Tammicko Claggett's Blog

Garden of Love

Daddy and Barbara left for their A.A. meeting early on Saturday morning. My date with Kent was several hours away, but anticipation made sleep impossible. So as soon as I heard their footsteps disappear behind the front door, I threw back the sheets and turned on the radio loud, filling the house with urban rhythms to which I danced and slid over the floors in fuzzy red slippers. Passing the thermostat in the hall, I turned off the air conditioner, opening the living room window instead. The early morning breeze danced inside, taking the sheers for a partner; sweeping them away from the window then drawing them back again. What a beautiful day for the park!

Singing along with the upbeat tune, I danced into the kitchen, twirling from the cabinet to the counter to pop bread into the toaster. Waiting for it to toast, I leaned with my elbows on the countertop. It seemed Kent flowed through the notes of every song: the whites of his eyes glistening when he smiled and crinkling when he stood on the playground in the sun, his scent like just-washed laundry, the softness of his lips yesterday when we first kissed…

The toast popped up—charred. Someone must’ve adjusted the setting too high. Oh, well. I was too excited to eat anyway. Scuffing to the trash, I dumped it in, deciding to rummage through my closet for the perfect outfit instead. In the hall, with my body angled in the direction of the bedroom but feet planted on the hardwood, the radio’s upbeat music faded into a woman’s soulful swoon of devotion to her “everything.” It was the song that always made me think of—

Through the open window, I heard the familiar rumble of the mail truck outside, its brakes screeching as it halted in front of the house. Rushing to peer through the sheers I watched the mailman slide envelopes inside the box then sighed wondering if one of them could be from Dante.

In my bedroom, behind the closed door, I shut off the haunting music. But inside my head, while I debated outfits, she continued to sing the refrain. Replacing a violet sundress on its hangar, I grabbed my bathrobe and wrapped it around myself, tying it at the waist. Plodding down the stairs, my fingers had just touched the doorknob when the phone rang. What if it was Kent?

Racing back up the stairs two at a time, I answered it breathless.

“Girl, let me find out! Why you so outta breath?”

Relieved to hear Danielle’s voice and not Kent’s I answered, “’Cause I ran for the phone.”

“What’s going on?”

I hesitated before replying: “Nothing. Just trying to figure out what to wear.”

“That’s right. You and Superman have a hot date!” she squealed. “Well, Lois, please don’t wear none of that foolishness you wear to work. Or that ponytail.” She smacked her lips. “You should’ve gone to the hairdresser with me. Oh, well it’s too late now. Just wear something sexy so he don’t notice. And please put on some make-up!”

I rolled my eyes as Danielle went into her spiel to educate me on everything from how many coats of mascara to apply to smiling the innocent-but-not-too-innocent smile. Most of her words went in one ear and out the other, but we talked and giggled for over an hour, thoughts of Dante exiled and the mail forgotten. Her last words to me were much like her first: “wear something sexy.” So before showering, I pulled out a muted green tank top and little matching green and brown plaid shorts. Slipping on the outfit while my skin was still damp, I sprayed perfume all over, saturating even my hair left loose with the scent of jasmine and vanilla. Over my eyelids I brushed green shadow flecked with gold and glossed my lips to a pinky-brown sheen.

The doorbell rang at exactly noon. “I’ll get it!” I called, but by the time I rounded the corner, Daddy–just home from the meeting—was already opening the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Weaver. I’m here to pick Tori up.” Kent shook my father’s hand.

I hurried down the stairs. “See you later,” I said, interrupting the interrogation I knew Daddy’d opened his mouth to start.

“You be back at a decent hour!” he called as I breezed by.

Kent opened the passenger door of his T-top, two-seater. Getting in the driver’s side, he smiled at me before starting the engine, taking his time to pull away from the house and Daddy’s prying gaze. He cruised through the neighborhood, slowing to allow a little boy to fetch his ball from the street. The boy waved and Kent threw him a nod before picking up speed to the main road.

Peek-a-booing through my peripherals, I admired the extension of his left arm in a cut-off tee as he leaned back in the worn seat; his right hand shifting gears from third all the way up to fifth to pass a dawdling vehicle and take the hammer lane on the Beltway. Maybe he knew I watched because his grip on the steering wheel tightened, flexing the muscle in his triceps. The veins weaving their way from forearm to hand bulged beneath taut, dusky skin. I turned my eyes to the passenger window.

“Am I driving too fast?” he shouted.

“Um, no.”

“Oh, I saw you looking at me…”

My face flushed. “No, I’m okay. I, uh…I’ve been faster than this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With who? Your boyfriend?”

I blinked, taking a breath before answering: “No, Danielle. The girl drives like a maniac.”

We were quiet then, the roar of the road and the gusty wind making conversation difficult except inside my head. With the wind whipping through my hair, I hoped I didn’t look like a fuzzy Treasure Troll doll. I held it off my face. Kent glanced over at me again, apologizing for his late model car’s lack of air conditioning and reassuring me that I looked fine. Of course I didn’t believe him, but smiled for his sweetness as he merged off the highway, taking the exit leading toward the park.

Driving beyond the red brick and black iron gate into the National Arboretum, the only sight for miles was trees standing on tip-toes to touch the pastel blue sky and fields of freshly mown grass. Blossoms tickled my nose with their vibrant fragrance, overshadowing the perfume I wore. Never one for nature, I suddenly felt excited to get outside. Kent hurried around to open the door for me while I smoothed down my hair just before he opened it. Grasping only the tips of my fingers, he helped me out and we walked toward the main entrance. A large stone pond filled with koi of silver-orange, red, and lime welcomed us. Watching them swim within the confines, I wondered about the blackness of the water.

“They tint it to protect the pond from algae,” he explained to me. Then he shared what he’d learned about koi from the staff on previous visits; a couple of older women moving closer to listen in. One of them sprinkled a handful of food into the water and all the fish swam Pavlovian style in that direction. But we moved on through peonies growing wild and free, tiny specks of purple dotting the landscape in front of the towering Capitol Columns. Walking side by side, an orange and black butterfly crossed our path, flapping then gliding before pausing to rest on a flower.

“These remind me of the pictures of ancient Greece or something,” I remarked as we took seats on a ledge inside the columns.

“Yeah, it’s like being in a whole other world.”

I leaned my head to watch the butterfly.

Kent slid closer, his bare arm brushing against mine. “So how do I get you to open up?”

The butterfly flew beyond my scope of vision. ”What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for a little while now and I’m the one who does all the talking. I wanna know more about you.”

“There isn’t much to know.”

“I find that hard to believe. Or do you have something to hide?” Bumping me with his shoulder he added, “My momma always told me to watch out for the quiet ones.”

I smiled. “No, I don’t have anything to hide. There’s just nothing to tell.”

“Mmmhmm.” He tickled my side. I giggled and scooted out of reach. He moved closer, tickling me again until I stood and darted out of his grasp. Catching me by the waist he asked: “So what’re you gonna do now?” and held me tight, tickling me all the while. Uncomfortable, I struggled to free myself, trying to laugh it off. Sweat dripped from his head down his brow and he released me, sopping it up with his shirt tail.

“It’s hot as a mug out here!”

I nodded, resuming my seat.

He stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Come on. I want you to see the Asian Gardens.” Then taking me by the hand, he laced his damp fingers in mine as we walked uphill along a path of plants native to China. It ended at a red gazebo. We stood to the side as a couple seemed to float down the stairs hand in hand, eyes interlocked, not even noticing us as they passed by.

Underneath the gazebo’s shade, he touched my cheek; his thumb brushed my lower lip. My stomach twisted, knotting itself into a bow of anticipation. I didn’t move or blink until he leaned in close, our lips a breath apart. Finally, I tilted my head and closed my eyes to everything around us, focusing only on the soft warmth of his lips against mine.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp.43-49)

There’s nothing like new: new shoes, new job, new home, new love. The first time you walk in that pair of shoes, sit at that desk, position your furniture, or enjoy the sweetness of that first kiss is exhilirating. A blank slate with so much promise. So if you have something new in store, congratulations and enjoy. If not, why not dust off something old and give it a little TLC with memories of when it was new? Until next time…

Garden of Love

Daddy and Barbara left for their A.A. meeting early on Saturday morning. My date with Kent was several hours away, but anticipation made sleep impossible. So as soon as I heard their footsteps disappear behind the front door, I threw back the sheets and turned on the radio loud, filling the house with urban rhythms to which I danced and slid over the floors in fuzzy red slippers. Passing the thermostat in the hall, I turned off the air conditioner, opening the living room window instead. The early morning breeze danced inside, taking the sheers for a partner; sweeping them away from the window then drawing them back again. What a beautiful day for the park!

Singing along with the upbeat tune, I danced into the kitchen, twirling from the cabinet to the counter to pop bread into the toaster. Waiting for it to toast, I leaned with my elbows on the countertop. It seemed Kent flowed through the notes of every song: the whites of his eyes glistening when he smiled and crinkling when he stood on the playground in the sun, his scent like just-washed laundry, the softness of his lips yesterday when we first kissed…

The toast popped up—charred. Someone must’ve adjusted the setting too high. Oh, well. I was too excited to eat anyway. Scuffing to the trash, I dumped it in, deciding to rummage through my closet for the perfect outfit instead. In the hall, with my body angled in the direction of the bedroom but feet planted on the hardwood, the radio’s upbeat music faded into a woman’s soulful swoon of devotion to her “everything.” It was the song that always made me think of—

Through the open window, I heard the familiar rumble of the mail truck outside, its brakes screeching as it halted in front of the house. Rushing to peer through the sheers I watched the mailman slide envelopes inside the box then sighed wondering if one of them could be from Dante.

In my bedroom, behind the closed door, I shut off the haunting music. But inside my head, while I debated outfits, she continued to sing the refrain. Replacing a violet sundress on its hangar, I grabbed my bathrobe and wrapped it around myself, tying it at the waist. Plodding down the stairs, my fingers had just touched the doorknob when the phone rang. What if it was Kent?

Racing back up the stairs two at a time, I answered it breathless.

“Girl, let me find out! Why you so outta breath?”

Relieved to hear Danielle’s voice and not Kent’s I answered, “’Cause I ran for the phone.”

“What’s going on?”

I hesitated before replying: “Nothing. Just trying to figure out what to wear.”

“That’s right. You and Superman have a hot date!” she squealed. “Well, Lois, please don’t wear none of that foolishness you wear to work. Or that ponytail.” She smacked her lips. “You should’ve gone to the hairdresser with me. Oh, well it’s too late now. Just wear something sexy so he don’t notice. And please put on some make-up!”

I rolled my eyes as Danielle went into her spiel to educate me on everything from how many coats of mascara to apply to smiling the innocent-but-not-too-innocent smile. Most of her words went in one ear and out the other, but we talked and giggled for over an hour, thoughts of Dante exiled and the mail forgotten. Her last words to me were much like her first: “wear something sexy.” So before showering, I pulled out a muted green tank top and little matching green and brown plaid shorts. Slipping on the outfit while my skin was still damp, I sprayed perfume all over, saturating even my hair left loose with the scent of jasmine and vanilla. Over my eyelids I brushed green shadow flecked with gold and glossed my lips to a pinky-brown sheen.

The doorbell rang at exactly noon. “I’ll get it!” I called, but by the time I rounded the corner, Daddy–just home from the meeting—was already opening the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Weaver. I’m here to pick Tori up.” Kent shook my father’s hand.

I hurried down the stairs. “See you later,” I said, interrupting the interrogation I knew Daddy’d opened his mouth to start.

“You be back at a decent hour!” he called as I breezed by.

Kent opened the passenger door of his T-top, two-seater. Getting in the driver’s side, he smiled at me before starting the engine, taking his time to pull away from the house and Daddy’s prying gaze. He cruised through the neighborhood, slowing to allow a little boy to fetch his ball from the street. The boy waved and Kent threw him a nod before picking up speed to the main road.

Peek-a-booing through my peripherals, I admired the extension of his left arm in a cut-off tee as he leaned back in the worn seat; his right hand shifting gears from third all the way up to fifth to pass a dawdling vehicle and take the hammer lane on the Beltway. Maybe he knew I watched because his grip on the steering wheel tightened, flexing the muscle in his triceps. The veins weaving their way from forearm to hand bulged beneath taut, dusky skin. I turned my eyes to the passenger window.

“Am I driving too fast?” he shouted.

“Um, no.”

“Oh, I saw you looking at me…”

My face flushed. “No, I’m okay. I, uh…I’ve been faster than this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With who? Your boyfriend?”

I blinked, taking a breath before answering: “No, Danielle. The girl drives like a maniac.”

We were quiet then, the roar of the road and the gusty wind making conversation difficult except inside my head. With the wind whipping through my hair, I hoped I didn’t look like a fuzzy Treasure Troll doll. I held it off my face. Kent glanced over at me again, apologizing for his late model car’s lack of air conditioning and reassuring me that I looked fine. Of course I didn’t believe him, but smiled for his sweetness as he merged off the highway, taking the exit leading toward the park.

Driving beyond the red brick and black iron gate into the National Arboretum, the only sight for miles was trees standing on tip-toes to touch the pastel blue sky and fields of freshly mown grass. Blossoms tickled my nose with their vibrant fragrance, overshadowing the perfume I wore. Never one for nature, I suddenly felt excited to get outside. Kent hurried around to open the door for me while I smoothed down my hair just before he opened it. Grasping only the tips of my fingers, he helped me out and we walked toward the main entrance. A large stone pond filled with koi of silver-orange, red, and lime welcomed us. Watching them swim within the confines, I wondered about the blackness of the water.

“They tint it to protect the pond from algae,” he explained to me. Then he shared what he’d learned about koi from the staff on previous visits; a couple of older women moving closer to listen in. One of them sprinkled a handful of food into the water and all the fish swam Pavlovian style in that direction. But we moved on through peonies growing wild and free, tiny specks of purple dotting the landscape in front of the towering Capitol Columns. Walking side by side, an orange and black butterfly crossed our path, flapping then gliding before pausing to rest on a flower.

“These remind me of the pictures of ancient Greece or something,” I remarked as we took seats on a ledge inside the columns.

“Yeah, it’s like being in a whole other world.”

I leaned my head to watch the butterfly.

Kent slid closer, his bare arm brushing against mine. “So how do I get you to open up?”

The butterfly flew beyond my scope of vision. ”What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for a little while now and I’m the one who does all the talking. I wanna know more about you.”

“There isn’t much to know.”

“I find that hard to believe. Or do you have something to hide?” Bumping me with his shoulder he added, “My momma always told me to watch out for the quiet ones.”

I smiled. “No, I don’t have anything to hide. There’s just nothing to tell.”

“Mmmhmm.” He tickled my side. I giggled and scooted out of reach. He moved closer, tickling me again until I stood and darted out of his grasp. Catching me by the waist he asked: “So what’re you gonna do now?” and held me tight, tickling me all the while. Uncomfortable, I struggled to free myself, trying to laugh it off. Sweat dripped from his head down his brow and he released me, sopping it up with his shirt tail.

“It’s hot as a mug out here!”

I nodded, resuming my seat.

He stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Come on. I want you to see the Asian Gardens.” Then taking me by the hand, he laced his damp fingers in mine as we walked uphill along a path of plants native to China. It ended at a red gazebo. We stood to the side as a couple seemed to float down the stairs hand in hand, eyes interlocked, not even noticing us as they passed by.

Underneath the gazebo’s shade, he touched my cheek; his thumb brushed my lower lip. My stomach twisted, knotting itself into a bow of anticipation. I didn’t move or blink until he leaned in close, our lips a breath apart. Finally, I tilted my head and closed my eyes to everything around us, focusing only on the soft warmth of his lips against mine.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp.43-49)

There’s nothing like new: new shoes, new job, new home, new love. The first time you walk in that pair of shoes, sit at that desk, position your furniture, or enjoy the sweetness of that first kiss is exhilirating. A blank slate with so much promise. So if you have something new in store, congratulations and enjoy. If not, why not dust off something old and give it a little TLC with memories of when it was new? Until next time…

If You Had Been Here….

Throughout that day and the remainder of the week, Alisha carried our hearts back and forth through the purple wildflowers; sometimes skipping along in jelly sandals singing Barney’s song and other times sprinting there. Each day, each letter stirred emotions my mind—still preoccupied with Dante—cautioned me to still. Feelings whirled through my heart as water through a twisty-twirly slide spinning loops out of control to splash down into a pool and buoy up breathless.

Friday evening, my heart still awhirl, the sun slipped into an envelope of clouds outside. Still working, I moved around the temporary in a burst of frenetic energy. I stacked eighteen chairs on tabletops with the little silver legs to the ceiling, discarded juice boxes into the green metal trashcan, and swept away broken crayon bits to lighten Mr. Proctor’s workload. Of course he received his paycheck for doing the things he’d find I’d already done and Danielle would chew me out the whole ride home for keeping her waiting, but I hummed around the room as unconcerned as Cinderella meditating on her Prince Charming. In Kent’s last letter before our giggly messenger clocked out for the day, he suggested visiting a beautiful park he knew of in the city. I didn’t give him an answer, but the thought of him pulling into the drive in the middle of the afternoon to pick me up was glorious.

My work done, I locked up and was halfway up the sidewalk before missing my purse. Sprinting back inside, leaving the door wide open behind me, I grabbed it from the desk.

“Hey, beautiful.” In the threshold, Kent leaned against the frame.

Throwing the handbag over my shoulder, I smiled. “Hey.”

Striding into the room to stand an arm’s length in front of me, his eyes embraced mine. I twirled a strand of hair from my ponytail around my index finger, blinking. He moved closer, so that face to face, we scarcely breathed. His gaze dropped down for a moment, and then looking back up at me he asked: “So what would you do if I kissed you?”

It wasn’t a question I’d ever been asked. Either I was kissed or I wasn’t and more often than not, it was the latter. But it was never my choice. Still twirling my hair, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

So he did what deep down I really wanted him to do. Closing his eyes and the space between us, he touched his lips to mine. My hands found rest against the tense muscles of his upper back and they relaxed under my touch as his hands circled my waist, drawing me closer.

“Ahem.”

We jumped apart. Mr. Proctor stood grinning in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but I came to clean up. Gotta be on time to pick up my wife.”

Kent smiled. “I know that’s right,” he said. Then he took my hand to lead me toward the door. I followed with my head down. How embarrassing!

“Looks like I don’t have much to do in here.” He pushed an ancient vacuum cleaner inside, his feet in black orthopedic shoes barely moving. “That’s one sweet lady you’ve got there.”

He squeezed my hand. “Yes, sir, I know.”

We were almost out the door when Mr. Proctor grasped Kent’s shoulder with swollen fingers I assumed arthritis had disfigured into a permanent bend. “You know that’s your future wife,” he said with knowing in his old eyes.

But exchanging this-guy-must-be-crazy glances, we smiled and walked away.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp. 41-42)

Foreshadowing is a technique used in literature to clue a reader in to a future event. If we look closely, sometimes we can see these clues in the story of our own lives. Those hints that in spite of our current situation, something expectedly unexpected is just around the corner. Happy hunting!

Next time has become a long time. Forgive me. If you read my blog Wisdom from a Proverbs 31 Wannabe Woman, you know I’m a terrible procrastinator:). Because this blog reads chronologically and not in order of the story, I want to recap before scribing the next snippet (also, feel free to click on a date under In Case You Missed It to bring yourself up to speed. Better yet, please buy a copy of the book; see links Connecting Flight and Ready to Fly Now).

Tori Weaver, working at a daycare, meets Kent Clarke. There is an instant attraction, but alas Tori “has a man” as we would say back in the day. In spite of this, however, she dreams of him, of something new. As if intuiting this, Kent gives Tori his phone number, undaunted by her current relationship status (by the way, this man of hers is in jail). She waits three weeks to call, but when she does, they end up having a marathon phone conversation and her attraction to him deepens. Could Kent end up being more than a friend?

Opening the classroom door, my eyebrows jumped up. Sitting on my desk in front of the window, in a vase of clear glass, was a bouquet of deep, red roses. In front of the vase lounged a stuffed orange cat with an envelope between its paws. From the doorway to the desk in a blink, I read:

Just a little something to say I enjoyed our talk. Hope I get a chance to talk to you again soon. Kent.

Eyes closed, I pressed the envelope to my chest.

Without a doubt, this was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. With Danielle I could deny it, but alone in the room with the vase full of flowers, I couldn’t. Kent was definitely someone special.

“Wow, somebody must think you’re special.”

I whirled around to see April and Alisha on either side of their father. “Uh, good morning, Mr. McCrae.”

“Good morning. I see it’s definitely a good one for you.”

I smiled. Yes, it was.

At lunch time, instead of going to see Danielle, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pink marker. And while the children were busy chowing down Spaghetti-Os, my heart bonded with my hand as it flowed over the page, circumventing my mind to swirl smiley faces above “I”s and cross “t”s with flair. The paper alive with words from top to bottom, I called for my messenger.

Alisha came skipping to the desk, her multi-colored beaded braids clinking against each other. “Miss Weaver has an important job for you,” I whispered. Her eyes widened into saucers each with an Oreo cookie in the center. In feigned solemnity, I placed the note in her saucy palm and walked her to the door. “Take that to Mr.Clarke.”

(Secret of a Butterfly, p. 40)

Maybe this is why it’s called “falling in love.” Because just as no one plans to fall, most of us don’t plan to fall in love. It just happens. One day someone who didn’t mean anything means more than everything. Until next time (which won’t be too long, I promise:))…

“Hi, can I speak to Tori, please?”

My heart galloped, recognizing the voice. I should have let it ring a little longer! “This is she,” I answered.

“Hey, Tori. It’s Kent.”

I didn’t respond.         

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Y-yes. I’m here.”

“I couldn’t believe it when my uncle said you’d called. I thought you threw my number away.”

“Oh no. I just, well I don’t really like calling people…”

I didn’t know how to reply, but Kent picked up the conversation and carried it forward. We talked for hours. Through eight episodes of the Three’s Company marathon, three brownies, and two cans of Coke. Through the night and into the middle of the morning when my eyes, weighted by the heaviness of the sleep I’d tried to fight off with chocolate and caffeine, closed and I drifted into unconsciousness. In the morning, when I opened them again, the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

Smiling, I headed for the shower. As the water danced its warm stream over my skin, I closed my eyes and allowed Kent’s words to wash over me: ‘I don’t know you well but I’m drawn to you by something I can’t explain. You deserve so much more than you’re settling for, Tori. I hope one day you’ll be able to see that.’ No one had ever spoken to me the way he did. I couldn’t wait to hear more.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp. 36-37)

See that? Tori’s leap of faith paid off, even though at first it didn’t seem like it. So it is with us. That leap of faith that didn’t seem to produce was in reality a tiny seed planted beyond our sight that’s destined to produce a harvest greater than we could have imagined.

Until next time…

Walk Your Talk.

It wasn’t until another rainy evening three weeks later—although Kent and I hadn’t spoken more than cordial hellos to each other—that I pulled his number out. In an exceptional moment of spontaneity, I picked up the phone, dialed the seven digits, and folded my lips against my breath awaiting his voice on the other end.

But he didn’t answer. An older man’s voice greeted me instead.

“Um, hi. May I please speak to Kent?” Walking with the cordless phone, I stepped out onto the deck. The bright blue sky of the day deepened to indigo, and Daddy’s roses, damp with the afternoon’s raindrops, glimmered with the radiance of rubies.

“He’s not here. Can I take a message?”

“Um, could you please tell him Tori called?”

“Mmmm,” he murmured so that I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Does he have your number?”

Feeling foolish all of a sudden, I gave him the number and hung up. It was Saturday night. Who else was home besides me?

Resting my elbows on the weathered deck rail, I propped my chin up on my palms, eavesdropping on the conversation of crickets chirping in the yard. Their incessant banter amplified my loneliness and closing my eyes, I envisioned myself tiptoeing down the stairs barefoot across the grass with sandals in hand. At the corner of the house, I’d dash to Dante’s two seater parked lights off and motor running just down the street. He’d smile at me with that crooked smile before mashing the pedal to the floor, making the little black car fishtail as he spun it around and sped out of the neighborhood. But Dante wasn’t coming. And opening my eyes, I realized I hadn’t heard from him in weeks—not since sending him almost half my paycheck.

Sighing, I walked in the darkness toward the rose bushes lining the maple colored fence. A whisper of a breeze puffed their soft fragrance against my nose like the spray of perfume from an antique atomizer. I followed it, unexpectedly immersed in a childhood memory.

A pinwheel spun in the midst of a pot of pinky-purple roses. Angel Face Daddy called them as he poured water from a sunshine-colored watering can. He told me not to touch them; didn’t want me to stick my “pretty princess fingers on a thorn.” Of course being five and curious about the feeling of those pretty petals against my pretty princess fingers, I touched them anyway—as soon as his back was turned.

Touching the softness of the petals now, lost in self-pity, my finger wandered to prick itself on a thorn. In my mind I could hear Daddy yelling: Didn’t I tell you not to touch them? And my five-year-old-self yelling: you’re a bad girl! just as loud inside.

A dot of blood appeared on my ring finger. Muttering an expletive, I sucked on the finger to soothe it. Then stomping back onto the deck, I grabbed the phone to go inside and numb my pain with a plate of brownies and some Three’s Company reruns. But no sooner than I’d picked it up, it rang.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp. 35-36)

Have you ever, with great expectation, taken a leap of faith only to find yourself on your bottom instead of flying? It’s in these moments that we tend to ask ourselves “well what was the point of doing that?” But there is never an unproductive leap of faith; even the falling is learning when we dust off our sore bums, get back up again, and determine to fly.

Until next time…             

On January 8, three winners were randomly chosen for Goodreads’ giveaway of Secret of a Butterfly. Mailing the winners their copies was probably more exciting for me than for them, as I hope they will enjoy the written world I created. I’ve spent so much time with Tori and Kent (over 10 years just writing!) that they actually seem like real people to me and I hope they seem that way to the winners as well as all who read the book.

And if you still haven’t gotten a copy, please do- not just for me (although I would really appreciate it)-but so you can escape into the written world and bring back some treasures you can use in your real one. I’ll post some more snippets soon! Until next time…

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Secret of a Butterfly

by Tammicko Claggett

Giveaway ends January 08, 2013.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

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Goodreads Book Giveaway

Secret of a Butterfly

by Tammicko Claggett

Giveaway ends January 08, 2013.