An Unexpected Trip...

Hector's trip to India was not turning out as he had anticipated. Coming to India had been a life long dream of his. Even as a boy, he'd don his khaki vest and grab the machete he'd made from cardboard and packing tape and would bush whack his way through old man Sorensen's elaborate garden. Old man Sorensen was the meanest old man alive, Hector was sure of this. All he cared about was that garden. Hector was able to spy on the old man a few times, watching him walk the garden, gently talking to the plants as if they were alive. When he came across the trails Hector had made with his "machete", you'd think the old man was going to explode from the contorted purple his face would turn. Hector would then imagine himself spying on a warrior scouting party- stealthily retreated deeper into the wood. If the Sorensen cat happened to be in the garden, it became an elusive Bengal tiger... if he happened to actually get close to the cat, that elusive quality quickly became paw at his trouser pockets friendly hoping for that bit of liver pate he'd brought along to help him survive getting hopelessly lost in the jungle amongst the wisteria in the back left corner of the property. Old man Sorensen would eventually discover his trespassing once again, and as he was chased out of the garden by the surprisingly spry for his age old man, Hector would imagine that the warrior scouting party had finally discovered him and were chasing him across crocodile filled rivers and through ancient temple grounds.

 Hector went on to become a luggage salesman, placing every tip he received into his own travel fund. After 10 years of savings, he had exactly 34 dollars in the tin. So it was with some surprise when he received a visit from old man Sorensen's estate lawyer telling him that the old man had left him some funds and a travel itinerary. Hector wasted no time and the following afternoon he was on a train with India on the horizon. The itinerary that Sorensen had provided was detailed and thorough. He'd walked the spice markets- where it felt as if he were really using his senses for the very first time in his life. He'd toured ancient temples- more exotic in real life than he could have ever imagined while playing in an English country garden. He was touched that old man Sorensen had been so thoughtful and generous to him, of all people. As he sat on a bus heading deep into India's green heart, Hector smiled to himself thinking how much he'd misunderstood the old man. He supposed that the old man must have enjoyed having a little life injected into what seemed like a very dull existence.

Survival

Palms sweating- heart pounding. I weigh the risks. My family needs food. They are going to starve up there if I don't bring something back. Sure, I could stay close to the nest- and forage what little scraps I could find along the path that the wild dogs haven't picked up for themselves yet. But the little one needs real nourishment... and that means going out and across. The dangers are great. I must use all my senses to stay alive. ...stay alive. That is the goal of everyday here. Every second. I can't trust anyone or anything in this jungle... NOW is the moment and I sprint out into the open! Time seems to speed up and stop altogether at the same time. I run- I dodge- I made it... Food is plentiful on this side. My child will eat tonight. I allow myself to feel triumphant for a few seconds before I turn around and plan my return trip. I hate crossing the streets in Bangkok.

Pink.

Pink. Her life had been defined by pink- and she loved it. The day she was born, the first color to touch her infant skin was a pink blanket which was quickly followed by pink booties and hat. Her first steps were taken while wearing a pink sun dress. Pink ribbons adorned her pig tails the first day of school. Pink lipstick saw her through her first kiss. Pink flowers held by pink bridesmaids walked her down the isle. And she looked forward to the day she could bring her own pink bundle home from the hospital. But life had other plans.

Blue... blue tennis shoes, blue baseball caps, blue toy cars littered her living room after giving birth to boy after boy. Three sons. No time for pink lipstick or pink ribbons anymore, she lived in blue jeans as she spent her days wrestling, playing soccer and making mud pies. Blue homemade Valentines adorned her fridge. Her life seemed to now be defined by blue- and she loved it. Yet her heart still yearned for pink.

Month after month... little pink negative signs seemed to taunt her. She began to hate pink. The pink scrubs of the nurses at the fertility clinic. The pink walls of the doctors office. Pink became the color of her failure- the color of disappointment.

Her husband held her as she cried. His heart broke for her. He wanted to be able to give her everything her heart desired. He knew he couldn't fix the ache, but he could try. She came home one night to a pink suitcase packed with pink lingerie. He made sure there were pink roses in the hotel room. Pink champagne on ice. Pink bathrobes at the spa. In her suitcase she had even found that her sons had each snuck in a picture they had drawn with pink crayons. She was loved and pink was there to proclaim it. Pink found it's way back into her heart.

Six weeks later, a pink positive sign filled her vision. Ultrasounds later confirmed a pink shopping spree was in order. Nine months flew by in a pink blur. Hospital bags packed with three tiny pink outfits, each picked out by a brother, were loaded into the car. The day had finally arrived! Thirty six hours of hard labor. She didn't understand it. Her sons had never been this much trouble. Worry and fear were etched on the nurses faces. Something was wrong. The umbilical cord. It was wrapped around the neck. The baby wasn't breathing. ...blue... her daughter was blue. The room spun. This can't be... this can't be happening. Her husband stood glued to her side- too scared to go over to the doctors encircling his new born daughter. He reached over and embraced his sobbing wife, burying her face into his chest. A cry. A shivering cry pierced the air. She yanked her face up, tears streaming down her cheeks- her heart leaping. The group of doctors opened up and she saw her daughter, her face tinged blue gasp for air between cries bringing a blush to her cheeks- it was the lovliest shade of pink she'd ever seen.

gwen.

I knew I loved you when the thought of you first entered my mind. I never tire of watching you... the only time I feel complete is when you are in my arms. I ache for you- I wish I could cradle you for eternity. I am fascinated by you... your smile, your laugh, your impish sense of humor. You challenge me, you strengthen me. I would be rudderless without you. You anchor me to life in a way you will never understand. You are joy unbound- like wind stirring the leaves. You are mine and I am yours, daughter.

a small bio about small things...

The middle daughter of four children, Ellie grew up adept at manuvuering between the personalities of her siblings. She has a history of feeling unseen, and she turns to writing to find her voice. Her childhood was filled with days spent outside- her imagination giving mundane objects new life and purpose. More at home sitting in a tree than in a crowd of people, Ellie struggles with connecting at times. Tending to become overly emotional when talking, writing provided her an outlet to be able to speak without tripping or getting caught on spoken words. Ellie has traveled and read extensively, and her work is inspired by what she sees around her. She is currently living under a rock in North Idaho and spends her free time hunting down the perfect coral lipstick.