Tag Archives: short-story

Letting it Hang

Jackie Wells-Fauth

Right now, as I’m writing, I’m looking at the wall behind my computer and I am rather proud of it. There are two framed photos, a calendar (on the wrong month) two cardboard pieces with chalk drawings and the painting I made at a painting party many years ago.

I love looking at these things, but Roy avoids looking at this wall because it offends all of his sensibilities. It’s not that he minds the things I have on the wall (well, maybe he wishes the calendar was right), it’s the way I have hung them up. I like to say that my ability to decorate a wall with artwork or pictures is somewhat random, if you know what I mean.

Where Roy will measure and estimate and carefully string up a hanger on the back of the item, I prefer the thumbtack and sticky tape method. As for placement, well, I’m a little random there as well. It’s hurtful to the eye of a man who prefers precision in the hangings on his walls.

He came out of the bathroom after his morning shower one day rubbing his shoulder and holding a framed picture that I had just hung up the day before.

“Why did you take that picture down? I want it to hang over the shower,” I whined.

“Explain why we need a picture over the shower in the bathroom, where no one is likely to notice it?”

“It’s a beautiful picture of rain on flowers; perfect for the shower,” I said. “Now why did you take it down?”

“I didn’t take it down. Your perfect rainfall picture fell on me when I got out of the shower,” he explained, handing me the picture. “What did you hang it up with?”

“That little needle, right there,” I said, pointing to a tiny shard of metal on the wall above the shower.

He shook his head, walking away. “It’s too small to hold that picture and besides, it’s way off center.”

“Well, I’m hanging it back up, so just watch yourself when you come out of the shower,” I said, defiantly.

“Just the words a fella wants to hear concerning his own bathroom,” he was getting sarcastic. “Maybe none of my relatives will have to use the toilet when they are here.”

It’s always the same. What should we hang up and where should we hang it? It’s a question that can at least cause ripples in a marriage. While I am holding the picture up approximately where it should go on the wall, he is dragging out the tape measure and sorting through his supplies of nails to figure out which one goes.

After hanging a picture recently that required him to get up and down on a ladder, he said to me, “Is this hanging evenly?”

“Yes, it looks just fine,” I answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

It seems those are exactly the wrong words to say to him about pictures. He climbed down off the ladder, stepped back to look at the picture, got back on the ladder, adjusted it (he didn’t ask my opinion that time), got down, looked again and went up for one final tweak. I’m convinced the last one wasn’t necessary; he was just showing off.

I have several more things that I would like to hang up, but I am going to wait until this latest round of marital picture hanging has faded into memory. In other words, I’m just going to let it hang!

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Day of Grace

Photo by 3D Render on Pexels

Jackie Wells Fauth

As a child, I really wanted to grow up to be a ballerina. Then I discovered you had to be in top athletic shape, practice continuously and most of all possess great balance and grace and I soon got over that notion.

Although I will never dance the lead in Swan Lake, I do try to be as coordinated and careful as I can, but the older I get, the harder this becomes. And this week, I abandoned all notion that I might be considered graceful and poised.

It’s the carpets that get me. I have discovered the joys and comforts of sneakers, but the one thing they don’t like is carpet…especially short nap carpet. I tend to drag my feet a little (okay, probably a lot) and I discovered this week that the combination of sneakers, short carpet, dragging feet and lack of grace can be pretty lethal.

While walking across a short carpet, I pulled a pretty complicated dance move. My shoes stopped short, but the rest of me kept on going. This meant that I took a headlong plunge across the front of the theater at the school. Not one of my finer moments and a bit startling for the student I was coaching in oral interp.

By the time he got over to where I was sprawled, full length, I was dazed but already trying to get up. I had a bloody nose and my glasses flew off and bent, but I was able to scramble to my feet. Perhaps the worst part was that the coffee mug I had been drinking from fell from my hands and landed just perfectly to cushion the fall for my face. This sounds like it might be fortunate, but it’s not!

A coffee mug to the face at full speed tends to “knock you for a loop” as they say, so it took me a few seconds to realize I was bleeding profusely from the nose. I charged headlong into the bathroom, frightening two girls so much, I think they may have kept running until they were several blocks from the school.

Everyone was sweet and helpful, and I got ice packs and cloths and whatever I needed. I was really panic stricken because my vision was completely blurred, but this fear was allayed when they handed me my glasses. Oh, yeah, those help! My vision was still a little fuzzy, but if I set the glasses on my face at just the right angle, they still work! Hopefully I can get them straightened soon!

My most painful injury was along my side where I hit the ground, but because of public decency laws, I can’t show those bruises to anyone. The least painful, but possibly the prettiest is my eye. It developed a shiner like no other and it has been all the colors of the rainbow for the past few days.

Now, I want to just ignore the fact that I have a black eye, but when half your face is swollen and purple, people tend to notice. I tried all the regular jokes, “You should see the other guy,” or “It was a heck of a bar fight, but I won.” It still ends with me having to admit that my lack of grace and addiction to coffee collided in a bad way.

I am already starting to lose the worst of the color from the eye and even my side isn’t as painful as it was, but the fact remains that this accident happened due to my careless way of walking; time to learn how to do that all over, I guess.

The doctor may have had the best suggestion moving forward. “Go home and rest,” she advised. “Relax, read (if you can) and have some coffee…but maybe we should try a sipper cup.” Sound advice to wrap up my day of no grace!

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A sticky situation

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Jackie Wells-Fauth

It was a tricky kind of holiday weekend. For starters, it was cooler than anticipated and yet unpleasantly humid. My daughter and her family were here, so of course, some major issue went wrong in the house because that is how my husband and son-in-law usually spend one of their visits here.

The upstairs toilet decided to spring a leak, causing it to drip downstairs…directly onto the toilet in the lower-level bathroom. What an exciting Labor Day weekend, laboring in the bathroom over a misbehaving toilet! We all avoided the upstairs restroom and made use of the lower level, especially after the upstairs toilet stopped sending down sewer showers!

We waited patiently while the two amateur plumbers removed the toilet (an event in itself), cleared away any debris, applied new adhesives and reset the toilet. Before it was finished, it was supper time and unexpectedly, as happens sometimes, I felt the need to go to the powder room.

No problem, right? All I had to do was go down to the lower-level bathroom and accommodate myself. I didn’t mention that I was going, as preparations upstairs went noisily forward with putting supper on and gathering together at the table. I gave a great sigh and relaxed for a moment on the downstairs commode, enjoying a moment of quiet in a hectic weekend.

It was as I attempted to finish and rise from the toilet that my dilemma became clear. I couldn’t get up. Something had a firm hold on the back of my shirt and it wouldn’t allow me to get up. I tried, unsuccessfully, to extricate myself, but nothing seemed to help. It was in those first moments of disbelief – I could not possibly be stuck to the toilet – that suddenly the door banged wide open, and my four-year-old grandson announced, “Hi Grandma. Whatcha doin?”

He scared the life out of me, but it wasn’t enough incentive to get me loose from the toilet. I heard voices upstairs, calling him to supper and so he turned and ran upstairs, leaving the door to the bathroom wide open.

I know what you’re thinking now: It would be so simple to call upstairs and explain my situation, whatever that was. But the fact that I was sitting there, with my sticky dilemma exposed to the world should everyone come running down, gave me pause. I didn’t want everyone to come flooding down into the bathroom while I was stuck, immovably, on the toilet!

Likewise, pulling my shirt off didn’t seem advisable because I wasn’t sure how I might get myself out of it and even if I could, I didn’t want to walk upstairs dressed basically in my underwear. I continued to wiggle and squirm and try to get myself loose, but that toilet had me in a firmer grip than the loser at a wrestle-mania main event.

It was time to take stock of the situation: I had not told anyone that I was coming down here, and I object to the idea of holding supper because someone is late getting there, so they wouldn’t be looking for me anytime soon. It also seemed unlikely that the four-year-old was going to tell them anything and even if he did, be honest; if a four-year-old were to say to you, “Grandma’s stuck on the toilet,” would you take him seriously?

I figured the older two grandsons, and their father (and maybe their grandfather) would try to get some video footage before they helped me and that thought caused me to make a massive effort and finally wrench myself loose! Heaving a sigh of relief, I washed my hands and ran up the steps, to where everyone was already eating. They nearly choked with laughter as I regaled them with my adhesive adventure.

It turned out that when the amateur plumbers applied serious adhesives to the upstairs toilet, it unknowingly dripped down through the floor/ceiling and settled a little bit on the inside of the toilet seat lid of the lower-level toilet. Now I know there were worse places (and things) that could have been glued together in that incident, but I assure you that five minutes with my shirt stuck tenaciously to a toilet seat lid was more than enough fun for me! Next time, I plan to inspect the facilities a little more closely!

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