Please note that this is the second part of a two-part story. Thank you....

















How to scare your friends in two easy lessons.

After my first visit to the old house, I pulled myself together and started to form some kind of a plan in my mind. As I doodled my thoughts on paper, my cell phone started to ring. One family member or friend after another started calling, each distressed over my description of the house. Everyone offered sympathetic words and promised to help with whatever they could. Needless to say, I soon learned that most would be overwhelmed by the renovation and would soon discover their lives were really too busy at the moment.

Most offered to stop by and lend a hand, but few actually did. One or two accepted the challenge and managed a day or two before raising the white flag.

My son, John, ( a true blessing from God), and I spent the first week carrying an accumulation of furniture, broken toys, plaster, and junk, totally slightly more than 6000 pounds, to the dumpster. Enduring 93 degree heat, we sawed, chopped, and weeded until the majority of the yard was cleared. In the end, we were proud of our hard work and satisfied with the results ... until the next day.

The next morning, unable to open my eyes, I soon discovered we'd raised high fives too soon. Both of us were covered with oozy, itchy poison oak. Those hours of sweat and continuous wiping of our faces and body had spread the oils to every crevice. My "Australian Sis" flipped when I e-mailed her a photo of my charming "prize-fighter" eyes. Needless to say, after enduring the looks of other patients in the doctor's office, we were treated with prednisone and told to take it easy until the itching ran its course,

Impossible! I needed to get this house livable. Money was dwindling fast and poison oak wasn't going to derail this train.

My 90-year-old father gathered up his tools and ordered me to bring him to town. In long-gone-by years, he had built and renovated many, many houses. His aging mind told him what needed to be done, but it also forgot it as quickly as he started. In my heart, I knew he truly meant well, but after the first few days, I knew it wasn't going to work. The brand new bathtub had two big chips in it -- mysteriously appeared. The wall for the plumbing was offset by five inches - watering the edge of the tub. Searching for existing plumbing, he now had a huge jagged gap in my flooring - another job added to the ever growing list. By the end of the day, he was tired, frustrated, and suggested we hire someone. I was elated!

However, my balloon would be popped.

My dad called my niece's boyfriend, an out of work carpenter. He agreed and promised to have the job done in a matter of days. Unfortunately, working by the hour, the job stretched from two days to two weeks and only one wall was dry walled. His services were terminated.

Another friend of a friend, unemployed and willing to work, was hired. The first day was exciting. He sanded, painted and appeared to really want to get the job done. The next day, he was tired and sluggish. Sitting in the shade was far more appealing than working. Suddenly, he was gone - without even a goodbye.

My son and I trudged on. John with a little less eagerness than before, but still giving it his best.

On the weekend, my "honey" joined us at the house and started dry walling. I was amazed at how quickly he finished the room and started plastering. At last, I could see us moving forward. My mistake!

Satisfied we'd accomplished a lot, we closed up the house and headed home. Covered with plaster, I let Mike, my one and only, shower first. When he finished, I took one look at his legs and knew we were in trouble. From his knees down, his skin was purple - a dark, almost black purple.

To make a long, ugly story short, the doctors soon discovered he was only getting about 20 to 30 percent blood flow. I'm sure you guessed the results - no work for him.

My parents suggested I call it quits.

Never! I was raised to finish what I'd started, but I was willing to admit it might be a bit much to chew.

On the following Monday, my father sent a handyman ( a licensed plumber-electrician) to help me out. I was ecstatic - until he didn't show up. About three hours later, he called and said his van had broken down. Being an understanding person who'd had my share of vehicle trouble, I commiserated with him and then agreed to see him on Tuesday.

Tuesday came and went. Dave, the plumber, called and said his vehicle had stopped again, and promised to arrive, ready to work, on Wednesday.

On Wednesday, I was thrilled. My trusty plumber arrived and actually started installing some of the water pipes. Unfortunately, a tree had fallen on his mom's property and she needed his help. Now who am I to fault someone for helping their mom when in need. So I encouraged him to go to his mom's assistance. He promised to return the next day.

Removing the tree took longer and Dave didn't return until Friday. At noon, he started packing up his tools and apologized for the short day. Seems as though, he'd made plans with his grown children to travel out-of-town to his father's home to celebrate his birthday. Smiling with gritted teeth, I told him to have a nice week end. He promised to see me early Monday morning.

Hoping for a fresh start, I picked up John early Monday and we headed off to the house. Willing to accept any help available, I nervously let John pick up a paint roller and start to help me paint the front room and dining room. Much to my astonishment, he was very good at wielding the roller, especially since he didn't need to worry about getting paint on the trim or floor. I was amazed.

My special needs son was proving to be my greatest asset. We were both thrilled with our accomplishment, especially since the plumber arrived four hours late. Van trouble, of course.
My usual smiley face must have been sagging a bit, because Dave was extremely apologetic and suggested another friend that was looking for work. Aware of the situation, he told me Dan's work was precise, fast and cheap. The last word really caught my attention - cheap was what I needed.

After a short phone call, it was decided that Dan could start work the next day. I was told he could do anything and everything. Words that were music to my ears.

At the end of the day, John and I had finished two rooms. Maybe the house would be a home again, but it was still a mighty big maybe.

The next morning, my cell phone rang early. I recognized Dave's number and my heart sank. He explained he was borrowing a vehicle and would it be possible for me to pick up Dan. Without thinking, I immediately said yes - anything to get someone working.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered Dan lived in the next town, 20 miles away, but I was willing to make the sacrifice of time and gas to get him. If he was half as good as Dave promised, it would be worth it. Little did I know what my morning would be like.

Arriving at Dan's apartment, I saw a tall, long haired young man (in his late thirties) pacing outside the building. His legs and arms sported numerous tattoos. His yellow sun glasses hid his eyes, but his smile was friendly. He introduced himself and climbed into my car. He was very courteous and thanked me for coming to get him and for the ride. His manner instantly put me at ease. Putting the car in gear, we headed off to work or so I thought.

We'd only traveled two blocks when Dan told me he'd been up for hours, trying to calm down his girlfriend. Supposedly, she was at a friend's house just down the road and for some reason was having a panic attack. He asked if we could possibly pick her up and take her back to Rockford. Just call me Good Samaritan of the Day! Or maybe Sucker would be more like it!

The "just around the corner" turned out to be five miles out a country road. Two police cars were parked in the driveway when we arrived. Dan jumped out and hurried into the house, returning with a back pack that he placed in my trunk. One more trip back to the house and he returned with his arm around a young woman. I soon learned the "young lady" wasn't a lady in anyone's terms.

With cigarette in hand, she started to climb into my car. I politely asked her to put it out because I was allergic to the smoke. She belligerently got out of the car and walked away. Dan shrugged his shoulders and hurried after her. Consoled, she finally settled into the back seat and I pulled away from the house. Unfamiliar with the surroundings, I drove down the road, knowing it was taking us further away from the city as I searched for a crossroad. Seconds later, all hell broke loose.

A stream of vulgarity exploded in my backseat and threats of taking someone's life assaulted my ears. My new passenger was screaming and jumping around the seat while Dan kept trying to calm her down. The next thing I knew she was hanging between the front bucket seats, arms flaying and mouth sputtering swear words that would put any raunchy pirate to shame. To say my blood pressure escalated would be putting it mildly. I couldn't imagine what kind of mess I had gotten myself into and wondered if I would live through it, especially when she kept ranting about her blade.

Luckily, I found a road I recognized and pushed the accelerator to the floor, almost praying I'd be stopped by a patrol car. When the city limits came into view, I felt better. The voice from the back seat decided to take a different tactic and unceremoniously informed me that she knew I was having a "thing" with her man. I almost choked!

I'd had enough and I informed her I was old enough to be his mother and had a man I loved. Insulted, she demanded I stop the car and let her out on the side of the road. One part of me was screaming yes, yes, yes, but the strong side of me continued driving to my house (the one I live in currently).

Nerves shot and needing a bathroom, I parked and said I'd be right back. My passenger insisted she needed to come with me. Absolutely not! No way was that woman coming into my house ... sorry if that offends anyone, but this good Samaritan drew the line.

When I returned to my car, I was stunned. She was standing outside the car, pulling her pants up. It was daylight in the city and you can guess what she was doing!

Moments later, we continued our journey and I soon deposited my unwanted passenger a few blocks from her home. To make a long story short, she had another sugar daddy waiting for her and didn't want to be seen with us. She gathered up her belongings from my trunk, chugged a beer in the parking lot, and strolled down the street.

It was obvious Dan was embarrassed and deeply apologetic. Once at the house, I have never seen anyone work as fast and as accurately as he did. Whether urged on by the morning's events and his awkwardness or just the desire to work, I was extremely pleased with the results. His work truly surpassed any of my expectations. His "girlfriend" on the other hand was more than I ever wanted to see again.

The rest of the week was fruitful. The plumbing was completed, electrical was started, and all the walls were dry walled and plastered. Several more rooms were painted. The house was beginning to look livable.

Oh, I forgot to mention the poison oak. Did you know that even after a plant has been killed with Round Up or any weed killer, you can still get it? I am living proof of that one. I had doused the plants three times with the weed killer and it was brown and shriveled. I decided to remove it and put it in the garbage. A big mistake! The oils remain poisonous for five years on the dead plants ... so I read on the internet too late.

On Saturday, I was excited to show Mike how much progress we had made at the house. We even decided to take time to look for carpet since it wouldn't be too long before it could be installed. At the second store, he started staggering and complaining of being sick. By the time I got him to the truck, I knew we were in trouble. He couldn't stand, he couldn't see, and he was on the verge of passing out. You know where we spent out Saturday night and it wasn't out dancing.

After being admitted to the hospital, they discovered he had an infection somewhere, but they couldn't find it. We were in for a battery of tests and horrible food once again. This must be the worst, right?

Then the unthinkable happened ... as if it hadn't already been happening.

On Monday, my 90 year old father became ill and I had to take him to the hospital. He is suffering from Diverticulitus. At 6:30 A.M. Wednesday, my 90 year old mom was thought to have had a mini stroke and was taken to the hospital. Yesterday, my brother had a stroke and was taken by ambulance to the same hospital. I asked the nurse if we could just start our own wing.

Today, I sat down at my keyboard, wondering what I could write. My phone rang and I instantly thought, 'Come on, what else can go wrong?' I think I need to stop thinking, because the list is just endless.

Tomorrow starts another week as we move closer to finishing the restoration. At times, I have wondered if I will ever reach the end, but at this very moment, after typing this story, I believe if I have survived all this, I can endure anything else. I hope!

Author Notes

Thank you anniepaige for the use of your photo.

Yesterday was the big shoot of the film. Instead of celebrating May Day, we were having a corporate New Year’s Eve party with glitz, glamour, and some back-room intrigue. Thirty-five or forty extras were included in the shots. The financial investors and their wives had chosen to join the filming as well. 

 

During filming, I wore several different hats. As Event Coordinator, I had the responsibility of reading the script and deciding what props I would need to purchase; during filming, I do the staging prior to the cast arriving on set, and later, having owned a catering business in days gone by, I provide a dinner meal for everyone, hopefully addressing the requirements of all.

 

Last night, I arrived at the beautiful limestone farmhouse with a very special dinner buffet. But first, I wanted to check on the set, which happens to include five rooms in the house. The scene in the kitchen had dirty dishes, highball glasses, and stemware with varying unfinished drinks staged and ready for a jealous husband when a male acquaintance offers to help the wife clean up. In the dining room, several chafers and platters of food lined the table. Another table had a giant clamshell with shrimp. A staged bar with beers and liquor bottles held court on a third table along the wall. An eight-foot Christmas tree adorned with New Year’s hats, masks, and horns plus clock faces announcing the stroke of midnight added a festive spirit in the front room. Snacks and platters were scattered around on end tables and shelves in every room. After all, it’s the biggest event of the year and anyone who’s who was in attendance.

 

It looked spectacular, if I must say so myself.

 

The crew prepared for another shot. The extras milled about inside and out. Satisfied, I switched hats back to the caterer and started to set up the buffet in a spot previously chosen that morning. The menu included Italian sausage and penne pasta, Fettucini alfredo, garlic roasted potatoes, and an Italian salad.  We offered hamburgers, brats, barbeque, fruit, and baked beans for those who preferred the lighter menu. It was a plentiful meal and choices for a variety of crew, actors, actresses, and extras.

 

As I laid out the spread, I overheard two women standing several feet behind me.

 

“Wow, I’ve never expected a spread like this. Usually, the extras don’t get fed.”

 

“Right! It’s nice, but I hope the money we invested in the film wasn’t used to pay for unnecessary meals like this.”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t think of that.”

 

“Wait till Daniel gets a look at this.”

 

I went inside to tell my son it was ready and ask if they wanted to tell everyone they could eat. He announced it, and the crowd converged on the buffet line. I relished all the oohs and aahs, of course. My choice of payment is cheap!

 

Because it was a beautiful 83 degrees with a slight breeze, everyone chose to eat outside at a picnic area or scattered across the grass here and there. Assuming my duties as “the caterer,” I walked around checking how everyone liked the food and whether I could get them anything else. Of course, I suggested they return for seconds.

 

Many, but not all know me, from this shoot or were extras when Without Grace filmed, so it’s fun to chit-chat as I mill around. When I came to the table with the ladies mentioned above and their husbands ( the money people), I asked how everything was, and they all offered the expected responses. It was then that I used the manners my mom taught me. I smiled so graciously and  asked if they knew who I was. The wife of the first investor responded, “Yes, you’re the woman who catered all this food. Quite an unexpected spread they asked you to provide.”

 

I offered my hand to her, offering my best Chesire cat smile before adding, “I’m Mama Cichella, Matthew’s mom.”

 

I wish I’d had a Go-Pro to capture her expression.

 

Immediately, I followed with, “I provide the food and my time free of charge so he can concentrate on what matters, the film.”

 

Needless to say, when it came time for the extras to leave, I was lavished with thank yous and praise from all. I offered my best smile to each person, including the one with egg on her face.

Author Notes

I just thought I'd share a little of the events happening during the filming. It's been lots of late nights, but everyone has tried their best. Yesterday was the biggest shot, the New Year's Eve celebration and one of the last days of filming. I decided to award everyone with a special meal.

Chapter 5
You Gave Me A Mountain

By Begin Again

The proverbial saying 'every cloud has a silver lining' conveys the notion that, no matter how bad a situation might seem, there is always some good aspect to it.

 

Regardless of the many tragedies I’ve faced, I believed my faith in God, my belief in myself, and the love I shared would see me through every difficult time. I never doubted the light at the end of the tunnel. Even when I couldn’t see it or even imagine it, I trusted it was there. 

 

As I went through the motions of burying my husband, I collected pictures, made a video, chose music, and wrote a eulogy. I went to the funeral home early. Every selected item had its ideal spot, and I set it in its place. Anything less than perfect wouldn’t have sufficed. When friends and family arrived, I assumed the role of hostess, greeting and thanking everyone for attending the celebration of Mike’s life. He deserved to be honored, and as his wife, friend, and lover, I demanded of myself to stand tall and give him every ounce of dignity he earned.

 

When the service started, my family gathered around me. My eyes focused on the man I loved so dearly. My soulmate. My confidant. My strength. My forever. I vaguely recall hearing the music or the service. When it was time to read his eulogy, I remember someone taking the paper from my hands, but I could not see through my tears. I’d read and read the lines so many times, perfecting each word, so when someone else read them, they were like echoes in my mind. Like a slow-motion movie, I watched family and friends file past the casket, some crying, others touching his hand, all saying their final goodbye.

 

When the double doors closed, I suddenly realized I was all alone. Not because the room was empty, but because the love of my life, my husband, wasn’t holding my hand. In that very second, my life stopped. I hit rock bottom. My reason for living was no longer there and would never be there again. 

 

My light went out. My heart shattered. I listened to songs like Rodney Atkin’s “If You’re Going Through Hell” and Elvis’s lyrics of “Lord, You Gave Me A Mountain.” Usually, music led me to where I needed to be. Instead, this time my faith wavered. It wasn’t about not believing; it was about the emptiness. I had a blank page with nothing on it. If Mike was waiting for me, then I should be there. Shouldn’t that be the end of our story?

 

At that moment, I not only wished my life was over, I believed it was. As I wept hysterically, I kept asking, “What do I do now? Who am I?  How do I find me, or is there even a me?”

 

When asked by my doctor if I was okay, I didn’t know how to answer. He said I was depressed and prescribed anti-depressants. I never took one pill. Instead, the bottle sat on the shelf, proof that I was fine. I existed, but I couldn't live.

 

I’d reached a crossroad. What path was I meant to take?  Was I able to function?

 

Of course, I could. In the months that followed, I jumped into filmmaking with both feet, doing props and food or anything else my son needed. When the film ended, I found myself in Florida homeschooling my three great-granddaughters during Covid. At the end of summer, I returned home in time for all the holidays and prepared for my family to grow from two to six while they searched for a new home, a new school, a new job, and their new life. My son started another film, and I was by his side again while raising three little girls this time. My life was busy.

 

In the land of the living, I didn’t miss a beat. There wasn’t a moment to spare. The answer to the question was I okay turned out to be no. My mind told me what to do, and I did it. My heart was empty. It was a vessel pumping blood, nothing more. I no longer knew a moment of joy or happiness. The strange thing was I don’t believe anyone noticed except me. 

 

Then, one day in January, I sat at my computer, signed in to FanStory, and entered a twenty-five-word challenge. Of course, it was sad and filled with grief, but I’d written it. The next day, I wrote another story and continued to write each day. Some were short and others long. Some happy and some painfully sad. I almost quit so many times, questioning where I was going. Would I ever feel the pleasure of writing again? Would my creative juices ever course through my body, energizing my thoughts and opening up new worlds for the readers and me? Or would all my pages stay empty and blank? 

 

Somewhere along the line, I started to find bits and pieces of myself. I’m not sure I was even aware of it. Often, it was a painful moment, but it was my moment. I wasn’t caring for someone else. I wasn’t doing things for someone else. I was creating and sharing pieces of myself. Little by little, like the flowers pushing through the ground in spring, I was blossoming into me. 

 

The door opened wider and wider as I kept my promise to write again. I discovered people enjoyed my stories. Their kindness and thoughtfulness lifted me until I could lift myself. Yes, I know I always sign off with a smile, but I think that’s just a reminder more for me than you. Yet, last week while reading reviews, I realized I was smiling and laughing. I answered one friend and then another, thanking them for making me smile, for making me laugh out loud. Of course, they’ll never know how precious that moment was to me. I’d found that silver lining, and a light was glimmering at the end of the tunnel.

 

Have I left my sorrow behind me? No, but I’m not sure that I want to because that would mean losing the memories as well. It’s the memories that remind me of where I have been, who I am, and what I can still be. I know my world has changed, and it will never be the same until I see my husband again. In the meantime, I keep my promise, and I write because I must always find the strength to Begin Again.

Author Notes

As I wrote this story, I understood a little more about myself and where I wanted to be. There's not a moment I don't think of Mike and miss him. I never believed two people could have such a bond, be as one until God asked me to stand by Mike's side and show him the path to our Lord. I'm not taking any credit. I was just the vehicle, the method to his heart. I can't possibly imagine what might have happened with his life, but I'm glad I don't have to do that. I willingly gave up "me" to save "him," and I'd do it again and again. Now I can smile, knowing he will be at Heaven's gates, waiting. For now, it's time to spread these "dusty wings" and soar. I don't regret helping everyone (well, there might be a time or two). I didn't even consider anything else. I put "Me" on the bookshelf, but now it's time to dust off the cover, turn the pages, and write a beautiful, happy epilogue. The Lord works in mysterious ways. It's time for me to discover my "mystery" and share it with each of you. Smiles, Carol

Chapter 6
Fireworks Forever

By Begin Again

 

Was it April 27th or April 28th? The answer depends on who you ask.
 
We both agree it happened at the anniversary celebration and grand opening of our banquet room, but our thoughts on the events differ.
 
We both agree that it had been a spectacular night celebrating with our customers and the after-party was the frosting on the cake. Our employees had surrounded and serenaded me, singing "Take This Job and Shove It." I danced on the tabletops with a bit of encouragement and was crowned Queen of Top Flight. In your inebriated state, with the over-enthusiastic urging of the entire establishment, they crowned you, my King.
 
Much to my chagrin, I suddenly found you kneeling before me with a long-stemmed cherry between your teeth, which you dropped into a champagne glass before presenting it to me. You attempted to stand, lost your balance and found yourself sprawled across the dance floor. It was not the prettiest of sights.

Laughter erupted around the room, with me laughing the loudest, I am sure. Shaking my head, I discreetly headed for the lady's room, fearing my bladder would cause another spectacle, a real ugly sight.

Once relieved, I stepped into the hallway to find you waiting outside the bathroom door. I laughed at your forlorn look. It reminded me of a little schoolboy who'd lost his best friend.

Of course, the look was quite unrealistic; after all, everyone considered you the uncatchable lady's man, fun, self-assured, and smooth as silk. I'd heard all the crazy antics you pulled with multiple dates and how women still returned for more. You were the man women's hearts lusted for in their dreams, regardless of what common sense told them. Always the gentleman, but still looking for a good time. You could bait the hook, cast the line, and reel them in faster than anyone I'd ever met.
 
We'd been neighbors, best friends, sidekicks, and shoulders to cry on for fifteen years. We shared more with each other than we did with anyone else. We knew the good and which closets held the scary skeletons. Even through our divorces, we were each other's support system. You brought the laughter, and I carried the common sense.
 
I guess that was the foundation for opposites attract. It caught me off-guard when you pushed me against the wall and said I hadn't let you finish. Expecting a wisecrack or some joke, I was stunned when you kissed me and followed it with an I love you. In the heat of the moment, I understood why women kept coming back for more. Your level-headed business partner swooned. Later, I would blame it on the alcohol, but neither of us bought it.
 
As luck would have it, one of our employees came in search of us, and I quickly escaped to the banquet room and the festivities. You held me, and we danced, but neither mentioned the kiss. I chalked it up to alcohol.
 
We returned to the banquet room the following day to finish the clean-up. You were quiet, and I asked if you had the expected hangover. Of course, you denied it but continued to work without having much to say. So accustomed to your humor and laughter spilling out all the time, I was beyond flustered.
 
I was the peacemaker, not that I thought we were at war, but we weren't on an even keel. I remember our conversation so clearly.
 
I ventured forward. "The party was a complete success, wasn't it?"
 
"Yeah, the customers enjoyed it, and so did the crew." Your answer was short and to the point.
 
"Don't tell me you didn't have fun. I am surprised you can even remember it."
 
"I remember." You looked at me strangely and then walked into the cooler.
 
I was surprised. I hadn't thought you'd remember any of it, but you said you did. Now I was confused because I knew you never got embarrassed. Did you think I was angry or disturbed by the kiss? Getting the cold shoulder from you was not something I had ever experienced before that morning, and I refused to take it lightly.
 
When you came out of the cooler, I was armed and ready. "What's wrong with you? If it's not a hangover, then what is it?"
 
Your brown eyes stared at me, but you said nothing.
 
"If it's about the kiss and telling me you loved me, don't worry about it. I know it was the alcohol talking. I'm not an idiot."
 
"No, I guess I'm the idiot." You moved closer to me. And then, ten years of Fourth of July fireworks exploded as you kissed me. Coming up for air, I saw the twinkle in your eyes again. You smiled. "I meant it when I said I love you. Does that make me an idiot?"
 
It would take another story to explain the emotions shooting through me at that moment, but honestly, like all the other women, you'd swept me off my feet, and they'd never touch the ground again. Our deep friendship would be the lasting foundation of a beautiful love affair that remains, even though you aren't physically here. I can close my eyes and see your smile, feel your love, and know that you'll wait till we meet again.
 

Author Notes

Today is our Anniversary and it's difficult to celebrate it alone, but I know that he will be forever waiting for me until I join him for our together in the hereafter. Thank you for reading and allowing me to share a little of our life together. Today, please share a hug and a I love you with someone who means so much to you because you never know when you won't get the chance again. Have a great day and may I send a smile and hug your way!

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