Order of the Good Write

That Magic Feeling When the Words Flow. A Blog by Debi Rotmil


Happy Valentines Day

queenofmyheartMy mother used to celebrate Valentines Day like it was a serious holiday. It was a day to celebrate love. It was also a celebration of chocolate. My mother had her favorite – Russell Stover Ambassador Candies. She wouldn’t accept less. My dad used to run down the Rexal’s Drugstore in Ardsley Village and pick it up first thing in the morning with a bunch of roses before it was too late. Then, she’d sit happy as a clam picking through the vast assortment of chocolate nibs.

She would buy me a small heart box of candies herself, along with a Hallmark card designed to hold money and signed checks. My mother was Jewish. Not to perpetuate a stereotype, but I will: She loved to give you a little something. It could be a few dollars, a ten, a twenty, a few twenties. She saved it up in pouches of cash envelopes from the bank. She budgeted her money that way. Although she wasn’t the most religious lady in the world, she did inherit the uncanny ability to slip you a few dollars in thanks, or because she loved you. One time she tried to give my friend Marie a few dollars just for coming by and acting as witness to the signing of her will. When she refused to accept it, my mother brought out food instead. Marie took the food.

I don’t have a Valentine this year. In fact, I never really do. Not that I’m complaining. Life has always been a solitary one for me, and no matter how much I like a guy, he always seems to like someone else more. At my age, I realized that some people are not meant to share their lives with anyone. And when I realized that – it seemed to take off the burden. I’m meant to do others things in this world, share the love in other ways. That’s why I write, and am working to help others write too.

Valentines Day on a Saturday. Nice. I’ll buy some cupcakes at Crumbs or perhaps a little box of chocolate, and  re-watch my favorite episode of 30 Rock.  It’s the one where Liz Lemon,  boyfriend-less, decides to spend the day getting root canal. “Happy Valentines Day No One!” she says in her goofy anesthesia haze, after mistaking the nurses for boyfriends past – Jason Sudeikis, Jon Hamm and Dean Winter – and before making out with a plant she thought was Jon Bon Jovi.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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Bug Day Horror

My fellow WordPress person, “Writer with a Goal” initiated a blog prompt for the day: Write one or two paragraphs about  – “Feeling Like a Bug”.

Bug in my closet...I WILL CRUSH YOU, figuratively speaking.

Bug in my closet…I WILL CRUSH YOU, figuratively speaking.

I’ve never felt like a bug in my life. Bugs creep me out. Once in a while, these giant water bugs find their way into my bathroom through the drains. Their dark black and the size of your thumb – if you had a really big, long thumb.

Last week, just as I was leaving the bathroom, I caught a quick glimpse of one of these monster scurry under the door to my hallway closet like the lousy little wimp that it is. Ha! It thought I didn’t see him hide like a little fool into the dark hole that is closet of laundry and luggage! Bwhahaha!  He will never find his way home again.

I immediately ran to my other closet and grabbed my Dyson vacuum, went back to the other closet and looked for that son of a bitch. (Pardon the language – I really hate these things.)

Never found the guy. He’s buried in there somewhere.And I never put away the vacuum. It’s still standing in there, in front of the closet door, waiting, hopin g to nab this little sucker into his suck hose. It stands –  taunting, a reminder that if that SOB leaves and even THINKS of climbing on to me or my hound – it will be sucked quickly into the bowels canister of hell, left to wallow in filth and carpet residue, dog hair and the mighty horrors of under-bed dust bunnies – that is – if it doesn’t die from being mangled by the spiky churning floor brush first!

Just you wait oh, water bug. Don’t even think of touching my barefeet while I brush my teeth or step out of the shower. If there is a little space around the towel I jammed at the bottom of the door to prevent you from sneaking out – that you find as an escape – forget it.  I will crush you. Not really crush you – that would be gross because you are like a mini truck…but I will use my vacuum’s hellacious wind tunnel and make your eat dirt!