Today’s Positive Adjective:
Vivacious: lively in temper, conduct, or spirit,  Sprightly

My Dearest Mama,

I hope this letter finds you well. It distresses me to realize it has now been many months since I last wrote to you, and I am truly sorry for my lapse. As you no doubt have heard, I have been afflicted with the melancholia which has, at times, confined me to my bed for extended periods.

My recovery has been in no small measure, attributable to Mr. Sorenson. His attentiveness has, I am convinced, been the sole reason my illness was not much prolonged. He is most devoted, and I fear his attention must have kept him from more pressing business matters, although he assures me this is not the case.

I confess to you that my previous disdain for Mr. Sorenson has been completely reversed. Indeed, where once I perceived him as cavalier, petty, and frivolous, I now see the truth of his character. He is in my estimation, the epitome of kindness and concern for his fellow man. I have come to appreciate his intense optimism, his cheerful disposition, and his vivacious will. I finally understand why my beloved Jacques considered him a brother.

My grief at Jacques untimely death has eased somewhat. Though I doubt I shall ever think of him without pain and profound sorrow. I weep daily for the loss of the years of marital bliss we once envisioned and for the children it denied us.

Now that my health has improved Mr. Sorenson has proposed a trip to the seashore. While I am concerned with the exertions of such an adventure, he further suggested that you and perhaps Annabelle might be persuaded to join me. The very thought of seeing you has lifted my spirits beyond measure. If you were able to make yourself available, I would rejoice at the reunion. I will write Annabelle directly to see if suitable arrangements can be made.

I am eager for your reply.

Your loving daughter,

Edna
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Urbane: notably polite or polished in manner

Sorcha didn’t remember when she first met Alastair. He somehow appeared, lurking in the background. He rarely spoke to anyone, and when he did his words were laced with bitterness. But when they asked, he would play his guitar and sing. It was the reason everyone attended these events.

Captivating and complex he embodied contradictions. Sorcha saw sorrow in his eyes, even when he sang of love. A consummate performer, his had crafted his ad-lib comments honing them over the years for maximum entertainment value. He was urbane, funny, melodious, and the crowd loved him.

When the applause died, and his encores completed, he returned to the background to fight the bitterness, alone.

__________________________________________
Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Transpicuous: clearly seen through or understood

Erivana knew she was in the hospital, but she couldn’t remember why. The doctor on his morning rounds said there was an accident. There was a knot on her left temple, otherwise, she felt fine. Still, there was something —

Banishing the uneasy sensation, she flipped the sheet back. She didn’t intend to stay a moment longer than necessary, and it was time to go. She needed to—Erivana paused. Well, she would remember when she got home. An image flickered. Bright sunny windows with a lake view. She grasped at the vision as it faded. She closed her eyes.

“Relax,” a strange voice instructed her. Startled, the sight vanished. She looked around but the room was empty.

“Damn,” she said. She swung her feet over the edge and the room began a slow rotation. Her fingers clenched the fabric forming a tight, crumpled ball. Swallowed hard, breathing in ragged gasps, she fought to regain her bearings.

“Deep breaths,” the voice said.

“Yes, yes.”

The spinning slowed and stopped as she focused on the needle embedded in her right hand. She picked at the tape holding it in place and traced the tubing which tethered her to the IV pole. She thought about pulling it, but they would frown and delay her discharge. Far wiser to play the game. Steadier now, she grabbed the pole.

“Better safe than sorry,” she stated as she eased toward the edge and stood.

An alarm sounded and Erivana fought the dizziness trying to understand.

“What are you doing?” the nurse screeched as she rushed into the room. “You can’t be out of bed. Sit,” she commanded.

“I, I needed to use the bathroom,” she said, only half lying.

“I’ll get you a bedpan.”

Erivana crinkled her nose and took two defiant steps. Having announced her intention, she would complete her mission.

The nurse faltered unsure of how to proceed. Erivana pushed forward while the alarm buzzed.

“All right then,” she punched a button on the footboard, silencing the noise and grabbed Erivana’s elbow.

Later, after being tucked safely in bed and promising not to get up alone, she considered her predicament. She would have to remember more than her name, phone number, and address. The doctor had asked a battery of questions and she had answered most without understanding how she knew the answer. He said, her memory might be restored in a flash, in pieces, or perhaps never. She needed them soon if she was to complete—.

“Complete what?” she wondered.

“I’ll help you,” the voice said.

“Who are you?”

“You’re right, you must remember. Can you see your apartment?”

“My apartment?”

“Yes, the memory from earlier.”

“That was my apartment?” she asked, but guessed it was true.

“Yes. Return there. Locate the key. It will become more transpicuous with each visit.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

There was no response.

“Some help you are,” she muttered.

She imagined the windows again, the brilliant light flooding the room and sparkling on the waves. She drifted, a force pulled her, and she didn’t resist. It deposited her in front of the giant panes. Erivana held her hands before her stepping closer. Her bare feet touched warm hardwood floors as she inched closer.

She gasped as her fingertips brushed the glass.

“How is this possible? I am in a hospital bed,” she said as she pressed her palms flat against the unyielding surface.

“It is real,” she marveled.

Her reflection regarded her with pity.

“You really have lost your memory,” the image said.

Erivana placed both hands over her face. It wasn’t logical.

“It is enough for now. Sleep. Regain your strength.”

She peeked through her fingers, to find herself once again in the hospital bed.

“I’m mad,” she whispered as she turned off the light before falling asleep.

A figure took corporal form and moved to her side. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and traced the goose egg beneath.

“You are not crazy. You are special and heroic, and I owe you my life. We all do. Tomorrow you will be stronger, and when you are well enough, you’ll find your memory. Then it will be clear. I pray it will come in time.”
__________________________________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer

 

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Sedulous: involving or accomplished with careful perseverance

Costas was the black sheep of the family. He didn’t fit the family’s mold. His parents fostered a competitive drive in the children. They encouraged them to take part in every prestigious extra-curricular activity and demanded the highest grades. The goal was to achieve admittance to the most renowned colleges. They applied the same exacting criteria the children’s colleges, their jobs, and their lives.

They pushed Costas disappointed that he didn’t surpass the family’s ideals. Costas didn’t lack intelligence, to the contrary, he scored higher on the standardized test than his brothers and sisters and they, therefore, expected stellar performances from him. He didn’t understand their urgency, their mad dash from one requirement to the next. Costas preferred a less hectic, uncomplicated life.

When his grandmother died, she left her estate to her grandchildren. His brothers and sisters were interested in her cash. Her house and the acreage surrounding it had fallen into disrepair. The old Georgian mansion had been her home for fifty years. She had closed most of the residence after her husband passed and opted to occupy the front parlor, while the adjacent music room became her bedroom. Later, she added a small refrigerator, microwave, and a hot plate to the butler’s pantry, saying the kitchen was too far away.

The family accessed the old home as a tear-down, a building not worth saving. The cost of rehabbing let alone maintaining the site was daunting. It would be a colossal waste of money they said.  But Costas disagreed. He bought out his sibling’s interest, keeping the land and the house, while they fought over the remaining assets.

Costas closed the rusted gate which had once been the grand entrance to the estate and drove his jeep down the overgrown allée. He recognized the design’s magnificence. Long ago, manicured grounds lined the graveled drive as it turned and dipped, providing tantalizing peeks of the stately home. He planned to see it restored. How he would accomplish the feat was a mystery to him.

He wondered at his folly as he unlocked the front door and discovered it was swollen shut. He walked around the mansion, stepping over fallen slate roof tiles and detoured past vast bramble patches. The ancient servants’ entrance granted him access. The mansion’s dark, shuttered rooms overflowed with furniture draped with sheets to protect the pieces from the mile-high accumulation of dust. Cobwebs loomed, formidable sentries who challenged his every step. Costas bravely advanced.

The ensuing months found him working late into the night to devise a plan. He devoted his weekends to inventories, assessments and prioritizing the jobs vital for the home’s preservation and tabled the jobs which would have to wait. Securing the estate had depleted his finances, and he knew he needed to finance the endless work. He turned his attention to his fallow land. A local farmer agreed to lease acreage for crop production which provided funds. Next on his list was restoring the vineyards and orchards and upgrading miles of pasture fencing. He arranged a loan to repair and replace the expansive slate roof and prayed his calculations were accurate so he could repay the loan.

With sedulous planning, Costas made steady progress. He ran into setbacks, but they didn’t stop him. The community supported his efforts and were valuable resources. They provided guidance and supplied him with solutions from historical lore.

The mansion gained national acclaim. Artisans offered their skills with the restoration. Local businesses approached him with novel ideas for partnerships and soon they boasted a first-class restaurant, an art gallery, and became a popular venue for celebrations. As the estate blossomed, Costas’ payroll expanded as he hired people to run the estate’s various activities.

Costas hosted an annual family reunion to mark the anniversary of his grandmother’s death. Initially, they were small gatherings, but each year the event’s importance grew. Costas labored with love to pay homage to his legacy. His dedication and his drive impressed his family. He defined new family values and the once black sheep became a shining example.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Refulgent: a radiant or resplendent quality or state, Brilliance

Errol only ever wanted one thing from life. He wanted to fly. Not like Neil Armstrong but closer to Icarus. His answer was the hang glider. He studied, earned his wings and left the confines of the earth whenever he could.

He trekked to the top of the mountain and strapped on his gear. The wind enticed him, calling him to his flight. One final check and Errol leaped. Under a vivid refulgent sky, Errol broke gravity’s grasp and flew free.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Quixotic: foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals especially, marked by rash lofty romantic ideas or extravagantly chivalrous action

Maul was an exceptional man. Large well-developed shoulders, sculpted abs and toned quadriceps attested to the hours spent in the gym. He towered above most men and his formidable appearance caused many to avoid him. The respect he commanded carried a price. Forged in the fire of self-preservation, Maul trained in self-defense, marshaling his strength and his anger.

He remembered when things were different when his life dangled over the abyss. Only his will to survive saved him. He had been a small frail child, happy and surrounded with love until he went to school. The trouble began when the teacher called attendance, asking the children to stand and introduce themselves to the class. Meredith Alison Lacey the fourth, stood. Jeers, laughter and snide comments from his classmates filled the classroom. She tried to silence the uproar, then ordering him to sit, she hurried to the next name on her list.

The day marked the start of his miserable life. Throughout school, Meredith endured hateful jokes, pranks, and ridicule. Battered, bruised and bullied, he determined they would not break him. When he was ten, they nearly killed him. A ruptured spleen and a broken arm sent him to the hospital for emergency surgery. He would never be the same.

Rehab introduced him to his mentor and together they developed his physic. Back at school, he won against the bullies, and they tried to move on to terrorize others. He earned his name by defending their new targets. Maul determined they would not suffer as he once had.

Maul became the quixotic bad guy. He launched himself on a quest to protect those who couldn’t fight against intimidation. He turned into the lovable brute, the minority of one intent on righting wrongs and converting those whose goal was to persecute and oppress.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer