Small Magics

I am a collector of small magics--

the silkiness of sidewalk moss,

the scrap of blue in a patchwork of clouds,

the bud on the end of a twisted branch,

an unexpected kindness.

I could press them dry

separately on their own page.

But I like letting them simmer,

stirred together in my pocket

until together

they take on a hopeful luster

and wholesome texture

that will keep me fed for days.

Photo by Almos Bechtold on Unsplash

Song Choice: A Kind of Magic by Queen

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings, where Rosemary asked us to write about something we feel strongly about. I feel quite strongly about holding on to the little things that keep my hope alive, especially in the middle of all the world's chaos. 

Sometimes my walks with my corgi Jelly Bean turn up some delightful things to notice. Sometimes its as simple as a stranger pulling over to help my Darling Youngest when their car had an electrical glitch, and then following him home to make sure he got here safely. I never got the woman's name but I am very glad for her kindness and calming presence when D.Y. needed it. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Lucky

It's still too early
for the comfort of newborn green,
but underneath the leafless cherry blossom tree
there are bowls of tea for the ones who aren't here.

In warmer times

I first learned how a splash of water

can lift a scent high enough to soothe a spirit.

I'd almost forgotten

those earliest days

of fumbling unfamiliarity

and how quietly something can change

from part of the background

to something inviting 

deeper consideration.

There is a hidden path here.

I discovered it by going around

the obvious delights,

of the stone lanterns, the pond, and the maples,

to a dark and overgrown thicket of bamboo.

Today, 

I make sure to pay my respects

there, remembering the first time

curiosity drew me.

I greet the gods I find here.

This time I understand the reason

for smiles and tears.

I cup my hands around 

the memories that brought me here

warmed by today's tea

under the leafless tree

and give thanks.

How lucky I was.

How lucky I am.

Photo by Hiroshi Tsubono on Unsplash

Song Choice: Everything Stays from Adventure Time

Liner Notes For This Groove: If you came around via Poets and Storytellers United, feel free to skip this part because it's a lot longer than 369 words. Though I am elaborating a bit on the prompt I gave this week, "looking back".

So for the last couple of weeks I've been looking over all my old blog posts. It's been an interesting experience, not just in showing me ways I've changed as a writer. There are a lot of other changes too. Last September, we lost my mom-in-law. She was the bedrock of my husband's side of the family and navigating a post-Ellen world is just plain odd (when it isn't deeply sad). 

Tea with Mom Driks

I don't think I mentioned it on this blog, but we also welcomed another corgi into our family, Jelly Bean. Like my dearly departed Kit, she's a rescue. But she's *ahem* a lot more complicated than he was. I think we've finally got her used to the idea that this is her forever home (but she still thinks the ceiling fan is out to get her).

 

Don't let that cute face fool you. 

She's bossy and anxious.

I quipped on PS&U about the change in my all-time favorite book series. But in a lot of ways that change really does represent a lot of the ways I've changed. I was unaware about lot of things. I'd even say that I was a bit naive. Sure, I still love a generous dose of whimsy and magic. But these days, I relate better to sharply satirical (and hilarious) whimsy that isn't afraid to take a hard look at some of the biggest ways our world is broken. (That the author doesn't appear to be a massive jerk is a bonus too.) There's something to be said for whimsy as an act of defiance.

You will not break me

from Dungeon Crawler Carl

by Matt Dinniman

I think in most ways, I've become more solid in who I've always been. So what seem like changes on the outside feel more like coming home to myself.

One thing that absolutely hasn't changed is my love of tea. This piece was inspired by a recent trip to Shofuso, the Japanese house and garden in Philly. I actually haven't practiced tea there in ages. Of course, I've been practicing tea, but my tea teacher had the space to build a traditional Japanese tea room in her house. When changes occurred that limited our use of the rooms in Shofuso, the students of Philadelphia Urasenke just went to their tea teacher's homes instead (we have multiple teachers, all with their own tea rooms).

The reason for my visit was a bittersweet one. There was a memorial to honor the passing of two senior members of our tea school as well as the passing of Hounsai Hanso Soshitsu, the 15th generation Grand Tea Master of the Urasenke School. I never met the Grand Master, but Keijiroh and Terry were always very warm and kind people, thrilled to share their love of tea. Terry was the one who convinced me to step up and do public demonstrations. I'll be thinking of her at this year's Cherry Blossom festival, when I'll be doing a string of demos all day long.

Here are a few pictures of my visit:

So that's pretty much it for me. Thank you for reading this far! Anything new in your world? Let's talk about it in the comments.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I Suck at Titles (An Apology)

Have you ever gone on vacation and relaxed so much that your brain disavows any responsibility for anything more complex than deciding on the best spot to curl up with a good book? I spent the last couple of weeks chilling first in Maine, then in New Hampshire.

View from the cabin overlooking the bay in Maine.

The view when you walk down the path from the bluff to the shore.

The porch swing at the B&B in New Hampshire.

So, I'm not great at coming up with titles most times. And you can see how it's easy to be distracted in such idyllic environments. When I hit publish for my last blog post, I saw that I hadn't been as clear as I would have liked to, The title especially added nothing to the piece. When I got back, I changed the title so my meaning would be evident. Just in case there's still a question, let me be perfectly clear.

I am pro-choice. The decision to overturn Roe v Wade has me gravely concerned. A friend of mine is already suffering. Even though they are not seeking an abortion, they are being denied medicine they need for their well-being (they suffer from rheumatoid arthritis) on the off-chance they might be pregnant at some point. Clarence Thomas has indicated this won't stop at Roe. The right to marriage, hell the right to privacy for my Darling Youngest, who fits several letters under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, is at risk. 

I presume Justice Thomas might leave interracial marriage intact, since that would affect him. But just because my straight passing marriage to my white husband is safe (I am a bisexual woman), and my 50 year old womb seems to be permanently retired from the business of baby making, that doesn't mean I will keep silent on this. I am disgusted by the continued machinations of the right wing in the US. It loves to brag how it embraces freedom and small government, even while its members cynically do everything they can to dig its tentacles deeper into people's lives. 

I am extremely embarrassed that my writing was not up to the task of expressing how I truly felt (that'll teach me to double-check things, even on vacation). So I'm sorry, dear Groovers, and will try to do better next time.    

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: You Don't Own Me covered by SayGrace featuring G-Eazy

Life Commences

Pomp and circumstance won’t feed
a spirit raised to understand
that celebration can’t be experienced as mere ceremony,

especially when existence provides
a multitude of ways to be joyful.

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

Song Choice: These Are the Days by 10,000 Maniacs

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to the Friday Writings post at Poets and Storytellers United. Congratulations are in order for my Darling Eldest who graduated college just last week. While he can be sentimental, he's not one for tradition for tradition's sake. So he opted not to attend the ceremony. Instead, we'll celebrate once my husband shakes off the last dredges of the coronavirus.  

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Living His Best Life

My dog, Kit, struts
on the last half block
of our walk.

He was successful
in diverting me to the retirees’ home
where belly rubs and bacon treats waited.

A careless squirrel
passed within less than a foot of him.

If Kit was less full
he might have caught it

(at least that is what I think
he tells himself
as he struts home).

I am hungry after all the side quests.
I call the pizzeria to put in my order.

Kit starts howling
at the words “chicken fingers”.

He knows that means it’s pizza night.
He knows there will be left over crusts
and more belly rubs.

The girl on the other end laughs.
She hears him too.

“Can you imagine that,” I say,
“He was actually shy when we first rescued him?”

"I tell you I was t-h-i-s close to catching that rodent!"

Song Choice: Best Day of My Life by American Authors

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was inspired by the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Keeping it Real. Yes my dog is really this ridiculous. Most of my neighbors can vouch for it.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Of Sound Minds and Bodies

When asked what I was like as a child, my go-to answer is “pretty much your average paperweight.” Leave me in a spot with a book and there I’d stay until someone came to pull me out of my mental Narnia. As you might imagine, I wasn’t all that physical of a child (unless music was involved—I did and still do love to dance).

I first started working out as a teen because of vanity, then kept it up because of the mood boost I get. As I’ve mentioned other times on the blog, I even learned to appreciate playing sports as an adult. Fitness is a regular part of my routine.

I was proud of myself for keeping up with working out through the pandemic, because even when I was tired, I still wanted that endorphin bump and feeling of accomplishment. Then a few days after I came back from vacation, I rolled my ankle and managed to tweak a ligament on the top of my foot.

I won’t lie. I had lots of ‘poor me’ thoughts for the first few days (especially when I was told I might have broken something). And it didn’t help that I relied on that mood booster in the months that followed a very dear friend’s death (to be honest, I still have horrible days where grief swallows me whole). But I remembered the example of another dear friend, who keeps getting some wicked curveballs thrown at her fitness routine. If one way is closed, try another, and another, until something works.

Turns out YouTube is quite helpful for finding routines you can do without putting weight on your foot. I don’t get the same rush, but it was mentally soothing to me to be able to do them, and then graduate to walking around the block later. Last week I got cleared to go back to my usual routine. I’m glad I took it slow and didn’t reinjure myself. 

My long-term fitness goal is to be the abuelita chasing her grandkids on the playground. But I have a new appreciation for the short-term mood boost benefits too. My body and brain are finally on the same page.

Me in my favorite work-out clothes. Shown here are my 4 main moods:

earnest nerdiness, stoically processing trauma,

cheerleader for family and friends, and MURDER EXPLOSION QUEEN.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Dance Again by Selena Gomez

Liner Notes for this Groove: This was written in response to the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Take Care of Your Body.

Saltwater Display (What Has Changed)

Everything the same, just as I left it,
mostly.
I didn’t plan on the saltwater
puddle sitting on the desktop.

My collection of figurines
still stood, surprisingly dust free.

I didn’t have the time or energy
to deal with the ones
that are more disappointing than charming now.

I had to pull myself together
and clean up that puddle,

likely originating from a well-meaning attempt
to keep order in an office equivalent of a ghost town.

As much as I’d like to ignore
the puddle of saltwater
eroding the foundation

of the salt tea light holder
that someone was kind enough to gift me
as a token of protection,

it invaded the space
where my laptop plugs into.
I have no time

for saltwater displays
in an office, trying to go on
as if nothing has changed

and pretend that ghosts aren’t here too.

An old picture of my office cubical. A co-worker said he easily figured out

who it belonged to without looking for the name tag.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Back In Black

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt, Change and Renewal, at Poets and Storytellers United. 

Keeping it Real Curly

For the longest time, I was the only one in my family with thick, curly locks. Then I had my Darling Eldest. We didn’t know how much his hair was like mine at first. He got a lot of regular haircut throughout his youth. But when he went away to college and haircuts weren’t as high of a priority as say anime club, we all finally got a look at what his mane would do when left to its own devices.

He had been home for a bit because of the pandemic before he finally approached me. He likes keeping his hair long but had been resisting the idea that maintenance was needed. Could I help?

Well during the pandemic I’ve been hard-core upgrading my curl game (it was a reliable bit of self-care that always made me feel better). I was delighted to share techniques I learned, product suggestions, while being sure to let him know the ball was in his court as to how he chooses to deal with it. I have to say, his satin lined hat is cooler than my cheesy sleeping bonnet, but both of them protect our curls.

There was one morning when we were wearing our respective caps when my husband made the observation that not only do we look alike, we both act in very similar ways when we get angry or frustrated. He looked at me in horror and said, “I think I’m turning into you.” I told him not to worry unless he suddenly got interested in planners and picking out cute stickers to go in it.

Of course considering we both just got excited over recognizing a familiar voice actor in an anime series, I’ll be sure add an extra pack of cool-looking, anime-inspired stickers to my next stationary order. Just in case.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Hair from the musical of the same name.

This post was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings Prompt: What You Resist, You Become.

There Still Will Be Pie

No need to pretend
that all of this is normal.
Tradition is not
needed to enjoy the taste
of each other’s company

Photo by Alex Loup on Unsplash

Liner Notes for this Groove:

Thanksgiving was never a big deal for me growing up. Oh sure, my mom sometimes tried her hand at American favorites like turkey (the horror… the horror…) but it wasn’t exactly her forte. I never felt bad about the lack of typical Thanksgiving fare, even when we had enough newly arrived family members to gather with on the last Thursday in November.

This is not the case with my husband’s side of the family. Their spread is the stuff of legends. Most of the members of his family are amazing cooks (including him). I didn’t even think I liked turkey until I got married. There were never even any of the heated political discussions I heard happened around other tables. I do recall one slightly conservative (for this family) brother in law getting gently roasted by his wife and then teenage daughter, but that’s about it.

This is the Thanksgiving celebration my kids grew up with. I wondered how much of the typical spread I needed to provide in order for it to feel special. So I was a little surprised when my Darling Youngest came to me with a gleam in their eye about purposely making it weird.

Nothing is normal about this Thanksgiving, so let’s lean into it. We’re not going to try to top Aunt Michele’s stuffing (whew… because that would be a tall order). We’re going to lean into the weird that is 2020 and make food that feels like a celebration to us, whether it’s traditional or not. Darling Youngest and my husband have been bonding over finding recipes to try (looks like bone marrow will be on the table).

We’re still figuring out a main course, but I know there will be one traditional thing on the table, sweet potato pie. I’ve never made one before, but a Facebook friend was kid enough to pass along their tried and true recipe. I can’t wait to enjoy that.  

Song Choice: Staying Alive by the Bee Gees

This post was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Celebration.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Take Chances. Make Mistakes. Get Messy.

After getting an encouraging message about my writing back in August, I decided to start work on a new novel. I already had ideas for a few longer stories kicking around in my head and that message was exactly the spark I needed to get started.

Starting isn’t the same as finishing though. And as you might imagine, what with being a citizen of the U.S.A., there are quite a number of things that can keep my mind scattered Early on, I decided perfectionism was not going to be one of them.

You see, writer’s block for me, doesn’t always look like a lack of ideas. It can also look like me staring at a screen, agonizing about the best metaphor or the perfect phrase, for way longer than is healthy. So the only way I was able to continue was by being OK with sucking a bit. 

Nobody churns out a perfect rough draft. After all, it’s meant to be what the name implies—rough. Accepting that it is going to look a bit of a mess is somewhat freeing. I gave myself permission to just run with ideas and my imagination loves it!

Sometimes when I look back at what I’ve produced I have a good giggle (Yuuki saying out of character things like “Say what now?” tend to crack me up). Being willing to be a bit silly also helps me to write quicker. That’s a big bonus when my time is at a premium right now (a lot of my free time is being taken up by helping to get out the vote for the upcoming election). Also it’s a huge morale boost to feel productive.

I’ll hopefully be able to jump deeper into the writing process in November (just in time for NaNoWriMo). The plan is to go hard during that month. If all goes well, I’ll be able to start really polishing it up by January. But first things first… just get those ideas down, knowing a lot of those words are just going to be temporary placeholders. Then I’ll see how things go.

Song Choice: What Do You Say To Taking Chances by Celine Dion

This post was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings Post, A Helping String.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I Quit! (OK, Not Really)

I’ve given up writing several times now. One of the most memorable periods of quitting started on November 9^th, 2016 (I’m fairly sure I stopped doing a lot of other things that brought me joy then too). At first, it wasn’t an entirely conscious choice to quit writing, but once I realized I had stopped, I stubbornly refused to start. When I caught myself scribbling ideas for future stories in a notebook a few weeks later, I knew that as mad and as sad as I was, I’d be writing again soon.

Since then, I’ve written a book, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t “quit” a few times before and after the damn thing was finished. Writing can be frustrating and a little isolating at times. It doesn’t always have to take a national crisis to make someone ask themselves, “What’s the point?”

I was on the verge of quitting again a couple of weeks ago when a reader reached out to me. She had purchased a physical copy of my book some time ago but hadn’t had a chance to read it until recently. Unfortunately, she had to be in a hospital recently and my book was one of the things she brought, figuring it would last her during the whole stay.

She loved it so much she finished it in a day.

The thing that moved me most was that she said that my book made what was an otherwise scary experience a little easier to bear. She even read some passages out loud to others when they asked about what she was reading.

I have no expectations of becoming some great literary icon. But if my words can shine a little light when things are dark for others, if they can give people one reason to smile when there are so many reasons not to…well, that makes me smile.

I probably will not quit this week. I may not quit this month. But when sadness and anxiety manage to get the upper hand on me, I’ll read those messages again, as well as what she said on Amazon and Goodreads. 

And then, I’ll get to writing.   

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Song Choice: Don't Give Up by Peter Gabriel featuring Kate Bush

This post was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings, What Makes You Smile?

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

For the Honor of House Driks

According to their religion, my kids became adults at their B’nai Mitzvah. But to truly be seen as an adult around here, a child must make a meal. Darling Youngest has been gleefully diving into baking as well as cooking during the pandemic. The Darling Eldest however has managed to shirk off anything more involved than boxed mac n’ cheese—at least until now.

The last week has seen some pretty rough times for a bunch of my friends. Their stories are not mine to tell, but when the going gets tough, the Drikses get cooking. Darling Eldest was feeling particularly frustrated by his inability to help, so my husband suggested that he cook a meal for a family. Not just any meal, but the legendary Driks meatloaf, which has been passed down on my husband’s side for a couple of generations and is one of the most anticipated meals by several families when we vacation together.

In some ways, this was a big treat for my husband. As much as he loves to cook, he loves it even more when someone is in the kitchen cooking with him. And getting to teach one of his offspring a meal that has a place in family lore is a double bonus.

I think Darling Eldest might have been a wee bit intimidated by both the manic gleam in my husband's eye and taking on such a well-loved family meal. But after getting some grumbling out of the way, he showed up in the kitchen, ready to learn. 

As with creating the perfect cast, to make the perfect meatloaf, you've got to get loose.

(Fun fact, Darling Eldest's name was partially inspired by this movie.)

To (only) his shock, it came out quite well. He was so impressed with himself that he made a second meatloaf the very next day, this one to keep for ourselves as we celebrated his second by-line. I don’t think he’s in a hurry to tackle the equally as legendary Driks challah bread any time soon. But in this time of Covid when things to celebrate are far and few between, at least my Darling Eldest now knows he can put together some tasty comfort food both for himself and anyone who could use a bit of comforting.

Song Choice: What else, but Eye to Eye from the Goofy Movie

This blog post was created as a response to the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Writing About Food.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

I told my husband to never doubt a Latina’s love when she is willing to go 8 days in her own home without rice. My husband is Jewish, and one of his big holidays is Passover. Someone once described Passover to me as “Jewish Thanksgiving” (a popular meme describes it as “They tried to kill us. They failed. Let’s eat.”) But it’s hard for me to work up thankfulness (or enthusiasm) for 8 days of no bread, rice, or beans. Not to mention the work that goes into prepping the house.

To say this year was different is an understatement. To start, the boisterous gathering that is the Passover seder was off. Going on a treasure hunt for toilet paper and other basics also took priority over hunting through multiple stores for Passover specific foodstuff.

Have I fantasized about skipping Passover before this? OK, yeah. But not like this.

We didn’t do any major preparation. We didn’t bother to use up the explicitly non-kosher for Passover food beforehand. But we did joke that despite not having the things that made it a traditional Passover, in some ways this was the most Passover-y Passover ever. We had to make do with whatever kind of food we could find—a tiny roast, one box of matzoh, apple sauce instead of haroset for example. There was a literal plague we were hoping would pass over our house. And do not get me started on the stand-in for the Pharaoh.

A seder did end up happening over Zoom. As expected, we got extreme close-ups of the ears and noses of the folks who weren’t as used to technology as others. We went with a very simplified version of the seder to make things easier. But the interaction between family was still warm and lively. And the singing…well, the singing was as it always was, with all the gusto and heart of the Von Trapp family. None of pitch or tone mind you, but all the heart, and volume fueled by four cups of wine.

You know, this year I didn’t mind it so much. But I’ll still be sneaking rice when no one is looking. Can’t let it go to waste.

We did manage to score delicious macaroons
in a Marvelous Mrs. Maisel tin. With all the time I saved
not doing Passover prep, I made masks.

Song Choice: OK this is a lot longer than one song, but I couldn't not mention the Saturday Night Passover Seder which is raising money for the CDC. There's a lot of fun music, funny bits, and my husband was really moved by it.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Who Makes Friends During a Quarantine?

When my kids were small, our family had a joke that if we had plans to go anywhere, Darling Eldest needed two weeks advance notice and Darling Youngest should only be told once they were buckled in the car seat. Darling Youngest has always been super social, wanting to be in the thick of every gathering and wanting to be there NOW. We used to call them “The Mayor” based on how easily they made friends and end up knowing pretty much everyone wherever we went.

Darling Youngest at the prom, just a couple of weeks ago.

As you may have guessed, the last couple of weeks have been tough on them. It wasn’t too bad when school got cancelled one day, but when it turned into a week (and now at least two weeks) they weren’t amused. Then the plans for a big birthday sleepover had to be scrapped. The local malls closed. The clubs that meant so much to them canceled events. No more all-day Dungeons & Dragons sessions at friends’ homes. No more wandering around town.

There were tears. And a bit of screaming.

Although my introverted self could not relate, I still felt bad for them. I spent a little time trying to find fun things to do. I tracked down some neat concerts, virtual museum visits, and performances from theater kids after they retreated to their bedroom in a huff. But when they came out again, they were quite excited.

One of their favorite influencers on Instagram, Jessi Paege, started encouraging her followers to start group chats to support each other. Darling Youngest made several new friends right away and has been happily texting them back and forth since then.

At first I thought, “Leave it to the Mayor to come out of this with a bunch of new friends.” And while that’s true, I thought of all the cool things I found researching and how wonderfully adaptive people are in finding creative ways to connect. I don’t know how long this will last, or how bad it will end up being. But I know that ways exist to keep connecting, keep living, in spite of it all, and that is a comfort.

Who makes friends during a quarantine? Anyone who'd like to.

Song Choice: This video of folks in Italy singing together

This post was created for Poets and Storytellers United’s Weekly Scribblings: Hypophora and All That. Come and connect with us there. Also, you may want to keep an eye on my Facebook page and Instagram. I might try my hand at video readings to do my part at making this period of time feel a little bit less isolating. How are you keeping yourself occupied? Tell me all about it in the comments.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Cosplay on!

I’ve always admired the geektasticness of cosplay. For those of you not as steeped in nerdiness as I am, cosplay is when folks dress in costumes meant to resemble their favorite characters in film, television, comics, books, etc. (here’s a quick little video to give you some visuals). Cosplay can be seen as a tribute of sorts to those works of art that inspire the cosplayer in some way.

The first time I cosplayed was my senior year in college with my then boyfriend (now husband).

We went as Green Arrow and Black Canary
as we both were really into that series back then.

I really haven’t done much cosplaying since then, because it can be a time consuming (as well as money consuming) hobby. But quite recently, my whole family is in planning mode. An honorary niece has a Bat Mitzvah coming up, and she has asked that her guests come in cosplay.

We’ve been joking around a bit about who we should dress up as. I’ve trying to convince my husband that Miss Crumble (Daybreak) and Koro-sensei (Assassination Classroom) could be a very workable couples' costume as they are both dedicated educators (who also happen to be batty). Darling Youngest is lobbying for something Steven Universe based (they want to be Steven and thought the hubby and I could be Greg Universe and Amethyst…they really don’t care what their older sibling does). The hubby would like to consider more options. Darling Eldest is in the middle of college classes but will probably figure out something during spring break.

I do know for sure what one of the cosplays will be. The Bat Mitzvah girl is a big reader and she wanted to base her cosplay around a short story she really liked…one of mine! The kiddo is going as Cordelia from “Make Mischief Not War”, from my short story collection, The Trouble with Wanting and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales.

Yeah, I got misty-eyed. This is kind of bucket-list territory for me, having someone like one of my characters that much. I’m going to be so stoked to see “Cordelia” swing dancing in a ballroom.

Song Choice: Talk Nerdy to Me

So are there any cosplayers out there? Any suggestions for costume ideas? Feel free to make them in the comments section.

This blog post was created for Weekly Scribblings #7: This is a Tribute

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Corgi and the Ramp

We aren’t 100% sure of how old our Kit is. The rescue organization estimated he was about 3, and we’ve had him for 6 years. That puts him at 9. Like our first dog, Faye, he’s a corgi. But unlike Faye, he’s lazy. He was a whopping 45 pounds when we adopted him, compared to Faye’s top weight at 19 pounds. And also unlike Faye, who was notoriously picky, Kit eats like he’s unsure of his next meal.

Corgis can develop back problems when they are too heavy. Despite our best efforts to whittle down his weight, things came to a head this last holiday season. We don’t know what his life was like before he came to us, but we do know he’s terrified of loud noises—whether it’s loud laughter, expressions of disgust during video games, or teen bickering. When things get noisy, Kit likes to retreat into our bedroom. The trouble is, that’s on the second floor. After a week of going up and down stairs several times a day, he was done.

The vet said it was vertebral disc injury, but it was too soon to tell how bad it was. His stomach wasn’t doing so great either, so mild meds, acupuncture, and rest (no stairs) were recommended. We got him a ramp to deal with the last issue.

He wasn’t keen on it at first. We tried to tempt him into using it by setting it up to go to the window seat. If he couldn’t chase squirrels, at least he’d be able to bark at them. He sniffed but refused to trust the odd new addition. We want to keep him less pudgy, but he was getting better enough to be sassy and try jumping up and down off things. Low-cal rewards were clearly the lesser evil. And it worked. 

I need to be fast folding it out, because he can be impatient and try a leap he has no business attempting. Still I’m thrilled that the acupuncture is working so well, and even more miraculously he doesn’t seem to mind it. We’ll still need to keep an eye on his back, but hopefully he has plenty of squirrel chasing years ahead of him.

Kit near his downstairs dog bed, wondering what I am doing.

Song Choice: Jump by Van Halen

This essay is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings #4

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The King of the Bus Stop: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 45

I thought I knew what stubborn was, but that was before we rescued Kit. Oh I knew corgis could be stubborn, thanks to my first dog, Faye. But Kit has taken corgi stubbornness and elevated to a Michelangelo level of artistry.

Nowhere is this more obvious than at around 8:30 am every morning. You see that’s the time the elementary school bus comes around our neighborhood. And Kit knows that not only is the bus stop filled with children lining up to rub his belly, he knows the bus driver always has treats on hand for any dogs that happen to be around.

This is slightly mortifying for me as my children are well past elementary school age. There is no reason to be at the stop. But if Kit just sees one child heading in that direction, he will tug on his leash until my husband or I bring him there. This dog, who is known for the most part to be a lazy fellow, will sprint if he hears the bus coming down the block. He has also been known to have an attitude if we are late getting him out and he misses the bus.

It’s gotten so bad that every time Kit sees a bus, he assumes it’s his bus and won’t budge unless its proven otherwise (the bus drives past with no one paying any attention to him and no treats getting tossed his way).

While this can be very exasperating, especially when I’m trying to get him to take care of business quickly between errands, I can’t stay annoyed for long. I remember how shy he was when we first adopted him, a few months after Faye passed away. He grew to love and trust us, and we were grateful for his cuddly derpiness after what had been a sad time in our lives. I don’t know why his previous owners gave him up, but I’m glad he’s part of our family now. A little stubbornness now and then is a very small price to pay for that.

If I stay perfectly still
maybe I'll get a cookie

This essay is linked to Poets United Pantry of Prose and Poetry

Song Choice: Whenever I see Kit waiting for a bus I often imagine the Wells Fargo Wagon song from the Music Man playing in his head.

Week Off

This last week was extra crazy because of my darling youngest's wisdom tooth surgery (well, teeth actual, all 4 wisdom teeth + one molar) and general holiday tomfoolery. I'll be doing BAwR again next week. For now I'll be sleeping off the turkey coma.

Zzzzzzz...

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Best Worst Thing: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 39

When my high school sweetheart told me he wanted to break up with me "to date more classically beautiful women" it came as something of a blow. Yeah, even after people told me that high school relationships don't last, and that goes double for ones that turn into long distance things when people go off to college. What can I say? I was kind of clueless when I was young. There were warning signs things weren't rock solid between us, but it took that pronouncement to make things 100% clear it was over.

Of course I cried. I raged. My grades wobbled (the death blow arrived right before finals). Meals came and went untouched. Then one day I took a deep breath and looked at the new reality I found myself in. I didn't have to run back home every weekend anymore. I could be part of college life on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. I started to realize there was a whole side of myself I never let myself explore, because I had made some pretty big assumptions about what I thought my life was going to be like. 

I took art classes. I liked them enough to decide to minor in them. I started learning about religious traditions other than the one I was born into. I kept exploring them for years afterwards until I could admit to myself my path was more something to be sought by starlight than from a church pew. I started talking to the guy who lived one floor below me in the dorms. He was funny, sweet, and always had a mug of coffee ready for me. Dear reader, I married him. Today we're celebrating the birthday of our oldest child and we'll be married 25 years next May.

That I ever hoped that I could patch things up with my ex seems hysterical now. The other thing that's funny--he's the one who wanted to be a writer back then. Yeah, sometimes your world ends, but that can end up being the best worst thing that can happen.

Song Choice: So Much Better from the musical Legally Blonde

This article was created for Poets United's Moonlight Musings. So dear Groovers, care to talk about some of your best worst things? Let's chat about in the comments section!

By Rommy Cortez-Driks