New short story CHELSEA - Getting to B's in the pouring rain - Best Iced Coffee Ever!

For about a month I've wanted to write a story called CHELSEA. In nearby Fulmor Heights, there's a street named Chelsea, so it's been on my mind. The story is more ambitious than others I've written so I needed a good space of time and the magic potion of coffee.

Went to Starbucks at the Giant and said with my wee little questioning voice, Dyou have iced coffee?

Then of course you must choose your size.... medium, please... no room for cream ... and there she was with a tantalizing green straw.

  I began sipping right away, just as at home, Monsieur Hummingbird was sipping at the feeder.

Got a good pic of the little guy but - you guessed it - ignorance has forbidden me from uploading it.

I'm composing downstairs on Red Couch. Upstairs I couldn't get onto my blog. But one slip onto the whatchamacallit and the whole thing is erased. Luckily I'm not a heart surgeon.

There was a great documentary on tonight about Arab Americans. One day, said one, I was an ordinary American, and then after 9/11, I'm a terrorist.

I begin the Chelsea story, loaded down with pretzels and peanuts, and that sensational coffee. First I've gotta name all my characters.

And research the Vietnam War.



What if you found her lying there?

So I'm getting a nice start last night, stopping at a place where I can pick up after breakfast on the day of The Beehive.

I realize how much I enjoy writing. But when I pick up next morning I think, Well, it's all here but the writing is awful.

That's why we have drafts.

The words and ideas flowed nicely.

Time stops when I write. My former BF Chris Ray said the same thing about his "Vision Forged in Iron," the name of the story I wrote about him for Art Matters.

Scott and I watched a film called The Leisure Seeker with Helen Mirren and Donald Sutherland. He's now 83 and she's 73.



A really terrible film, but fun to watch.

They each play Americans tho he's Canadian and she's British.

Was trying to get the end of Chelsea right - how I labored over the last two grafs - and I finally got it.

Stuffed everything in my Canvas Bag and set out. Raindrops peppered the porch steps.

Got halfway down the street, it was raining more, stopped my car, looked into the back seat to make sure I'd brought my work.

Of course. What brain quirk is dat?

In five more minutes, my wipers are going top speed. I turn off the radio so I can concentrate on rolling off the road and dying.

Which was worse? Walking home from Staples for two hours and fearing a heat stroke or this?

This.

Whenever I stopped at a light, I was terrified about slipping n sliding when I pressed the accelerator. Plus Scott told me my car needs an alignment. (Scheduled for next Tuesday.)

EARLY MORNING VIEWS

Wet cars
wet street and driveways
shimmering male hummingbird at feeder

Wearing my best sneaks
I set off, WRTI on the
bedroom radio

Waiting to come home and
finish the latest Jack Reacher novel
the girl fought in Afghanistan
her addictions were two
fentynal and heroin

Garbage waits patiently
on curb as our Upper Moreland
green trash trucks are let
out of the starting gate
near the high school

Breakfast awaits and cuppa
green tea supposedly good
for aging brains

Just 10 minutes of exercise
said a new fitness guru
on PBS last night

Steven? You can write him directly.
After you said dat, I rode my
stationery bike, thinking
about the coming of the new day
or worst case scenario - he's
a cardiologist - a quick tumble
off bike onto purple carpet.