We Need to Talk

I have noticed that people don’t talk to one another as much as they need to. We chat online, text, and blog. When was the last time someone was asked to speak to you about something that was on their mind but by the end of the conversation—all your topics of interest had been discussed—not theirs? Maybe they were trying to start a conversation about something of interest to them and you began talking about yourself instead of listening to their interests. I had that happen to me recently. I was giving [this person] a ride home and they mentioned that there was a comment posted on a social network that they subscribe to. The comment was disturbing because it passed judgment on them. I never invited deeper conversation with [this person] because I went off on a tangent about my topics of interest. I believe I may have missed an opportunity to give some very valuable comments to [this person]. Fortunately, I had another opportunity later that evening. Another time—I was trying to discuss a random topic of interest only to have my discussion “Up-staged” by the person I was talking with. Of course, their topic was far more important to discuss than mine. It would be a waste of time and pixels to try and determine who is right and who is wrong or when someone should just shut-up and listen to someone else. Truth is we need to talk—to each other. I have had ideas to start up a conversation group. One that would invite all types of people and could be centered around a common theme. There was a reading group started at my school and I went to the first meeting. We introduced ourselves and had light conversation about what genre of book everyone liked. About mid-way through the meeting—I was not sure if the group would satisfy my hunger to talk and hear others talk or if it would simply give me yet another reading assignment that I really couldn’t commit to at the time. Needless to say I didn’t continue my affiliation. If I were to start a group, I would want it to be somewhere cozy. I picture a place like Starbucks or another coffee café that had a variety of beverages for people of different tastes. If I had a big enough house and could guarantee parking (lol) I would have it at my home. I would prepare great tasting cookies and have an awesome coffee maker like the kuerig that allows each cup made to be specific. SIDEBAR: MY nephew’s wife makes an awesome cup-o-joe! If I did decide to create a discussion group, I would worry that those who would come to the group would be even more hungry to talk than me—and no one else would get a word in edgewise….maybe that’s the reason why we chat online, text, and blog.

My Minivan, My Nemisis–A short story by T.Dwella


I was born and raised in Detroit. I married my high school sweetheart Chris, and we moved to California. He was a musician—signed to a record deal with A & M Records. I was a Legal Secretary for a small law firm in Beverly Hills. Not long after that, we started our family. Our first born was a boy. Three years later, we hit the jack pot with identical twin girls. We Home Schooled them until our son was in sixth grade—the twins were in third grade. Their social calendar was very active—even more than mine or Chris’s. They played sports on the YMCA’s youth teams and actively auditioned for commercials, television, and movies—whenever possible. A minivan was definitely needed and Chris began shopping around. He found a listing in the Auto Trader magazine. The ad read: Used van with low miles—good condition. It was a 1997 Chevy Silhouette—fully loaded with automatic passenger side doors. A deep hunter green color with black luggage racks on top. It was perfect. I could drive the kids to auditions, basketball practice and do my grocery shopping without that crowded feeling I had with our old Isuzu I-Mark. It couldn’t have come at a better time for us. Family situations back in Detroit really confirmed this.

My husband received a long distance phone call from his family that was very disturbing. At that time, we didn’t own cell phones so getting a call on your land line—long distance meant major news. A cancerous spot was found on his mother’s kidney and his niece had suffered a ruptured cerebral aneurism. The doctors induced a comma after surgery—for recovery. There was no need for conversation, I knew that we needed to return to Detroit. By the end of the week, we had loaded up our van with the kids, hitched a trailer to the back with our belongings and drove all the way back to Detroit. We really had a lot of faith in our van—back then. We arrived in Detroit and later purchased my in-laws house. My father-in-law had passed years prior. My mother-in-law survived the removal of her kidney and currently lives with us. I must admit, purchasing my minivan was much more exciting than purchasing my in-laws house.

It was a Tudor style home built in the 40’s—on Detroit’s Northeast side. The lawns on our block are so small you could cut them in less than an hour. Mature trees line the street—some have even fallen due to age and inclement weather. There are two mature trees situated in the back of our house. They also affect the three homes surrounding ours.  One of the homes has been abandoned for many years and the other two were recently purchased. Two doors down from us is the party house. The two times of the year you can count on it are: the End-of-summer-party and the: Everybody-born-in-April-party. During the summer months—random parties were very common at that house.

On party nights there are cars parked on our street bumper to bumper. We have to put up with loud party goers and lots of drinking, cursing, and fighting. The party guests have a tendency to use the vacant house as a toilet. The men will fuss and fight then go take a piss against the back of the abandoned home—shielded by the trees…sometimes. If we are not being annoyed by the parties, then there are the neighborhood kids. They pass the time by running through the back yards of the abandoned homes. Occasionally, they will break out a window or two—just for kicks. Those kids grew older and their families moved away. Our kids grew older and having a smaller vehicle made more sense.

We began thinking about getting a small utility vehicle or a luxury car. There didn’t seem to be a need for the van any longer and one year before the twin’s graduation—our van stopped running. We were driving down the 75 freeway when it happened. The van began to slow down. I thought my husband was intentionally pushing the breaks. When I asked what was going on, he told me that there was something wrong with the van and began pulling over to the right lane. He took the Jefferson exit and pulled into the gas station. We called the Triple-A Road Service and had the van towed back to the house—it hasn’t run since.

For the next 30 days our minivan sat still. No more morning runs in traffic or breadcrumbs dropped on the back seat where the kids hastily finished their morning meal as we rushed to be on time. No more groceries behind the back seat after shopping for the best deals and sales. It looked lonely back there. One weekend, I sat out—on a lawn chair in the back yard reading magazines and sipping cold strawberry flavored iced tea. It was a lazy summer day and I lost track of time. I needed to get dinner started and in my haste, I put my lawn chair inside the minivan. It was very convenient and the next day, I had easy access to my favorite summer lawn chair. By the end of the month, that old minivan became a temporary storage for our summer fun equipment. Once, I even saw my husband put a bag of charcoal and lighter fluid in it. Our son’s roller blades and helmet was tucked under the back seat—passenger side. It felt good knowing that my minivan was useful to the family again. But not just my family—there were others.

One summer morning, I was getting ready for work. I went downstairs for a cup of tea and opened the window blinds for the house plants. As I walked away from the window, I realized something was odd. I went back to the window and saw the driver side door was wide open on my minivan. I remember wondering if my husband had gone into it to get something and didn’t close it. What if it was our son who had opened that door but forgot to shut it? Every reason why that door could be open went through my mind—except the most obvious. I wanted to laugh because a petty thief would surely have been surprised to see that there was only junk in that minivan. Then I was angry—realizing I had been violated. Lost in thought and contemplating all the “What ifs” I stood there until a wave of fear came over me. In that instant—I panicked. “What if the burglar is still lurking around the back yard!” I yelled upstairs for my husband to come investigate. He didn’t find anything missing except for an old crowbar—what a stupid burglar.

There was another experience I had late one night after I had finished the dishes. This was far more frightening for me. I walked out into the backyard to throw some garbage away. The trash can sat next to my minivan. It wasn’t extremely dark that night but the sun had already set. I lifted the lid of the garbage can to toss the trash inside when I noticed something. My minivan had passengers!

I didn’t know if I should run or scream. I wanted to yell for my husband.  I was terrified—paralyzed. My eyes wouldn’t look away. All I could really see were the legs—more than two!  This was not a new experience for me with …them. They are vile, sneaky, and now living on my property without permission.

I shouldn’t really care so much about a van that doesn’t run. It has a flat tire and the roof has rust spots and blotchy paint. Then there’s that hideous spider’s web attached to the top of the passenger side window, extending down to the side view mirror.  None of this means my minivan is open to all the vagrants and vermin in Detroit!

Those passengers in my minivan are going nowhere. I don’t want to look any closer because I don’t like their kind. I just want to throw the trash bags in the trash can, walk back into the house and come out the next morning to see—nothing.

I know how to deal with the overgrown trees, boisterous neighbors, mischievous children, petty thieves—all the menacing elements of my life. However, I will not under any circumstances put up with very large hairy spiders taking up residence in my minivan—in clear view.



The beginning of my day was pretty much standard. I got up, took a shower, put on clothes, fixed breakfast….etc. By the end of my day, I found myself trapped between “Hear I am” and “there” I should be. Although this is not the first time I have found myself here, It is one of the most dissatisfying places I know. It’s not as if there is anything for you to determine or figure out. It’s just…here.

Life’s Event Horizon

When I was younger there were a few things that I promised myself I wouldn’t have to deal with once I was in the drivers seat of my life. These things encompassed feelings of abandonment, neglect, disorientation, hatred, misrepresentation, manipulation, and helplessness (to name just a few). Turns out, I couldn’t keep that promise to myself because of a vow I took. Once you pledge your life to join someone else for life, you must consider that there could be “overlap” that might conflict with your plans. The trick is to make sure the person you pledge to share your life with can understand, support, and journey with you. (I got lucky that this was my case).

What is never expected is…the unexpected. Sometimes life shows you different “Event Horizons” and you have a choice. You can either make sense out of things you cannot understand or ignore that they even exist and see how that works out for you.

You cannot offend me…

…but that doesn’t excuse you!

Does it ever seem strange to you when a person begins to tell you something and they preface it with a phrase such as…

“Don’t be offended but…”

“I don’t mean this in a bad way but…”

“I don’t normally gossip but…”

A family member shared an experience they had with another family member who began the conversation with “Don’t be offended but, you look just like [blank]. It would appear to me that the person initiating the conversation was implying that [blank] was someone that NO ONE would want to resemble. So in making a statement that YOU look like [blank] and prefacing it with “Don’t be offended” would seem to me that the intent was just that—to offend. The question then becomes—offend whom. Maybe both. I happen to know all three people involved with this episode. Two of them are very close to me in the family tree. The third person—not so much. Since I happen to be the common denominator in this “Frakkin’ fluke” I am gonna go out on a limb and say that the intended victim—is me. The perpetrator only succeeds if it becomes known that I was made privy to the information. From where I sit, if I am the intended victim and it was only by chance that I heard about the ordeal, then the person who made the statement just lost a whole lot of respect—from me.