When we last left the Zombies...

It has been a wild couple of weeks here on the Coast. Actually Coasts – plural. As this posts I am returning from a trip to California where our beautiful niece and her darling man got married. Thankfully, there were no Zombies.

Part One  Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five

Birth

Part Six

“Mary! Your water broke!” Deb grabbed the counter with one hand to steady herself, her legs suddenly weak with all the excitement and now, relief. If labor hadn’t progressed she would have had to break it. “How are the contractions?”

Mary moaned in answer. “Wow, that was a big one.” As the contraction lessened, she stood and caressed her belly. “I could actually see it tighten.”

“Yup, that’s what labor does. Come on. If you feel up to it, how ‘bout walking around while I start some dinner. The rest of us are going to need to keep up our strength. I’ll fix you some soup if you’re hungry.” The pot full, Deb placed it on the gas burner.

The slam of the back door made both women jump as the men returned. Their stomping sounded more violent than was necessary.“What the fuck were you doing out there alone?” Dave was pissed. They had specific actions for attack. “You put us all at danger Jake.”

“I had the chance. I had to take it. That Zom was acting really weird. It was almost as though it were observing, stalking us. I am pretty sure it had been at the kitchen window and those dragging prints were by the back door too.”

Both men continued to argue as they pulled off their wet shoes and placed the shotguns in the rack. Mary completed her first lap around the living room as Deb browned some sausage and stirred in tomato sauce. Jake was the first to notice Mary’s parade.

“Um, babe? What ya doin’?”

“Training for the marathon. Aaa…what’s it look like?” Mary gasped as another contraction hit but her smile covered up the pain. “Of course, Deb won’t let me do any carbo loading. Guess she’s afraid I’ll puke on her!”

“Yes, that is exactly right. You know what they say: puke on me once, shame on you. Puke on me twice…” Deb began to laugh but choked as a scream replaced her momentary mirth. A grey face with flat eyes peered into the kitchen window.

“Shit!” Dave grabbed his gun and ran to the back door. “There’s another one on the porch.”

Jake sprinted from the kitchen to check the other windows only to return with disheartening news. “There are at least twelve of them. It’s bizarre. They are just standing there, staring inside.”

Mary moaned and grabbed her belly. Deb turned the burners off and hustled to her side. Outside the kitchen window the zombie shifted its weight and moaned in response. Its withered hand grasped the wire frame work outside the window as the electricity made its surge. The creature shrieked as its hand exploded, spattering grey flesh on the window. Both women screamed.

The face at the back door disappeared. 

Come back on Wednesday October 23 to see what happens next! 

And - if Zombies aren't your thing, please check out some of the more popular posts and some of my favorite blogs to the right. Coast of Illinois will return to reality no November 1!

There's something out there...

Am I the only one who sees things in the shadows....

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four

Birth

Part Five

Deb could hear the hum of electricity as it pulsed through her window outpost. “There by the trashcan…wait, there’s... two?”

A shadow fell over the trashcan, stretching long limbed up the garage wall. Abruptly, the trashcan fell to its side, a puff of snow cushioned the clatter as what was left of a middle-aged man – grey, tattered, with teeth glinting – lunged towards the shadow’s origin. Snow covered its head and shoulders. Its stumbling gait left brush-like footprints in the drifts. The shadow shortened as it moved away from the source of its illumination. A black form briefly covered the kitchen window.

“God damn it! Its Jake!”

Dave scrambled away from the window and towards the back door. He pushed the door open as he raised the shotgun to his shoulder; the growl of the zombie fell flat on the snowy evening air. Jake huddled close to the house, partially hidden by bare branched shrubs but as the zombie turned to take sight of Dave and the open door, he let go a guttural yell and made a sprint toward the staggering undead figure.

The zombie pivoted unsure which human was most vulnerable. The creature’s uncertainty came at great cost. Jake, shotgun shouldered and aim clear, fired. The boom silenced the outside noises, gone unnoticed until they were absent. The zombie pivoted once again and collapsed in a heap; a macabre snowman oozing grey fluid onto the pristine ground cover. Jake walked closer and fired once more into the creature's head.

Shaking from cold and adrenaline, Dave stood on the back porch, both women behind him. Deb watched, fascinated as the zombie’s lifeblood oozed in a widening pool of grey. Spasms caused its extremities to flutter randomly and she felt a thrill with each movement unsure if it would rise again in some sort of bizarre resurrection. But the creature remained a pile of rotting flesh.

“Anybody we know?” Mary asked her voice thin, the memory of their elderly neighbors the Schwartzes still too fresh.

“Nope. Stray. Dave, we need to bag it. Can’t leave the remains here to bait others.” Jake was by the body's side now. “Deb, get Mary back inside and start some dinner. And open that bottle of Cab. I don't think a nice glass of wine is going to do any of us harm tonight.”

Deb and Mary returned to the kitchen. “Do you think there are more?” Deb blindly filled a large pot with water as she watched the men heft the remains into a trash bag. It would be dumped into the incinerator. She was glad it was winter and the windows were closed. The smell would be unbearable.

“Um, Deb?” Mary grasped the kitchen table, her knuckles and her face as white as the snow. Between her feet, on the kitchen’s tile floor, was a small puddle of fluid, cloudy with a pink tinge.

Come back on Sunday October 20 for another installment! Or, if zombies aren't your thing - check out some of the favorite posts and blogs on the right. Coast of Illinois returns to the ridiculous life of a middle aged beach bum on November 1!

October...da da dum...THIRTHEENTH

October 13. Thirteen. It even sounds scary. In my day job – nursing- we have many superstitions. Full moons – bring out craziness, speaking the word 'quiet'- causes it to be anything but, never passing up the chance to eat a snack -because you may never get a chance to eat again.

Do I actually believe these things?

YES.

What happens when you comment on how quiet the department is when you forget your lunch one Friday the 13^th midnight shift with a full moon? Well let's see – killer pimp, lice epidemic, three cardiac arrests and someone who actually chewed through a restraint.

Now do you believe?

And now it's check in time in Wisconsin...

                                        Part One                        Part Two                   Part Three

Birth

Part Four

“Welcome Spring Green." Tony wiped his face with both hands, pushing his trademark hat off kilter. "Have we enlarged our ranks?” The entire Underground was anxious for Mary to be delivered. The Underground had yet to log a successful birth, but there was always hope.

“No, just us four at present. But Deb says tomorrow will be the big day. What’s the word on burn-out?” Dave leaned closer to the screen.

“Bad man. Let’s leave it at that.” Tony looked around, distracted. “Keep a weather eye man. They’ll be coming your way tonight.” Noises could now be heard off camera. Hammering.

“We’re ready. Generator is fueled up, windows wired, wine chilled.” Jake squeezed his face closer to Dave, into the webcam's view.“What’s going on over there Tony? Sounds like you guys are rebuilding already.”

“What? Oh, that’s nothing.” Tony looked over his shoulder and then back at the camera. “Shit’s A-okay here boss.” He leaned into the camera and smiled. Both Dave and Jake leaned closer. There was something not quite right in the way his pupils were dilated. His mouth twitched just barely, at the lower lip.

“You sure things are fine?” Dave put his hand up to the screen, as though Tony could feel his touch and Tony placed his left palm to Dave’s in response.

“No man, its not."He looked away from the screen for a second. "Give the newest member a kiss on the noggin’ for me boys.” Palm still on the screen he raised a bottle of whiskey and toasted the camera before draining the bottle dry. “My time is up.” Tony pulled his hand away, dropped the whiskey bottle to the ground and turned his back on the camera. The pounding had grown louder and more frantic. In the background of the camera’s shot a window blew out and three grey arms in tattered clothing reached through. The leading arm snagged on the jagged glass leaving a bit of fabric and a chunk of oozing flesh. Dave and Jake leaned back and gasped. And then they watched as, in slow motion, Tony lifted his arm and raised a pistol.

The blast was amplified by the microphone clipped to his shirt. It took less than a second for the fedora to flip backwards and cover the screen, stopping all but a thin slip of blood from hitting the screen.

“Oh!” Debra cried out and buried her face in her hands. Both men looked from the television to each other in disbelief.

“Deb, can I eat? All at once, I am starving.” Mary waddled into the kitchen, her voice loosening the grasp death had on the others in the room. “Did I just miss something?”

“No, nothing. Madison is having trouble signing in. Are you okay to be down here?” Jake didn’t move from his place in front of the screen but it was clear that his concern had shifted across the room to his wife and unborn child.

“I’m fine. Let’s fix spaghetti. Deb? You sure everything’s okay?” Mary placed a hand on the counter to steady herself as she looked out the kitchen window.“Still snowing a ... Hey!" Her shout made everyone jump. "Something is out there."

Everyone scrambled. Jake began flipping switches on a control panel on the interior wall of the kitchen. Electricity hummed through the wired window frames. The system was set to pulsate every ten seconds through windows both upstairs and down in a random sequence. A large spot light flooded the area outside the kitchen window. Dave grabbed the shotgun beside the door and Deb lifted the one lying on the island. Mary remained at the window. "Oh wait, I think it was just that stupid bush." She turned to see her three friends freeze mid movement, glancing warily at one another.

"That does it. I am cutting that stupid shrubbery down first thing tomorrow." Jake deflated with a heavy sigh.

"Not the ...shrubbery!" Mary said in her best falsetto, English voice. When no one laughed she gave Jake a questioning look and he crossed the kitchen in three large steps, wrapping his wife in flannel clad arms.

"Madison had some trouble." His voice caught in his throat. There was no mention of Tony. Too many gone. It just wasn't done.

The room was silent save for the alternating hum of electrons and the rapid sequence of city names logging through the television. Each face that appeared gave a sign – crossed fingers or hearts, peace signs, open palm to the screen – in acknowledgment of the red light on Spring Green’s screen, the light which indicated a possible attack.

“There, beside the garage…” Dave’s whisper spread through the room. “Footprints.”

That's Not a Baby!!!

Saw my first Halloween...um...character on the way home last night. She was dressed in a full length black dress, her face was powdered bright white and she was holding a baby doll as though it were real. Dear Lord, I certainly hope she was dressed for Halloween...

If you are new to Coast of Illinois – the month of October is Serial Story time. Click HERE for part one, and THERE for part two. And, if you aren't really into scary stories please check out the favorite posts at the right for more typical Coastal discussions or page down for some of my favorite bloggers.

And now....

Birth

Part Three

"You can’t call other human beings a liability.” Debra stopped in the doorway. Jake’s tough words and hard jaw did nothing to offset the fear in his eyes as he turned from the counter. Outside an early winter wind rattled the now bare lilac branches near the kitchen window.

“You know what I mean Deb. We can’t save everyone.” His jaw softened a little as he spoke and began brushing the broken saucer into the trash can under the sink. Jake had helped burn out Madison. It took two treacherous weeks of prep but he had returned safe and sound. Deb herself had inspected his stripped down body for signs of bites or scratches. He had returned clean.

"Let me do this." She hugged him as she pushed him aside. "You'll just wind up cutting yourself. Now be a good little boy and pour me some coffee."

“What are you doing down here, anyway.” Dave raised his head from the maps and met his wife straight on. “You are supposed to be on Mary duty.”

“I know. She is awake but resting for just a little more. I think the baby will be here by this time tomorrow.” She kissed him on the top of the head and turning to Jake said, “You’re almost a Daddy.”

"Nooooo..." Jake slapped his hands to his face in his best Macaully Caulkin impersonation before pushing the steaming mug of coffee towards Deb.

Dave stood, stretched. "It's almost time for check-in." He walked to the television set and punched the on button. Various wires laced back and forth between the television and a computer whose screen saver depicted a blue bottle of window cleaner with the scrolling phrase 'Put Some Windex On It." Static and grey fuzz filled the screen. Log in would start in about five minutes. The Underground transmitted nightly at six, or as close to six as possible. First each state logged in and then counties and then each individual safe house, depending on the rolling electricity. With the burnout of Chicago and Madison, the local log-in would be first. The surviving zombies tended to take flight so outlying areas were at risk.

Live feed was both reassuring and terrifying. Over the past month the number of log-ins had dropped by about one third. Static on the television, this waiting, bothered Deb and she turned to look outside. Snow was piled high against the garage in wave-like drifts and frost formed a delicate frame. She leaned closer to the window and subconsciously reached out to steady herself on the windowpane.

“Deb!” Jake shouted and Debra jumped. Like the upstairs windows, it too was equipped with a makeshift electric fence. “Shit Deb. Please don't cook yourself. Who would fix us dinner tonight?” Deb gave him a smirk and cautiously rubbed her arms. She would never get used to being held hostage at home. “Speaking of...you get anything out of that humongous freezer? Like, I don't know, hamburger, sausage...a body?”

Deb laughed and shook her fist. At present it was half full with chicken, hamburger and a deer the guys shot. Jake scared the crap out of Mary just yesterday morning by stuffing himself into the empty space. "You know you are the reason she's in labor now."

"I should hope so." He laughed and joined Dave on the couch.

“Sign in folks.” Dave leaned over the web cam which sat on top of the television. Deb perched on the couch arm and Dave absentmindedly rubbed her thigh. The clock over the fireplace struck the first of six tones and instantly the static on the television shimmied into the image of a man in his early thirties. Worn fedora, scruffy beard, Tony’s face; another Survivor.

The three let out one collective sigh of relief.

Come back on Sunday October 13 for part four....

Nothing Personal Wisconsin

I love Wisconsin. It is the first place, probably the only place, I will ever see fields of dandelions for wine. We named our first cat after a circus town there – Baraboo. I have even been to Spring Green. It's a real place. And nothing resembling this installment story happened there. Really...

Birth

Part Two

Now, sitting in the quiet house, Debra could almost hear the station attendant's screams and the echo of what remained of his humanity. But they were only memories and as she listened harder she could hear muted voices, floating up from the kitchen below, through the vent to Mary’s room. The voices were familiar and Debra felt a small comfort which grew as the aroma of fresh brewed coffee rode the wave of voices from the kitchen.

She looked around the bedroom, so different from the one in Chicago she shared with Dave. Everything was so different. Ever since Dave had burst into that bedroom, waking her from a dead sleep. He gave her fifteen minutes to throw everything she could into four rubbermaid tubs which were stuffed into the back of their car, already half filled with guns and ammunition. She never asked where the weapons came from. Dave worked in tech support. The only guns he had ever handled were made by Nintendo. They stopped at her hospital, Dave in the driver's seat. He gave her specific instructions of what to take and how long to spend. He would leave after fifteen minutes. With or without her. The hollow desperation which filled his dark blue eyes made it clear he wasn't kidding.

In the huge four poster bed in the center of the room, Mary continued to sleep, curled on her left side. Debra pulled the afghan over her friend’s shoulders and for a brief second placed her hand on Mary’s midsection. Under cover of the afghan, the huge pregnant belly resembled a beach ball and it was hard to associate the fullness with Mary’s normally slender shape. Debra smiled as Mary’s warmth permeated her hand and the baby underneath gave a tiny kick which was slowly pushed away by the tightening of uterine muscles. Mary had been in the beginning stages of labor for nearly twelve hours. It had not been too bad yet, but Debra feared that if things didn’t begin to progress more quickly both baby and mamma would be in trouble.

As if hearing her thoughts, Mary turned and opened her eyes. “It will be okay Deb. That one was only about five minutes after the one before. I just want to rest here a little longer and then I’ll walk some more.”

Debra smiled. “You rest as long as you want Momma. Does the coffee smell good? I’ll yell down for the guys to bring us some up.”

“No, I don’t want any. But, you go on down and get a cup. You’ve been up here all day. I would be ready to pull the flowers off this wallpaper from the sheer boredom.”

Debra began to protest. They had all decided. No one was to be alone. Ever. Not even in the house. Mary gave a mighty heave and sat up. “Look, unless those freaks have learned to be quiet there is no way they could climb up here and sneak in. Especially through these.” Mary motioned to the windows directly across from the bed. Hidden behind the partially closed blinds the windows were covered with two layers of barbed wire. An electric cord dangled down one side of the window where it was plugged into the outlet. The opposite end of the cord had been stripped and the red and yellow wires were wrapped around various barbs. Anyone daring to grab the wire would be greeted with a nice firm 2-20 handshake courtesy of Thomas Edison. Assuming the generator was working...

“Fine. I’ll go suffer through a cup of Jake’s coffee. You rest for another thirty minutes and then come down. We’ll fix a nice dinner. Your last as a childless woman!” Debra patted her friends belly again before walking from the room.

The generator lights of the kitchen and the warmth from the stove were a welcome respite from the chilly bedroom. Two months into the sickness, the Underground had begun its takeover of the utilities. Electricity was rationed county by county for four hours a day. Gas powered generators were still functional as long as gasoline was available but it was more and more difficult to get supplies. Jake had laid in a winter's supply of wood for use in the wood stove which filled half the living room wall. Winter in the middle of Wisconsin was not the time to trust utilities. That had not changed.

“The trend looks to be a slow die out as long as the food source is removed.” Jake was leaning against the counter. Debra’s husband Dave sat at the kitchen table. Several maps and various documents were scattered about.

“So, Chicago and Madison are gone?” Dave spoke without looking up. His finger traced a thin line along the map.

“Yup, shock and awe buddy. Shock and freakin’ awe! It was amazing. Flames twenty feet high.” Smoke from a single cigarette resting on a saucer illustrated his words.

Dave shook his head. “What about the people that were clean. The ones not infected yet?”

“That’s the key. Not-infected-yet. The Underground did all it could to get the word out. Those who stayed behind were too much of a liability. They were given every chance.” Jake grabbed the smoldering cigarette and ground it into the saucer center. With a grating crack the bone china broke into two pieces. “Shit,”Jake said as he turned away from his friend and elbows on the counter, placed his head in his hands.

Not sure what is happening here? Click HERE for part one. Come back on Wednesday October 9 for part three.

And now for something a Little Different

So, I watched World War Z the other night. It terrified me and as I predicted, I had creepy, survivalist dreams the entire night. I never figured myself for a zombie-holic. Sure, I saw Night of the Living Dead, Day of the Dead, Sean of the Dead and Micheal Jackson's Thriller. But it wasn't until Walking Dead that I was forced to face my addiction.

I suppose we could learn something from Zombies. Just watch one of the examples above. They seem content milling around by themselves but will happily congregate in groups and share dinner. (Nearly every scene if all of those examples.) They work together to reach a common goal. (The zombie ladder/waterfall in WWZ.) They are not particularly fond of guns, or deep wells, or swords,or hillbillies. (Walking Dead) They like to go to malls. (Sean of the Dead) They can dance. (Really? I need to point out where this example comes from?)

But there is something about the scenario – not being chased by rotting undead people who dress badly – but the bigger, more cosmic scenario – what would I do? what could I do? in that situation. It totally freaks me out.

So, as it is Halloween month and as I am spending the better part of October off on some adventures which should result in more blogs typical of me, I thought it might be fun to re-institute an old tradition: The Installment Story.

At the end of this blog you will get the first installment of my take on a zombie story. Come back on Sundays and Wednesdays in October for a new installment. I will link each new entry to the previous ones in case you want to re-read or share.

Now it's time for the disclaimer. This is a real honest to goodness horror story. Its a little gory. I hope a little creepy and a lot scary. And there are zombies.

So now, without further adieu I give you:

Birth

Snow. It billowed around her in swirls, making delicate spirals, changing into tiny puffs. She moved further into the darkness, headlights illuminating the way as the snow became a vortex for her to pass through. Swirling shapes formed, random at first and then faces. Tiny features – eyes, a nose, and a laughing mouth. One, then more until a choir of snow faces, mouths open in song, surrounded her. The path of light changed suddenly, making a sharp turn and the faces dissolved. The snow parted briefly only to return thicker and heavier. She pressed her face against the cold glass of the car window hoping to find the beautiful snow choir.

But, as the moon broke through the clouds, the choir was devoured by a larger face. This one with blank eyes lit by flames, elongated jaw, a slack mouth and teeth, glinting silver snow teeth …and one large drop of blood.

In her mind she screamed but the sound was muffled by sleep and instead, Debra awoke gasping. She raised head, neck stiff and arms tingly from resting on the desk of Mary’s room. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the partially closed blinds. Debra sat still, listening. It was important to listen these days. The silence of the room was not reassuring. Instead, it hung over her like a pall, pushing her mood deeper down allowing the dream to stay too near the surface of her consciousness.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to collect herself but the snow face was lying in wait behind her eyelids. There was no sanctuary anywhere, not even in sleep. The horror of the drive up to Spring Green, the whirling snowstorm and the face of the man, the real man in the overalls and Sinclair Gas cap chewing nonchalantly on the bit of human remains had invaded every neuron.

She and David left Chicago as soon as Jake called. They drove without stopping, keeping daylight with them, until the storm began to blow harder. There were no signs of the sickness. No signs of the previous humans – Zoms – as the Underground had taken to calling them. Who would have thought all that zombie nonsense would turn out to be true.

The trip began to feel like ones taken back in college, driving all night to stay at the lodge, to ski and hike and commune with friends. No sign until David had stopped just outside Spring Green to fill up the car. The gas station displayed the safe house flag of the day – orange background with a green number four. The Underground had devised a series of signals to use for travel. It was a flawed system – members overtaken shortly after hanging their flags – but it was all they had.

The man in the Sinclair cap had remained seated behind the counter until Debra reached the door. His sudden twisting motion caught her off guard and as she pulled open the door he lurched from his seat, knocking over a display of Hostess cupcakes in his attempt to attack. She screamed for David as she ran to the car, slamming the door as the man crashed into the window, blood dripping from his mouth. In his raised hand he held what may have been an arm, or maybe a lower leg. It didn’t matter. All that mattered at that moment was escape. David jumped into the driver’s seat as Debra slammed her door shut. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, the car fishtailed from the snowy lot. The pump handle ripped from the tank, still pumping; spraying the man in the cap and his lunch with gasoline. As they reached the road, David slowed the vehicle and opening his door threw a road flare towards the station. Debra watched in the rear view mirror as sparks from the flare ignited the fuel. She was surprised to see that the flame was translucent at first, chasing the fumes towards the pump handle. Even as the flames crossed the first pools of gas, they remained wispy, lighting the falling snow with flickering sparks. She was mesmerized, watching the beauty of the fire until at last, it exploded and the man in the Sinclair cap ran towards their car as it drove away. He made it five full steps until his body, wrapped in a blanket of red and yellow flames, collapsed in the snow.

Click here  for Part 2...if you dare...

I Think I May Have a Plan...

Transformation. Re-creation. Ch-ch-ch-Changes...

I find myself in the throws of a reinvention and thus, unable to actually concentrate. Who am I reinventing myself into? Well, pretty much, best as I can tell, I am reinventing myself into a stress eating gerbil with ADHD who suffers from an emotional disorder that triggers uncontrollable crying when exposed to precious commercials for Cheerios. I believe this is somewhere between the caterpillar and pupa stages. Those stages of feeding and then cocooning of a butterfly.

Our oldest is moving to his first apartment. Our youngest is working towards her first job in her chosen field. Bart is working out the details of his retirement next year. It's all part of evolution. And things around here have been evolving so quickly that the Darwin Society has asked for a study grant. And me?

I have loved being Mommy to small children but I am ready to move towards the person I have dreamed of being since I was sixteen. That person who exercises every day, writes every day, looks totally put together in every situation, has sparkling conversations and can truthfully say "the other evening, while preparing dinner, I caught myself humming along to Vivaldi". This woman lives in a spotless turn of the century apartment or cottage within walking distance of her favorite cafe and the beach. She has just returned from a three month stay along a lovely river in Spain where her husband fished and she wrote and each evening they drank Rioja with the locals. (Oh wait, that's Hemingway and one of his wives. Whatever. I don't think there are copy write laws governing lifestyle.)

How is this reinvention going? Well, according to what I have read about reinvention the first step is to make a decision. Unfortunately my first decision is to move down the path of least resistance. This pretty much involves eating an entire bag of OkeyDokey Styrofoam popcorn with a carton of New York Fudge Chunk Ice Cream and inventing devastating scenarios of my poor parenting worthy of a Lifetime movie. When I am not imaginary-ruining my children's' lives I am feeling guilty. Not about anything in particular, just a world encompassing guilt. This ends with me lying in bed at 2AM, flat on my back, poking my Michelin man belly and contemplating just where it was that I went wrong. (Never mind that our two kids seem to be quite happy, well adjusted adults who routinely do nice things and like hanging out with us. Of course, that is probably due to me smothering them which probably stunted some inter-personal skills...Oops. Sorry. Guilt could be an Olympic event in my head.)

For a real transformation, change must begin within, like that pupa inside its cocoon. I have to report that as of today, I have accomplished three days of abdominal exercising. I get home from work, close and lock the bedroom door and do planks and crunches. I can't risk anyone seeing this spectacle. What muscles I have are attempting to contact their embassy as this is clearly an all out terrorist attack. I have also taken to eating oatmeal. Which makes me feel better about the junk food graze that will inevitably occur later in the day. And my intestines have never been happier. Which is about as 'inside' as it gets, I suppose.

I did put on some classical music while preparing lunch the other day. It was quite enjoyable. Until I nearly cut my pinky finger off and exploded a can of roasted red peppers all down my t-shirt. Suddenly I was Dudley Moore. Because Dudley Moore is the first person who comes to mind when I hear classical music. I can't explain it.

The intention of reinvention is important. Having a mission reinforces all those difficult changes. It is easier to make specific sacrifices or changes to long instilled habits if the goal is concrete. My intention? My mission? I wish I could put it in concrete terms. Its more of a feeling than an actual goal. I get brief glimmers of it – the mornings when I get up early, go for breakfast and stop at the farmer's market; the afternoons when I sit quietly and write, the evenings spent on the deck or at a favorite restaurant with family or friends. If only I could just roll each of these vignettes into one full twenty-four hour span. And then roll that span into a week and then a month. Lets be honest. I want to Ponzi my life into one enormous pyramid scheme of creativeness. But with more happy, spread the wealth fun and less bankruptcy and jail time.

Which brings me to the SUPPORT portion of my reinvention. Its very difficult to maintain change without support. My family is very supportive. They tolerated the classical music all through lunch without saying a word. But when I turned the radio off in favor of ANACONDA, one of my favorite bad scy-fy movies, they gave a collective cheer. And they collectively mock my love of bad scy-fy. Except for Sharknado, which I predicted to be a HUGE hit. Which it was. They never say a word about my vacuum cleaner style of grazing, although there was delicious, healthy soup waiting for me when I got home from work the other night. No one laughs when I say I actually worked on the novel I have been working on for nearly three years now.

They do not know about the secret ab exercises. So please don't say anything.

But at the end of the day, even with all that support, the only thing holding me back is me. I am watching my son and daughter let go of their carefree childhoods and move forward to the independence and excitement of adulthood. I am the sounding board for my husband as he makes decisions regarding retirement which will ultimately move us both towards our goals of comfortable living and travel. And you know what? I have begun to let go of some of those habits which masquerade as excuses but are actually enormous walls confining me from the discomfort, fear and adventure of something new and challenging.

I have been writing every day.

I can now hold my plank for thirty-five seconds.

My shirt actually matched my skirt last night when I went out.

I am not quite ready to give up the New York Fudge Chunk and I haven't turned to the classical station in a week but as David Bowie says:

Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time*

Okay, I don't really get that last line but you get the gist...

*From Changes (1971) byDavid Bowie.

Not used with permission as I don't know Mr. Bowie, but included with the utmost respect.