chance to examine Martin Gardens with a calculating eye. Again, I found myself impressed. The carpet had been installed so that those using walkers could navigate it easily. At the elevators, there was a clear demarcation between the carpet and the entrance to the doors--a small point, but one I'd learned about from my father. As people age, graduations become harder to discern. The change of texture and color would help keep folks from tripping on their way in or out of the elevator cars. Most of the residents' doors were closed, but a few were open, and from what I could see, the apartments were well-laid out, brightly lit, and smartly constructed. Passing a social room, we paused long enough to watch foursomes playing cards while two ladies took lessons in how to scrapbook. My friend Kiki Lowenstein would have enjoyed participating.

 

Finally we wound our way to the back of the building. Greta knocked briskly at a door marked #125-Berger. A caregiver in pastel pink scrubs festooned with hot pink flowers opened up. "Helen's not doing very well today," she whispered. Her body blocked the entrance. Skye and I stayed back a respectful distance, but I could still see a lump under the bedclothes. An immobile lump, much smaller than the woman I remembered.

 

Greta's brow creased in concern. "I think I have a way to brighten her day. Can we come in, Libby?"

 

The girl frowned. With a quick glance our way, she took in the bird and shook her head before whispering. "I won't stop you, but it's pretty bad. She's, like, not even talking to me. It's, like, she's totally checked out."

 

Before Greta could respond, Kookie shrieked, "Helen? Helen? Kookie loves you! Do you have kisses for me?"

 

With surprising agility, the bird launched himself off of Skye's shoulder. Since his wings are clipped, he managed to just clear Libby before he hit the floor. With an awkward waddle, he ran over to the bed. "Helen? Helen?"

 

Grabbing at the coverlet, he managed to haul himself up the side of the bed.

 

"Eeek," Libby shrieked.

 

Skye and I stood frozen to the spot. I didn't know the parrot could move that fast! In the blink of an eye, Kookie was up, on the bed, and hopping over the prone form.

 

The wad of sheets shifted slightly, and Helen Berger's face rotated so that we could see her profile. I held my breath as she slowly raised one hand. Her voice was little more than a rasp as she said, "Kookie? Kookie, I've missed you!" And then her shaking fingers reached out to stroke the cockatoo's head.

 

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Author's Note: I know you'll want to read this story in its entirety when I'm finished. (And I'm not done yet!) Just so you're aware, I'll bundle it with other Cara Mia short stories and make them available as e-publications.

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 9

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

Greta Morgan's office was nearly as barren as the grounds around Martin Gardens. A metal desk, two folding chairs, and a cheap office chair on rollers shared space with a flimsy metal file cabinet. I could tell the cabinet was inexpensive by the type of handles on the drawers.

The blinds were pulled behind Greta's seat, and an inexpensive desk lamp provided illumination directly to her desktop. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." She picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Lacey? Could you bring me a pot of Constant Comment? Three cups please. Cookies, too. Thanks so much."

I sat there seething with anger. But I was also feeling a little ashamed by my earlier outburst. Skye wore a pleasant but amused smile. Kookie's eyes took in our surroundings. He seemed considerably perked up since our arrival. The bobbing up and down was less apparent, but his keen interest was still obvious.

"Tell me how you know Helen, please. I don't know much at all about her background, and I'd really like to know more," said Greta.

Bit by bit, I explained how Honora had asked me for a favor for her friend. Skye chipped in, talking about how she'd always wanted a big bird. I picked up the narrative, by detailing how Kookie had gone downhill fast. Then Skye volunteered what we'd recently learned from Pete, the vet. She finished with, "We couldn't think of anything else to do, but to bring Kookie here for a visit."

"I see," said Greta, as she gestured to a young woman pushing a metal food cart in the hallway. The server set a silver tray on the desk and, after checking to see that we had everything we needed, promptly departed.

"What are these?" Skye bit into one of the chocolate-covered cookies.

"McVities. They're from England. Aren't they wonderful?" Greta poured tea for all of us.

Yes, they were wonderful, but I wasn't about to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing I liked her treats. To me, this was an elaborate bribe, and nothing more. Even as I pouted, I could sense Greta was sizing me up--and thinking hard. Kookie wanted a nibble of the cookies. Skye offered him a piece, after scraping off the chocolate.

"As you are aware, Helen's condition is terminal. Since coming here, she's shown very little interest in life or her surroundings. And that's a shame. I believe we should live every moment we're given until we draw our last breath."

I started to protest. I wanted to point out that anyone, under any circumstances, would be depressed living here. But Greta waved me into silence. "Please? Just let me speak for a minute, so you've got the background. Then you can share your thoughts. You see, this building was designed and constructed by a company that went out of business just as they were finishing up. The furniture had been ordered. The wall coverings and lights and appliances installed. But then they went belly up. Mr. James Boehner bought the place, but that purchase hadn't been planned for. Wasn't in the budget. He had to cannibalize several other planned expenditures to cover the cost of the structure."

My father was an entrepreneur. I consider myself one, too. As I listened, I started to see exactly where Greta was going. "They didn't have enough money for the landscaping. That's what you're telling us. They got to the plants and ran out of dough."

"You've got it. Exactly. Mr. Boehner has gone back to his funding sources in an attempt to raise more money. I think he'll get it, but there are a lot of hoops to jump through. What you're seeing right now is a partially finished project. And I regret that. We all do. Here..." She stood up. "Let me show you the original plans."

A cardboard tube had been stuffed behind the file cabinet. Pulling it out, she popped off the top and unrolled three sheets of paper, stapled together at one corner. The top page showed an artist's rendering of the landscaping, complete with colors and drawings of plants. I had to admit, the rendition took my breath away. The second page showed the courtyard and surrounds. Although the work seemed a tad ambitious, it was also stunning. Mentally, I tried to put a price to what all this would cost. Thinking back to what I'd paid to landscape around my house in St. Louis, I came up with a figure. It was hefty. Very hefty indeed.

"Now," said Greta, putting her empty cup back on the tray. "As soon as you finish your tea, let's go say hi to Helen."

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 8

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

 

"Notice that it says ENTRANCE rather than WELCOME," Skye snarled.  "Jail was nicer than this. I mean it. We kept the grounds tended and had a garden. This is a crime.

 

Kookie had started bobbing and ducking his head, while making little clicking noises with his beak. At least he was showing signs of life. I found that mildly comforting. The sliding doors opened with a wheezy hiss, revealing an industrial strength floor mat designed to keep you from slipping and sliding even in rainy weather.

 

The inside was actually...nice. The colors were a blue-gray, teal, and bright green. Soothing music played over a sound system. A low nap carpet with a pebble design led us in various directions. Dead ahead sat a white-washed gray reclaimed wood desk attended by a woman dressed in a long skirt with a vivid floral pattern, white blouse, and glasses. Her hair had been pulled back neatly into a cap, a sure sign she belonged to one of the more strict Fundamental Christian sects that make their home in Stuart and Hobe Sound.

 

"Hello. What a lovely bird! May I help you?" Getting gracefully to her feet, the woman extended a hand. "I'm Alyssa Cartwright, the receptionist. Do you have a family member here? Or are you inquiring about availability? How might I be of assistance?"

 

"Um," I intended to answer quickly, but my eyes were drawn to the marvelous shape of the place. It was as if the architect had envisioned a hug, an embrace, because the wings of the building formed a large half-circle around a central courtyard. Broad expanses of glass windows overlooked the outdoors. Those expensive window shades, the kind that allow you to see out but can be darkened, covered the windows, blocking the glare. Rather than respond directly to Alyssa's greeting, I hurried past her, through the clusters of furniture, and right up to the windows. There I pressed my face against the cool glass.

 

A sea of brown mud, decayed palm fronds, and torn up weeds provided the landscaping. Before I could open my mouth to protest, Skye had moved closer to the desk. Once there, she reached for Alyssa's hand and gave it a friendly shake. "We're here to see a friend, Helen Berger. This is her pet, Kookie."

 

"Helen?" Kookie's crest of feathers stood straight up. "Helen? Kookie loves you! Helen? Where is Helen? Hello???"

 

"My!" Alyssa's hand flew to her mouth. "We don't allow pets, but I can certainly see that this is an unusual situation."

 

I hustled back to the desk. "This is NOT an unusual situation. This is a crime! How can you plonk people down in a setting like this? This is ugly. Horrible! If I had to look out on this mud puddle all day long, I'd curl up in a ball and cry. To think that people are paying good money for this...this warehouse! It's a scam and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

 

I was so angry, so filled with indignation that I didn't hear the clip-clap of high heels behind me. A gentle hand touched my elbow. I whirled around and faced a woman wearing an inexpensive but elegant navy suit and a pastel blue button-up blouse. "I'll take it from here, Alyssa. I'm Greta Morgan, the administrator. And you are?"

 

"Cara Mia Delgatto and my friend Skye Blue. That's Kookie. Helen Berger's bird. We came to visit Helen." I stuck my jaw out, hoping to look as determined as I felt. "And I won't leave until we do."

 

Greta Morgan nodded. Her eyes were brown with amber flecks and her hair a dishwater blonde. The laugh lines around her mouth suggested she was well into her fifties, but her classic features would allow her to age gracefully. She studied me as I gave her the once over. As I did, she softened her stance, whether instinctively or to put me at ease, I couldn't tell.

 

"Of course, and so you shall. But first, could I get both of you a cup of tea? In my office? We can chat there. I'd love to hear more about Kookie, and about your involvement with Helen. I was under the impression she has no family."

 

"That doesn't mean no one cares about her," I snapped.

 

Skye nudged me forward. "Sounds wonderful. Lead the way."

 

I was still grumbling, but Alyssa leaned in and whispered, "Greta is wonderful. She'll listen. Honest she will. That woman has the patience of a saint."

 

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Remember, I'm adding new installments every day.

 

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Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 7

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" MJ glared at me.

"What?"

"You gave this bird to Skye. You can't suddenly up and decide that you're taking the bird away after telling her Kookie belongs to her."

A slow stain crept up my neck. I turned to my friend and said, "Skye, I apologize. MJ's right. What do you want to do?"

Skye gave a long, low sigh. "I'm not sure what to do, but I don't want to own a dead bird, so maybe it's best that we find a way to reunite Kookie and Helen."

Honora had been curiously silent throughout Pete's exam. Now she patted Skye's arm and said, "You're an old soul, Skye. You've made a brave decision."

With that decided, I thanked Pete and asked for a bill. "MJ's already promised to go with me to a concert at the Kravis Center, so you're paid up."

"MJ, can I impose on you for one more favor? Can you handle the store by yourself while Skye and I take a ride? I can't just put the bird in the car and drive over to the assisted living facility."

"Why not?" MJ raised perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. "Even if you have to get turned away and you have to take him back into the car, at least he might start eating again. Isn't that the goal?"

I bit my lower lip. Having a big bird in the store made me nervous, but the thought of having that same bird in my car while I was driving nearly put me over the edge. I wanted to scream, "But I hate birds!" As I dithered, trying to find the right words, another white feather drifted off of Kookie and fell to the tile directly in front of me. What was it Kiki Lowenstein always said? Time to pull up my big girl panties and do what needed to be done. "All right. Fine. Let's do this."

After I pulled Black Beauty, my Camry, around front, Skye walked out with Kookie on her shoulder. Although I shivered as she climbed in and adjusted her seatbelt, what really bothered me was the churning of my tummy as Kookie climbed off of Skye's shoulder and onto the back of the passenger seat.

"Do you know where this place is?" My voice sounded like a frog's croaking.

"I think so." Skye issued directions, and we were off, winding our way over the railroad tracks, turning south on Dixie Highway, and heading toward Hobe Sound.

A few more turns along the way and we pulled up at a sign, "Martin Gardens: Senior Living Facility." The name brought a smirk to my face. "Evidently the owner played a lot of Monopoly as a kid."

Skye didn't get that. Instead, she pointed to our right. "Look."

As I turned my head, my jaw dropped. Plunked down in the middle of a mud puddle was a residential building, a place that reminded me of a school without one spec of landscaping. Not even a stray weed. I'd never seen such a barren spot in all my life.

"Oh, my gosh," said Skye. "That's plug ugly. It's awful! Can you imagine? What if you lived there and your window opened out on...on that? Yard after yard of ugly, dirty mud? How could they do that? Is it even legal?"

I pointed the nose of the Camry toward the sliding glass doors under a green fabric canopy. As we moved closer, a sign became obvious: ENTRANCE.

"Wow. What a totally cheerless, desolate place," I said.

And to that Kookie let out a loud, angry squawk.


~To Be Continued~Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 6

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POSTS.

 

By the end of the week, Kookie had plucked most of the feathers from his breast. He hadn't eaten any birdseed. He refused the grapes and pieces of fruit that Skye offered him. He rarely spoke except to wail, "Helen? Helen! Kookie loves you!"

 

"I can't stand this." I stared at the perch and the listless creature. "That bird is dying before our eyes. It's tearing my heart out. I feel like I'm letting Helen down and killing her best friend."

 

Skye wiped her eyes. "I know. Getting him was so exciting for me, but now I'm thinking, 'Be careful what you wish for,' because I sure didn't wish to see an animal suffer."

 

The front door opened and Pete Harris stuck his head in. His right hand carried a black leather bag like old-time doctors owned in Westerns.  "Uh, MJ called. Said I needed to make a house call."

 

From the back of the store MJ sashayed out, wearing a seductive grin that made both Skye and me blush. Behind her came Honora, wearing a look of anxious curiosity. 

 

"Thanks for dropping by." MJ planted a peck on the man's cheek. "Here's your patient."

 

Pete turned in the direction of her finger. "Wow. That is...was...a magnificent blue-eyed cockatoo. What on earth have you done to it?"

 

Everyone started talking at once, explaining how Kookie came to be a feathered fixture in our store. While we jabbered like fools, Pete walked over to examine the bird more carefully. "This is Helen Berger's bird, isn't it? Gosh. What a mess."

 

After that we shut up. Pete pulled a few wicked looking instruments out of his black bag.  Peering at Kookie from all angles, he asked, "Is the bird eating? Drinking water?"

 

"N-no," sniffled Skye. "What am I doing wrong?"

 

Pete's smile was kind, as he tucked a stethoscope into the bag. Even though he was balding, he was a nice looking man with soft gray eyes. His clothes looked as if war had been declared in his closet, but that was easily forgiven when you watched how gentle he was with animals. He'd set Jack's leg for me, after the dog's previous owner had chucked him out of a moving truck. Now my pup came and sat down beside Pete's loafers. Jack knew there was a problem. He raised a tiny white paw to tap Pete's ankle as though he were begging the vet to help the bird.

 

"You aren't doing anything wrong. Kookie is mourning. To put it bluntly, this bird has a death wish. He's been separated from the one creature he's loved most in his life."

 

"Isn't there anything we can do?" I felt sick.

 

"No. Oh, I suppose you could take him down to the zoo in West Palm and see if they have a sick room where they can hook him up to liquids. But that's a temporary fix. Kookie would rather be dead. So the minute you brought him back here, he'd do this all over again."

 

That made me angry. I was NOT going to let that bird die. Not on my watch. "Then we have to find a way to reunite Kookie and Helen. That's all there is to it."

 

~ To Be Continued ~

Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 5

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4 scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Skye was thrilled with Kookie. The minute she came through the front door, she raced over to see the bird, even though she was still wearing her server's uniform from Pumpernickel's. Usually Skye can't wait to get out of the black slacks and white blouse. They are totally not her style.

"Isn't he beautiful?" she gushed. "I didn't realize he'd be a blue-eyed cockatoo. These are really, really rare. An endangered species or close to it."

In response, Kookie eyed her warily. With a bit of coaxing, Skye was able to get the big white bird to step onto her outstretched finger. He stared at her, fluffed his feathers and wailed, "Helen? Kookie loves you!"

"Poor baby." Skye brought him closer for a cuddle, and Kookie allowed her to rub her face against his chest. But he didn't give her a kiss like he'd given Helen.

This love fest went on for half an hour. Finally, Skye let Kookie take his place back on his perch. "I'm going to run upstairs and get him grapes and carrots. He'll love those."

As she raced away, MJ shook her head at me. "I was wrong about what a cockatoo is worth. At least, I was wrong about what this one is worth."

"Not as valuable as you thought, eh?" I chuckled.

"On the contrary. Much more valuable. A bird like Kookie would go for ten grand at least."

I coughed. "Pardon? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. He's a blue-eyed cockatoo. That ring of bright blue around his eyes? It's a telltale marker. That's the clue I didn't have."

"Wow," I said, channeling my friend Kiki Lowenstein.

"Should I start writing an ad for Kookie? Sid can put him up on Craigslist and some of the other sales sites."

I thought about Skye's reaction. She never asked me for anything. Lately she'd been kind of down because her relationship with Lou, a local detective, had hit a rough patch. "Not right now," I said. Once the excitement of owning a big bird wore off, perhaps she'd be willing to trade the cockatoo for cash.

"Have it your way," said MJ, with a shrug that told me she thought I was absolutely nuts.

A few days went by, and I came to agree with her. Although Skye was totally smitten with the bird, the cockatoo had not settled in. Hour after hour, he cried, "Helen? Kookie loves you!" He fixated on the front door, growing excited each time it opened and despondent when Helen did not magically appear. Worse yet, he had started to pluck out his own feathers. Each morning, I swept up a small pile from the floor around the cage.

"I'm really, really worried about him." Skye started chewing a fingernail.

"I'll call my friend Pete, the vet," said MJ. "But you're going to owe me, Skye, because Pete only wants to be re-paid by going on a date together. If I do this for you, you better come up with something really, really great to make it up to me."

Skye nodded. "I will."

~To Be Continued~

Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 4

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, and 3 scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Carrying the cage was awkward, but MJ and I managed. By the time we got it situated in the store, near the big display window, Honora had discovered her friend. She and Helen chatted amiably while Kookie looked on.

Next we hauled in the large perch. It looked like wrought iron and felt just as heavy. Admittedly, it was beautiful with a sculpted border on the stand and rich wooden arms. While MJ positioned it, I went back to the Cadillac and grabbed a large bag filled with bird food, treats, and vitamins. After carrying all those accoutrements in, I watched as Helen walked over and encouraged Kookie to step onto one of the arms of the perch. For the first time, I could see that Kookie was actually wearing a harness that clipped to a leash. Since the bird was snowy white, and the harness was too, you really couldn't tell that Kookie was restrained. Helen snapped the leash to the perch.

"Now, dear friend, it's time for us to part," said Helen, stroking the bird's breast. "I love you. I will love you until I go to my grave, and we'll never be parted in spirit. If I could take you with me to the assisted living facility, I would, dear Kookie. Give me one last kiss."

The bird had been watching her curiously, his head tilted as he regarded Helen. At the word "kiss," he leaned toward her and extended his beak to touch her lips lightly. With an almost human sigh, he said, "Helen, Kookie loves you."

A tear dribbled down Helen's face, leaving a wet mark where it journeyed over her skin. "And I love you, Kookie."

Without another word, she turned quickly, in an about-face movement, and walked out of the store.

Despite how I feel about birds, a lump had formed in my throat. Grabbing a tissue from the cash station, I dabbed my eyes. Honora followed suite. MJ swallowed repeatedly.

"I feel so bad for Helen," I managed.

Honora nodded. "She lost Jeb twenty years ago. That's when she adopted Kookie. I thought I'd never see her smile again after her husband died. They were devoted to each other. But she and Kookie formed a bond that's obviously kept Helen going."

Pausing to wipe her eyes, Honora added, "She's been hoping not to go to the assisted living facility, but she needs more and more skilled nursing care, and they have a room that's open. It's that new place not far from Cove Road. If Helen takes residence now, she won't have to move when the...when she...when hospice is called in. She has no family, so it's for the best, really."

Since my own mother died of cancer, I understood what Honora meant. Most likely Helen's last weeks would be grueling. She would need heavy-duty painkillers and around the clock care.

"Is it nice?" asked MJ in a quiet voice. "That facility?"

"I drove past it," said Honora. "I would describe it as bleak. The original developers went bankrupt halfway through the building process. A new company bought it, finished the work, and opened it, but the takeover was costly. There's no landscaping."

"I remember." MJ sighed. "It was supposed to be a state-of-the-art building. A real showplace."

"Yes. Now it's functional, or so I've been told." Honora's hand trembled as she wadded up the tissue. "Growing old in America is a real nightmare."

~ To Be Continued ~

Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 3

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1 and 2, scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POSTS.


A few days later, I was arranging a group of tin cans that Skye had turned into beautiful lanterns when a loud squawk scared the dickens out of me. My first thought was that a bird had somehow found its way into the store. But as I turned around, and as another squawk followed the first, I realized this must be a monster-sized avian to make such a loud racket.

Putting down my inventory clipboard, I scurried to the front of the store. There stood a small woman, caving in on herself, barely strong enough to support the magnificent white bird perched on her shoulder. Her skin was that ashy-gray color so common to people suffering from cancer, a symptom I knew all too well.

"Helen? Kookie loves you!" screamed the bird, leaning in to nuzzle the sagging skin on my guest's face.

"And I love you, too, Kookie." The woman lifted a knotted hand to stroke the bird's belly.

This pleased the animal. He ruffled up his feathers, so that he was fully twice his size. Even from a distance, I could see his pupils dilate and contract with interest as he took in his new surroundings. A thin ring of bright blue was around each of his eyes, a lovely contrast to the stark white of his feathers.

"You must be Honora's friend Helen," I said. Usually I would extend my hand for a greeting, but my fear of birds made me jam all my digits into a pocket of my Lilly Pulitzer vintage skirt.

"Yes, dear, I am. Honora told me you agreed to give Kookie a home. His cage and his stand are in my car. Unfortunately, I had to have help loading them up. They're rather heavy. I'm wondering if you'd be so good as to get them out for me?" The voice quivered with sadness, and correspondingly, a lump formed in my throat.

"One second." I turned and walked to the back. "MJ? Could you come out here a minute? I need help."

"What do you need?" MJ seemed a tad bit peeved to be taken away from her work. She'd been busy calling around trying to find a piece of wicker for a customer. But the irked expression softened when she caught sight of Helen and Kookie.

"We need to grab some things from Helen's car."

Although she's shaped like a pinup girl, MJ is pretty strong. After taking the keys from Helen and assuring her that we'd be right back, my friend and I walked outside to where a long, white Cadillac sat pulled up at the curb. The car must have been fifteen years old. Maybe twenty. The inside was pristine, although it smelled a little like funky bird seed. Together MJ and I tackled moving the bird equipment. As we grunted, she said, "That's one beautiful bird. You realize, don't you, that birds like that sell for at least a grand. Maybe even two."

"You're kidding me."

"No. I never joke about money. You should know that by now."

That was true. I cleared my throat as we managed to extricate the cage from the back seat. "So, are you suggesting we sell the bird? After all, Helen told Honora that Kookie needs a new home. That doesn't preclude us from finding him one with a loving family."

"Actually, I think you'd get a lot more mileage out of displaying the bird," said MJ as she started walking backwards with both hands on the bottom of the cage. "Think of it as a living display piece."

"Right," I groused. "One that poops all over my floor."

~To Be Continued~

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 2

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Part 1, scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POSTS.

"Let me think about that," I said, not wanting to tell Honora no. She rarely asks for anything, but she gives so much to all of us. Since her own daughter, EveLynn, has Asperger's, Honora has all this nurturing stored up inside, and no one to shower with her affection. Certainly, you can't touch EveLynn without making her upset. But slowly, Honora has come to be more and more lovey to all of us, dispensing hugs and pecks on the cheek with great gusto. She's the first of us to notice when someone is down. As for pitching in, Honora is always ready and willing to lend a hand. So while the words, "I don't think so" peppered the tip of my tongue, I swallowed them whole. Instead, I ventured a wobbly smile.

"You don't like birds?" Honora picked up on my reticence right away.

"Not really. I was attacked by a blue jay when I was a kid. In fact, I still have a tiny scar here." Lifting a piece of hair by my temple, I showed Honora the white pathway. "My dad discovered a nest with babies in our oak tree. I guess I got too close, and the parents decided to drive me away. Since then, I've given birds of any kind a wide berth. Cockatoos are big, aren't they? Uh, I think I'd feel pretty uncomfortable with one sharing our store."

Skye Blue stuck her head inside my office. "Okay, I was eavesdropping. Honora, I love birds! I'd be happy to take the cockatoo off your friend's hands. If my landlord doesn't mind."

That last bit was directed at me. Skye rents the apartment that's the twin of mine, which makes us neighbors. The twinkle in her blue eyes told me she was thrilled at the prospect of owning a cockatoo. Even as a tingle ran through my body and the hairs stood up on my arms, I found myself saying, "Okay. Of course I wouldn't stop you, if that's what you want."

This, I told myself, is a wonderful opportunity to come face-to-face with a deep-seated and irrational fear. You really, really need to get over your negativity about birds. Besides, if Skye keeps it in her apartment, you never have to see the winged beast.

"You sure?" Skye cocked her head and stared at me. "Cara, you look a little pale. If this really frightens you, we don't need to do it. I'm sure Honora can find this bird another home."

"That's the problem." Honora sighed and shook her head. "I've asked everyone I know, and I've been turned down repeatedly. Most of my friends are older. They have trouble stooping, so cleaning up after a bird would be problematic."

"Bring it on," I said, waving my hand in an airy dismissal. "If Skye wants the thing, it's hers."

But a little clutch of my tummy told me this wouldn't be as simple as it seemed.

~ To Be Continued ~

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 1

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the first installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. Enjoy!

Summer was coming to Florida. Daylight now extended nearly to my bedtime. The sea grapes had blossomed, scattering tiny white flowers across the grass. Snowbirds, our visitors from the northern states who flee to the South to escape bad weather, had all gone home. With them went their wallets, forcing me to be more and more creative as I tried to think up ways to keep the cash register at The Treasure Chest ringing. Every day, I spent time on Pinterest and Etsy, hoping to conjure up new ideas for turning trash into treasure.

"Cara, dear? Do you have a minute?" Honora tapped me in the shoulder, forcing me to tear myself away from a Pinterest board featuring cool ideas for Cinco de Mayo.

"Of course," I said, pushing back from my desk. "What's up?"

Honora adjusted her glasses and patted the gray bun of hair resting on her collar. Even though the days had grown warmer, she still dressed formally, favoring seersucker shirtwaist dresses with narrow white patent leather belts. "I have a favor to ask. Rather a large one, I'm afraid."

All sorts of ideas flitted through my mind. Did she need to borrow money? Did her daughter EveLynn need a reference for her soft goods business? Did Honora need a few days vacation? However, my father taught me it's better to stay silent than to plunge ahead and stir up trouble.

So I waited.

Honora slipped into the chair facing my workspace. "I have a friend. A very, very dear old friend. Her name is Helen Berger.  Like me, she's facing the twilight of her life. But sadly, her health is also declining. Recently Helen was diagnosed with inoperable cancer."

I swallowed hard. My own mother had died of breast cancer. The months after the diagnosis had been grim, and the last weeks of her life had been ghastly. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes, well..." Honora reached into her pocket and withdrew a linen handkerchief. Slowly, she rubbed her glasses' lenses clean. "She's moving from her apartment into assisted living. A prelude to hospice, really."

I bit my lip rather than charge ahead. Probably Honora was going to ask if I'd buy up Helen's worldly goods. After all, that's how our shop got started. The old owner, Essie Feldman, bought goods from estate sales. I might be interested, but only if the price and merchandise was right. My mind bounced figures around, thinking of what I could budget, when Honora interrupted with...

"And she has a pet that needs a home."

"A pet?" This wasn't at all what I expected, but it wasn't as unusual as I'd predicted. My friend and co-worker Skye had been teasing me that I was running an animal shelter as well as a haven for misfits and second-hand junk. I didn't mind her jokes. Jack, my rescue Chihuahua is my constant companion, often sitting in my lap while I work at the computer. Luna, the gray cat who was given to me when her owner died, likes to sit in our display window and sun herself. She's pretty aloof except at night when she curls up in the crook behind my knees.

"Yes. A bird. A cockatoo."

I frowned, because I'm not really a bird person. In fact, they sort of terrify me.

 

~ To Be Continued Tomorrow ~

How I Write a Short Story, Part IV

To review:  

I have these elements...a time frame (St. Patrick's Day), interesting factoids (people actually DO make their own luck to some extent), a conflict (Clancy hates St. Patrick's Day), and a mystery (why? because it's the day her husband left her). 

I need some activities (Kiki's crafts--I'll have to come up with these), and a resolution (I'll think of something).

I also have a cute sidebar problem. Anya loves animals and when she hears that Laurel owns a rabbit's foot, she goes nuts! (Or course, it's a fake rabbit's foot, but Anya doesn't know that.) 

What else do I need? Well, I need a snappy opening line. Something that sets the stage for my story. It should foreshadow problems, entice my readers, and get the ball rolling.

Now, back to the resolution. I'll need a BIG ending. Remember, I've been thinking a lot about Clancy, and I have a surprise in store for her. To me, a BIG ending would mean a change of luck for Clancy. 

Okay, I've got all my ducks in a row! Again, here's my list for preplanning a short story:

* time frame -- often concurrent with a holiday
* interesting factoids -- research
* a conflict or problem to be solved
* a mystery or a secret
* a sidebar perhaps, or a link back to an earlier Kiki story or book
* activities 
* a resolution

And of course, I already have my cast of characters because it's a Kiki Lowenstein short story. Tune in tomorrow, and I'll get the story started.

How I Write a Short Story, Part III

So Barb H. had a wonderful idea, "Perhaps St Patrick's day has always been unlucky for Clancy because that is when her father died or her husband left her or she lost a child. I am getting all these crazy ideas and am probably off base. I will be anxious to hear what you say!"

Barb thinks like I do! 

So now I have these elements...a time frame (St. Patrick's Day), interesting factoids (people actually DO make their own luck to some extent), a conflict (Clancy hates St. Patrick's Day), and a mystery (why? because it's the day her husband left her). 

I need some activities (Kiki's crafts--I'll have to come up with these), and a resolution (I'll think of something).

I also need to look back over Kiki's world and think about possible ways to tie this story into Kiki's life. One idea comes immediately to mind. In Handmade, Holiday, Homicide, we learn that Laurel has a lucky rabbit's foot--but it's fake fur. We know that Anya loves animals. She would be appalled to hear that Laurel has a rabbit's foot, especially if she didn't know it was fake! So somehow, I'd like to weave that into my story.

We're almost at the end of the planning stage...except that I'd been thinking about Clancy, a lot, and I had surprise in store for her and her life. Keep reading to see what that is!

How I Write Short Stories, Part 2

In Part 1, I chose a theme (getting lucky) and did some research. Now I need a conflict, some sort of friction, because conflict drives action.

Since this is a short story, and not a book, I need to keep it simple. A disagreement. A problem. A minor hassle.

Hmmm.

Okay, what about someone who complains that she is chronically unlucky bumping up against the luckiest woman on earth? These words resonate with me because right now there's a really stupid commercial on local TV where the announcer says, "I'm the luckiest woman on earth because I got to take a three day cruise to the Bahamas!" Her voice is totally annoying.

How would this work?

My readers love to "watch" Kiki teach a class, because so many of them are crafters, too. So what if I have Miss Lucky and Miss Unlucky in the same class? Certainly that could get troublesome. What if they get into a fight? A quarrel?

What if someone bets Miss Unlucky that she'll become lucky with the right lucky charm?

Okay, I like that. But it seems a bit too easy. I want to bump it up a bit. How about a lot of lucky charms? What if an entire class contributed lucky charms and loaned them to our Miss Unlucky?

Now that sounds kind of interesting to me. How about you?

Kiki Lowenstein and the Life Stories, Part !

By Joanna Campbell Slan

As the owner of Time in a Bottle, a scrapbook and craft store in St. Louis, I teach a lot of classes. Sure, it might make sense to delegate them, but teaching is one of my favorite activities. Besides the joy of putting together the projects, I learn so much about my customers, their lives, their hopes and dreams. Usually, I come away from a class feeling inspired.

Now there are those who say the lives of “ordinary” women are boring. None of us have super-powers. Most of us don’t run huge companies. Very few of us make world-shaking decisions. But ordinary women bring new life into this world. Once a child has arrived, we nurture that life and the lives of everyone we come into contact with. And very often, we are there to see death when it comes to claim our friends and family members. Tell me, what’s more important than all that?

Nothing. Because life is all that matters. In the end, we hope that we’ve lived a journey worth celebrating. Scrapbooks do just that. They celebrate our lives, committing our stories to paper so we can pass them along to the next generation.

That’s exactly what I told my eight students on that blustery day in January. “Welcome to ‘My Journey,’ a class designed to help you record your lives. We’re going to meet monthly to share our stories. While this is a scrapbooking class, a lot of our focus will be on journaling. Since it’s often an undervalued part of our craft, that might seem hard at first, but I’ll be here to help.”

“We’re going to be writing?” A slight frown marred the perfectly made-up face of Leah Adagio. Of course, it wasn’t a complete frown because she couldn’t wrinkle her brow, the result of heavy Botox use. I knew Leah by reputation since she ran with my mother-in-law’s country club crowd. To say I’d been surprised to see her was an understatement.

“That’s right. Although you’ll be making a scrapbook, you’ll also be working to tell your life story in words.” At that point, I hesitated as my co-worker Clancy Whitehead slipped into an empty chair at our worktable. I raised an eyebrow to question Clancy. She caught my drift.

“I decided to join the class. I hope you don’t mind.”

As usual, she wore a classically stylish outfit—in this case gray slacks, a matching sweater, and an ivory silk blouse. Her glossy presence reminded me that I was struggling with my post-baby weight. Consequently, I was still wearing my maternity pants and large blouses. Clancy has a touch of OCD, which makes her quite the perfectionist. She’s the first to admit that she goes too far in her quest to have everything “just so.” Although we’ve known each other for three years, and despite the fact I consider her a best friend, she’s still a mystery to me. There are parts of her life that she won’t share. And now she was joining a class designed to encourage sharing. Would she really let down the barriers and let me see what she was hiding?

I couldn’t help but wonder.  Clancy guarded her privacy with all the zeal of the Fort Knox security forces.

Rather than ponder the matter further, I gave my class their first assignment. “I want you to write about a toy you had as a child, and why that particular toy mattered to you. Tell us who gave you the toy. How you played with it, and where it is today, if you know. When you come back next month, please bring photos of the toy or pictures of you as a child.”

The words were no more than out of my mouth when I glanced over to see Clancy frown. 

And unlike Leah, Clancy’s whole face creased in disapproval.

Editor’s Note: Stay tuned for part 2!

Joanna Campbell Slan is a national, bestselling and award-winning author.  She has just completed Shotgun, Wedding, Bells: Book #11 in a mystery series featuring ace scrapbooker Kiki Lowenstein. It’s available at  http://www.amazon.com/Shotgun-Wedding-Lowenstein-Scrap-N-Craft-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00SURBH7A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425331179&sr=8-1&keywords=Shotgun+Wedding+Bells

How I Write Short Stories--Part I

I get a lot of questions about how I write short stories, so I thought I'd take you through my process, step-by-step. Just so you know, I don't consider myself an expert. There are probably a million ways to approach a project like this. But perhaps walking through it with me will be interesting to some of you. I'm going to concentrate on how I write the Kiki Lowenstein Short Stories because I'd done so many of them.

Part I -- What's the point? Or what's the theme? What's my goal?

I like to have a purpose behind my stories. An idea or theme or goal. I think of this like the pole of a Maypole because it provides the structure for all that follows. I like to use holidays when writing the Kiki short stories. That works pretty well, because the holiday provides a natural launch date. Holidays give me an easy way to market my stories. And of course each holiday also has its own rituals, foods, celebratory activities, colors, and so on. These elements provide natural points of interest for the story.

I've decided that I want to write a story about St. Patrick's Day. I've been noodling that idea around, and I've been wondering, "What makes people lucky?"

With that in mind, I googled, "What makes people lucky?" and found several fascinating articles:

http://www.rd.com/advice/how-to-get-lucky

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bob-miglani/making-your-own-luck_b_3988785.html

As you can see, Mr. Wiseman has identified four principles that define "lucky" people:

1. Taking advantage of chance opportunities.

2. Listening to hunches.

3. Expect good fortune.

4. Turn bad luck into good luck.

So now I have four new ideas that I can incorporate into my story. Any one of these or all of them might be useful.

I can move onto the next portion of my prep, creating conflict. To make a short story work, I need to create friction among my characters.

Any ideas on how I can do that?