"Equilibrium in Entropy"

 Click here to read "Equilibrium in Entropy."

To Be Continued...

Dear Readers,

Words cannot express how humbled and honored I am that you have followed me on this journey. 

I am moving the second half of my novel, "Equilibrium in Entropy" as well as an edited first half to Substack. The plan is to roll out publishing chapter by chapter. I would be forever grateful if you would be willing to subscribe for free. Click here to subscribe!

Join me and find out what happens in the lives of Gary, Mira, Sandy, Hector, and Dr. Kelmer. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it has been to write.

I will be taking down all chapters of the book from my blog at the end of the week; however, I will continue to post other musings here.

Peace, love, and light.

-Lightning Liz

Not an adult?

A child at the playground yesterday yelled “Hey girl!” I assumed she was speaking to my four year old daughter; I looked up to smile. She established eye contact with me and said “Yeah you, girl!”

Realizing that she was speaking to me, I replied “What’s up?”

She said “I don’t have any friends.”

I retorted “I’m sure that’s not true.”

She slid down the poll that separated us, her above, me and my daughter below.

The child was about 7 years old with two long brown braids and sweet big brown eyes. Her white ruffled tee shirt framed a large brown wooden cross that she wore tied by a piece of twine around her neck.

The girl, now at my feet, looked up at me and said with a smile “I killed my father. Jesus made me do it.”

Startled, I said to my daughter “Go play with your father.” 

I turned to look at the child. “I don’t think that’s a good thing to say,” I said while scanning for a parent or guardian, but I could not distinguish which adult she belonged to.

As if reading my mind, the child said “My father is that ugly guy on the phone.”

I saw a completely fine looking man, glued to his cellphone, walking in and out of the playground.

“I am going to go to space and become a vampire. When I come back, I’m going to kill my father,” she said, getting my attention.

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” wondering what my responsibility was as an adult in this situation. 

I looked over at my own child, playing happily with a five year old she met 30 seconds ago.

My responsibility was towards her, my own kid. 

I turned to the patricide-planning child, who was brandishing a sharp metal gardening spade that she must have conjured out of thin air with her devil powers. She yelled into my face “Come to the garden with me, girl!”

To which I said “I need to watch her,” motioning towards my little one.

The child said “Leave her with your dad.”

It took me a moment.

There I am, a 44 year old mother confused for being a kid by another kid. 

“That’s my husband!” I laugh.

The girl’s eyes changed to disinterest, and she ran to stab at a patch of dirt.

I turned to my husband, delighted that he had been confused for my father while knowing full well that I do not look like an actual child.

I am going to look at this from a couple of angles.

I need to admit that this is partly a humble brag; it delights me that I was confused for a child. In reality, I do look my age, or thereabouts, and so does my husband. We may both err on the side of spring chickens, and he would never be mistaken for my father. 

I think what this child observed was my silliness. Maybe the adults in her life aren’t silly; therefore, I must be a child.

I would be remiss to not mention my concern for this child and her dark fantasies. The wearing of the cross and her mentioning Jesus only hardens my view that religion does more harm than good. But I do not want to pass judgment on her family; the child seemed happy and healthy.  I wish for her continued health and happiness with a pinch more silliness and less damnation.

Amen.

My Great Expectations

This I know now: If I do not state my expectation, it’s uncool for me to turn around and throw a fit.

When I was in college, I said things like “I should not have to explain why I am mad, they should know,” or “They should know better.” 

“Should” is a word that I am avoiding nowadays. It’s a controlling word and a word that is held up in past regret. “I should have done this,” or “They should do that,” are not helpful phrases. Nothing makes me feel like I’m being treated like a child more than someone telling me that I “should” have done something differently, as if my intent was to make the wrong choice.

Those who know me would not consider me to be an angry person. Those who know me well have seen the rage, sudden and unexpected, often followed by an unattractive smugness.

Actually, those who know me well and complete strangers…

In the past, if I held the door open for a stranger, and they neglected to say “Thank you,” I would snap sarcastically “You’re welcome!!!”

I sure showed those people a great side of my personality. 

This is the situation, I held the door open. No one asked me to do this. I probably held the door to be nice, and I could have continued to be nice. Instead, I essentially told them they should have thanked me. Rather egotistic of me, wouldn’t you say?

In the broader sense, Life does not owe me anything. I have to let go of the expectation that I deserve good things, that I should (there is that word) have great things happen to me. Karma should exist, but it doesn’t. Atleast, not in this life. Otherwise, life would be fair.

People do not owe me anything. Organizations do not owe me anything. Unless I have a written IOU, I need not expect anything…and honestly, IOU’s can be broken. 

Am I a pessimist now? No, that’s not it.

I’m happier without expectations. I may be smug in my anger, but I am not happy in that place. I am attempting to remove the word “should” from my vocabulary and recognize that no one is a mindreader. 

It’s freeing.

I open doors for strangers now simply to be helpful, not to hear the “thank you” I desperately think I deserve.

Dying Leaf Disease

They were purple and turquoise green. Their hair was no longer gray and coarse, but silver and sparkling. They were 85 years old. To be old, was to be beautiful.

Wrinkles and knobby knuckles, arthritis and bad backs, diabetes and heart disease all still existed, but instead of reminding us of decay, it showed a road map of a life well lived.  The oldest were, by far, the most beautiful beings that ever existed. To live to 100 was to become a god.

Lilith Parkfield, of Richmond, Indiana, USA, was the first senior in History to turn a different hue. On her 85th Birthday, Lilith, or Lily, as she had been called in her youth, was alone at her senior living facility.  

The day had started normal. Lily had no need for an alarm clock, and she awoke to the neighbor’s dog barking outside. This did not bother Lily; she liked animals.

She assessed her body: eyes - open and working, bones- stiff but able, muscles - sore but still strong. As she rose from bed, she was vaguely aware that it was her 85th Birthday, but honestly, it wasn’t much of a thought. It didn’t feel like much of a day.

Lily visited the toilet without a glance in the mirror. It was not until she had her morning tea and looked at her hands that she noticed anything different. Her skin seemed to be almost glowing an emerald shade. Lily thought it must be her eyes, and moved to the sink to wash her face.

Looking back at Lily from the mirror was the most fascinating creature Lily had ever seen. She screamed and swooned gracefully to the floor.

She dreamed of her first crush and could feel herself blush in real life.

Lilith woke up to her concerned neighbors and the sound of hurried footsteps. That is all she heard; everyone was silent. It was Lily who broke the silence. She asked if she looked any different.

It started happening quickly after that, almost like an 85th Birthday present. The next day, two seniors, Albert Conrad and Marie Chung woke on their 85th Birthdays to their own surprising colors. Conrad, while on a cruise in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and Chung in her hospital bed in Hong Kong. Conrad was ruby colored, Chung was sapphire. The day after that, four seniors, garnet, amethyst, topaz, and onyx. The number of changing seniors grew exponentially.

When all the 85 year olds had fully bloomed, the older folks started turning.

The first name for it sounds laughable now, but “Dying Leaf Disease” is what this physical condition was called. Obviously all the tests were run, and nothing physical other than appearance had changed. And what a change!

The elderly glowed. Deep shades of every color, and all, except the bald, with the most exquisite silver hair. It looked like stainless steel, but felt like hair, original texture and all.

The road maps of the wrinkles each held a feeling, a story, and one could get lost just gazing at an old person’s skin. The comedy and tragedy of it all was hypnotic. 

It must be mentioned that not all 85 pluses led good lives. This was not Utopia. 

Some people almost got away with it. Evil doesn’t die young as a rule, nor does it necessarily die.  However, the wrinkles on their skin, their maps on their body, did not lie.  The truth and darkness shimmered as bright as the knowledge of what they had done. These elderly people still seemed magical, but also wretched, naked, and lonely.

Good deeds, on the other hand, shown like rainbow mist over the fields and valleys of skin. The truly exceptional could be displayed in a museum. Their complexion like dewy summer sunsets, the most loving, kind people were beauty incarnate. It became a goal: do the most good to get the most exquisite ending. Maybe it was Utopia after all.  

Their eyes did not change color, nor did their vision improve; however, in that glimmer was the Book of Life. When you looked an elderly person in the eye, it was no longer lost youth that you saw, but comforting knowledge.

People started going to senior care homes to see the colors, like taking the family to see the North East American leaves in the Fall. Instead of enticing the grandkids to stay with treats and toys, Nannas and PopPops were falling asleep with their loved ones gently petting and braiding their silver hair. 

85th Birthdays were more heavily attended than ever in History. Among the rich and famous there were grand unveilings. These were works of art, parts of History, and completely breathtaking.

Longevity became a goal. One may argue that it has always been a goal, but not by comparison. 65 year olds who were still working, supporting adult children, and giving birth to age spots everyday, had a new beginning to anticipate. 20 years time promised to deliver the recognition they have always dreamed, the love they have intensely craved, and the beauty they chased. 

In short, it was so perfect to die this way.

Now An Adult

It has been since 2016, which isn't as long ago as it feels.

In the short past 7 years, much has changed, most notable event being the birth of my daughter, Madeline. 

Also, during this time, I have grown-up.

I think a lot of it had to do with becoming honest with myself, and once I successfully practiced that, I was able to be honest with others. Life as an adult is more present. It's harder in big picture ways, but it is more manageable. I understand why I was a child for so long. There is such virtue in simplicity.

I spend my time with a focus on the beauty around me. I try to notice trees and see what the clouds look like today. I listen for birds and garden on my little Brooklyn Balcony. My favorite thing to do is to go on adventures with Madeline.

I think I'll post some short stories here, or pieces on which I am working. Maybe you'll find a connection in my words, and I hope that makes you feel like you are not alone.

Maybe I'll make you mad. I can control what I say, but I cannot control how you react to it.

Either way, good to see you again.