Morning Anticipation

Anticipation to be

To be heard

To be liked 

is no longer a worry

I am eager 

to tell my story.

To write any story,

poem or just a rant 

about the larger things of life, 

to watch the ink spill onto the page,

the curls of cursive lettering 

becoming words, 

then sentences and paragraphs, 

shaping scenes out of ideas in my head.

I will not wait 

for some great publishing day, 

or believe in becoming 

a world famous author.

Each morning, I anticipate 

the opportunity to write.

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think 

because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, 

there was a moment just before you began to eat it that was better 

than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.”

~A.A.Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

"Display" - EAGER ~ Theme December 2025

 

Endings are….

Anticipation to…..

Gracing the……..

Embracing more….

Running with….

“My mother cranes her neck. Her ability to be 

fascinated by things is her best gift to me.”

Gary Shteyngart, Little Failure

Chapter Two, Episode Seventy-Five - Long Road Back - Situationally Theirs

Long Road Back

Snow had dumped on the little town of Innocence for three days. Thomas Digby had been out every day, clearing the walk to his front door. His neighbours cleared across the front. Town bylaws stated that residents had to keep sidewalks clear in the front of their properties. Even though it was town property! There were days when he continued on to meet up with George Harwell from next door. The air punctuated with frozen puffs, they leaned on their shovels, complained about the snow, city bylaws, decided on the politics of the day and talked about the seed catalogues that would be arriving. Their wives called it 'hot air', minimizing their serious discussions about what really mattered. But they laughed and threw their wives’ chatter at their hen parties back at them. Returning to his front porch, he leaned his old red shovel up against the wall where he kept it, ready for the next snow fall. “I’m getting too old for this. James really was the smart one. Staying on the Island where snow comes and goes before there’s enough to shovel.” The aroma of fresh coffee greeting him when he opened the front door. “Sonja! Anything to eat with that coffee?” 

From the back of the house came “Don’t know, Thomas. You’ll have to look and see what’s left in our cupboards. When are you going to pack?”  Multicoloured toque with earflaps and ridiculous looking pompom thrown aside, he took his heavy gloves and big parka off. Hanging the parka up, the gloves went the way of his toque. Muttering he said “If that toque hadn’t been made by George’s granddaughter…………” Following his wife’s directions, he headed to the kitchen, got out two mugs and began a hunt for something to snack on. Cupboard doors opening and closing, he finally found a half empty box of stale cookies. “Good thing we’re going out for supper tonight.” More muttering.

“Thom, are you sure the roads will be ok in the morning? It’s pretty piled up out there.” Sonja had never been all that thrilled about winter travel unless it was in a snowmobile and only about ten miles out of town. Coming back to hot drinks and a warm fire with two other couples for a cosy, fun evening was much better. But…Thom needed to see his brother again, his home again. And he promised much warmer weather and maybe even snowdrops and daffodils poking their heads out of the ground. 

~~~~~

Weeks before, James awoke still thinking of Thom’s letters. Martha, already up, had left him to sleep. He could hear her in the kitchen rattling around getting their breakfast ready. He had up on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and rubbed his face, daring his eyes to open. It had been a late night, but he faintly remember the ping of his laptop. Or had he just imagined it. Wishful thinking he and his brother still had their …..what did they call it……. ‘brain lines’? Martha had put his plaid housecoat at the end of the bed, his slippers on the floor. “Such a sweet woman.” He  shook his head. “Why did I wait so long to marry her?” Hands on his knees, he pushed himself up, shaking off the call of the warm blankets. Housecoat on, he tidied his hair, slipped on his slippers went into the hall. “You up, James? Your tea’s ready and the porridge is just about done.”

“I’ll be right there, dear. I just have to check something in the office.” The next thing Martha heard was her name being called. “Oh, my goodness! James are you all right? I’m coming right away!” She had been stirring the porridge when he called. Flipping off the switch, she pushed the pot off the burner and at a run she went to her husband. “James! James! Are you all right?……….James?” There he was, his computer opened to his email. “Here, Martha, read this. It’s from Thomas. They’re coming….he and his wife Sonja!” Turning to his wife, his face as excited as she’d seen him since their wedding day, he said “He’s actually coming home! I’ll print out this email when I get to work. I’ll have to tell Cook there will be company. He won’t know anyone anymore. Well except me and Samuel. I’ll have to tell Samuel. Has Miss Dez moved into your house yet? Or will we put them up in the big house?”

“James, James….slow down. Come, sit down with me for breakfast. They can stay with us. We do have a guest room.” James switched off his computer. “You are quite right. I must not have been awake and settled just yet. Forgive my excitement, dear.” Composed now, he ran his hand over his hair and straightened his housecoat. Martha smiled at his obvious discomfort. She took his hand and led him like a child to the kitchen. 

~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, James was distracted from Estate business and always finding things that needed fixing or painting. In the first week, Emelina just thought he was doing an inventory. Elizabeth was a bit more concerned; she thought there was something more to his constant inspection of everything. “Martha, what is going on with James?! He comes out of his office muttering, always closes and locks the door behind him. He never does that except when he’s going out. Then he starts. All through the kitchen - ‘these cupboards need painting, the table looks old and we should get a new one…I’ll have to talk to Miss Emelina about it.’ Then he goes in the mud room…. ‘I’ll have to tell Martha that it needs a good clean.’ Then it’s out to the veranda. I don’t know what needs fixing or painting out there. He takes a clipboard with him and is scribbling on it as he goes back to his office. Barely taking notice of me. If he wants coffee or tea, he takes it out here. Doesn’t take any into his office - he always takes a cup of coffee to his office.” On that day, she and Martha were talking over mugs of tea and fresh scones when Emelina was coming into the kitchen from outside. Putting her brief case down on a chair, she took a clean mug from the cupboard. “I noticed that as well, Martha. He came to me with this long list of repairs and updating that he wanted to get done in the next few weeks. If there are repairs he usually has already contacted several repairmen, set tentative dates and even has a list of supplies needed. He spaces work dates out, but this time it's different. He seems worried about something.” Martha just listened quietly, her face impassive, her amusement hidden. 

When the two women had finished expressing their concerns, she took a last sip of her tea and told them all about James’ brother. They had not seen each other for forty years, and James hadn’t heard from him for about twenty years. His brother was coming home.

“Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater.”

~ Steven L. Peck, A Short Stay in Hell

Giving a Nod

 

A shy prairie flower ~ 

    petals all askew

gives a nod to warmer days.

“It was all glimmer and warm honey in the yellow light.”

~ Patrick Rothfuss, The Slow Regard of Silent Things

Chapter One, Episode 145 - Anticipation - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update

The first couple of paragraphs were not too bad. Then, it's as though I just wasn't paying close enough attention for my final edit before posting this episode on Aug.20. Restructuring sentences with attention to over use of names and/or improper pronouns. Only one or two typo's.

To all the copy editors in the world of the written word, I salute you. What would our books be like if everyone was left to their own devices?

Anticipation

Where is the gap between 'seeing is believing' and one’s heart knowing immediately that there is always hope? When Dr. Crawford looked at all the numbers and graphs flashing across the machines that registered Mrs. Tyler’s condition, all his training said that there should be no hope. No hope that this woman would be a survivor. And yet in his heart, when he looked at her, he didn’t believe the machines. But she was so frail, her colour as white as the sheets she lay on, unable to breathe on her own. Each time he had this intuition, this gut feeling, he didn’t believe it. When Miss Green, Mrs. Tyler’s nurse, had tossed the words ‘Adoption Papers’ over her shoulder as she cared for Mrs. Tyler, Jeremy’s heart jolted. He had to be careful though. It could be they were for someone else at some other time. All of this, including Mrs. Tyler, could have nothing to do with Emelina but he had to find out before he made any phone calls. He thought all of this as he walked back to the nurses station, afraid of what he would find out. If it wasn’t what he hoped for, how would he be able to help Mrs. Tyler besides medically? If it was what he hoped for, he would have to contact Emelina and tell her. Tell her what? He looked up at the big industrial style clock - 2:15 am.  If he could get Mrs. Tyler through the night he could call Emmie in the morning. As soon as that thought filtered through his mind, he saw the emergency call light flashing from Mrs. Tyler’s room.

~~~~~

Dez and Emmie had ridden in silence most of the five miles into town. Almost as an aside that no one would answer, Emmie said “I wonder who she is and why she’s calling for me?” But Dez did answer her. “Your Dr. Crawford must know something that you don’t Emmie. He’ll tell you.” After that they were silent. Stars winked out of the fading night sky. Glowing red and gold, the early morning sun crept across the horizon awakening the sleeping city. Traffic at that early hour was light. It was just after 4:30 when they pulled into the hospital parking lot, almost empty of cars. By the Emergency department doors, an ambulance had just pulled in and was unloading a stretcher. One of the EMTs was holding up an intravenous bag as the stretcher, with its unrecognizable cargo, was steered into the ER by his partner. 

As Emmie got out of the SUV, she looked around for Jeremy. “He said he’d meet us at the front doors.” They couldn’t just run into the hospital. A security guard asked them why they were there and went through the usual questions about symptoms and travel. They could see Jeremy standing inside pacing and looking anxious. Before leaving the Covid19 unit, he had discarded the gown, mask and gloves he was wearing, donned a fresh mask and took the elevator to the main floor. The sisters were both given clean face masks at the hospital entrance. Emmie felt not only anxious, but fearful. She gripped Dez’s arm. It was good to feel her solidness. “Jeremy what’s going on?” Dez spoke up.” Yes Jeremy, why have you called us at this hour? With little explanation? Emmie is pretty worried and upset and I’m not impressed at all.”

~~~~~

Jeremy had already started shepherding them to the elevator. “I’m just grateful you’re both here. Emmie, you could have just hung up on me. Dez, you could have refused to come. I think that when you hear what I know of Mrs. Tyler’s story, you’ll understand why I called you.” While they riding up to the sixth floor, Jeremy went over all that had happened since he had come on shift. Getting report from the young doctor about patient’s numbers and conditions, talking with the nurses, making rounds and verifying Mrs. Tyler’s condition, answering the phone, staying with Mrs. Tyler for two hours trying to keep her alive, and finally returning to the nurses station. “That’s where this gets pretty sticky, Em.” He turned to her sister. “Dez, I am really glad you’re here.” The elevator stopped, its disembodied voice said “Sixth floor”; Jeremy ushered his friends into a dimly lit hallway, accompanying them to the Visitors Lounge. “I’ll be right back. I need to make sure I’m not needed and I have something I want you to see - to read. Dez, here’s some money for coffee. It’s just vending machine coffee but it’s not bad.” Jeremy disappeared into the shadowy corridor, a small, but distinct, green light over each patient's room, towards the more brightly lit nurses' station. 

“How is everything, Miss Green? Mrs. Tyler? Is she still stable?” The nurse gave him quick report. “Everyone is fine. I made rounds when you left the floor. Everyone is settled and yes, Mrs. Tyler is stable. I assume her visitors are here?” When Jeremy nodded she said “You go on to speak with them. I’ll call your pager if you’re needed.” Jeremy thanked her, picked up Mrs. Tyler’s paperwork and returned to the visitors room. He had thought long and hard about whether to show Emmie the papers, concerned about Mrs.Tyler’s confidentiality. But Mrs. Tyler had the picture of this young girl, with Emelina’s name on the back of it and Mrs. Tyler’s condition was precarious. Emmie paced the room. Dez played a game on her cell phone.

Jeremy's voice broke the silence as he stepped back into the Visitor's Lounge. “We can talk now. Everything is quiet. Mrs. Tyler - that ’s the woman I’ve called out about - is sleeping. She had taken a bad turn, but is settled right now.” Sitting down in one of orange chairs lining the room, he decided to dive right in. “Emmie, do you recognize the name Carrie Tyler?” She stopped pacing and looked at Jeremy, “I’m sorry Jeremy, what was it you said? - Carrie Tyler? No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

Jeremy sat down, the adoption papers, secured in a ziplock bag on his lap. “Why did I call you? Because I think you are related to her, but I’m not sure. I have a hard question to ask you, Em. If you don’t want to answer it, you don’t have to. If you think I’m out of line, you can leave and never speak to me again. But hear me out.” Jeremy leaned forward, looked up at his friend standing in front of him, He took her hands in his. “Emmie, were you ever pregnant?” Sitting suddenly back in his chair, he shook his head. “Damn. This is none of my business, but she has a picture with your name on it, Em.” 

Dez stood up forcefully. “Come on Emmie, let’s go. He’s right. It is none of his business, picture or no picture.” Emelina held up her hand. “No Dez. In this situation, it is his business. If this woman is close to death, she deserves to be heard. Jeremy, what are those papers you’re protecting?” Frustrated, but curious, Dez sat back down. Softly Jeremy said “They’re adoption papers, Em.”

“Can I see her, Jeremy?” Emelina could barely speak. “If not right now because of her condition, we’ll just stay here - well, I’ll just stay here. Dez, here are the keys. You take the SUV and go back to the house if you want. I’m staying until she’s awake. But she may be too ill to deal with this right now?” Her sister took the keys, but didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere, Em. Jeremy, how long can we stay up here?” The doctor's pager went off. “I have to go see what’s needed and I’ll let you know, but you may have to leave soon. You're not officially family members. I overstepped my bounds by bringing you up here. I’ll send one of the nurses in.” And he was gone taking the package of adoption papers with him.

Within minutes, one of the nurses came in to the room. “I can’t stay to explain, but you will have to leave now. Dr. Crawford has your phone number and will call you as soon as he can.” Quickly, Dez spoke up “Tell him that we will be staying in town at Dez’s apartment.” The words barely our of her mouth, the nurse was gone. “Come on, Emmie. Let’s go to my place. You can stay with me as long as you need to ’til you find out what you can do for this Carrie Tyler.” Emmie reached for the keys but Dez just said. “I’m driving. You look like you wouldn’t be that focussed at the wheel.”

“Being supportive often means waiting and listening and 

more waiting until you’re better able to understand the drama.”

~ Fred Rogers

The Door - A Writing Exercise

Acting from within my muse and the parameters set by our writers group, I wrote a very short story. For this month’s assigned writing exercise, we were to write from the stem: I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened….. As always with our small group, we each had a different interpretation of the assignment ~ which we could change or not do it at all. This talented group of writers shared from the very poignant to fantastical to mysterious and to hilarious. Each story elicited appropriate emotions ~ much laughter and some respectful sadness. Here is my offering of The Door with a couple of edits I didn’t see until this morning.

 The Door

I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened. I felt powerful. I felt in control. The silver gray door tinkled. I knew that opening it would usher in my guests. I knew who each of them were because I had invited them. My senses had told me they would arrive, each in their appointed time. My purpose? To only choose those who would bring joy to my life. Beyond that door, and from streams, fields and farms, were the fascinating ingredients bringing to me the wisdom of each generation. I could only choose one individual from each place. A farmer and a rancher, tanned from the sun, field dirt in the creases of their perspiring brows. A seasonal odd jobber and an assembly line worker who worked tirelessly and tediously. A chef and a sous-chef fresh from steamy kitchens. All had been invited to my table. And I, here in my rocking chair, held the power of this grand gathering in my hand. To be ushered into my home and sit at my table was an honour only reserved for those who could get past my silver gray, and very stout, door. 

The Door swung open on my command. There, on shelves clean, shiny and new, were vegetables from not too distant fields, meats from the ranch beyond town, ripe fruits fresh picked in vast stretches of orchards. My weekend was set - to build a beautiful meal from all this abundance. To make soup and store leftovers when the fine meal was finished. Quality unmatched by this food's very freshness, I was pleased that my anticipation would be rewarded while I prepared this enchanting bounty.

“The isolated imagination is easily corrupted by theory, 

but the writer inside his community seldom has such a problem.”

~ Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose

Anticipation of Success

Anticipation of success 

is often greater than reality,
yet the final reality has a glow that determination has promised.

Anticipation of success 

sparkles with hope ~
shadowed by wandering clouds of self-doubt.

Anticipation of success leads the way

mapping each small successful step.

“And I will never again underestimate the power of anticipation.

There is no better boost in the present than an invitation into the future.”

~ Caroline Kepnes, You

Author's note: Edited January 27, 2024

Anticipation ~ 2

Anticipation of success 
full outcome is not yet to be seen
Creeps slowly
Crawls hesitantly

The challenge is not in the outcome
Anticipation becomes the challenge
Standing still slowly
To watch what could be a sunrise

In the early morning
After days of changing weather
sunrise gilds mountain tops,
clouds crowd in, painted peach and sunflower yellow

Anticipation ~ 
Will building clouds win out ~
or will the new day be filled with sunshine?
A single hummingbird awaits whatever comes.

“And I will never again underestimate the power of anticipation. 

There is no better boost in the present than an invitation into the future.”

~ Caroline Kepnes, You

Anticipation ~ 1

Hot, sweet, creamy coffee.

Last tasty drop drained and drunk.

Paper rim rolled up in anticipation.

‘Thanks for playing’

‘Sorry - not this time’

‘Come back again’

Playing the game 

gambling on a win

fun for a time ~

anticipation has a short shelf life

But as a marketing tool over a cup of coffee with friends ~

money changed hands effectively.

Marketing isn’t magic. There’s a science to it.

~ Dan Zarrella