Tag Archive | hitchhiking

Bitter Cold



The weather outside is frightful. Oops, those are lyrics from a popular holiday song. Let me start again. The weather outside is hateful…no, the weather outside is unbearable…no, it’s horrible…no. Let’s start all over. The weather outside is exactly what it should be for winter in northern climes. It’s difficult. It’s cold, frigid, frosty, snowy, icy, windy, freezing. My character Glory in PERSEPHONE IN HELL is somewhat more eloquent than I in her thoughts about winter. She’s hitchhiking her way to school, just got picked up by a trucker who is very pleased to host this gorgeous teenage girl in his truck.

“I’m so damn cold. Will spring never come? She closed her eyes, willing Persephone, the goddess of spring, to arise from the dead. Nothing happened.

Should know better than to trust in the gods. Maybe I’ll thumb my way to Florida.

Her fingers moved up and down her frigid skin, trying to create some heat. The trucker’s hand left the steering wheel and inched across the vinyl seat toward her. “It’s like ice in here,” he said softly so as not to disturb her reverie. “I can help with that.”

Glory gave up on the gods for the moment and stared out the steamed up window. She counted the side streets they slowly passed – Forest Street, Chestnut Street, Spring Hill Lane. Such vernal, innocent places, green and natural. Merry and naked, nothing like winter; no snow drifts ever on Spring Hill.”

Ah, just the thought of the idyllic Spring Hill makes me wish I could thumb my way to somewhere else. Anywhere else. A place where Mother Nature reveals her softer side on a more regular basis. Where ice is mostly associated with cream, and cold with beer. Where a young girl can walk to school past inviting green lawns. Where truckers drive on by and no one misses them. Where cool, invigorating winds come to visit but don’t stay long. Where without the crushing weight of a hard bitter cold, the spirit can float free.

Monday Mornings with Robin Hood


I hate Monday mornings. I don’t suppose I’m the only one in the world who’s ever said that. But I am passionate in my hatred. First of all, to make it clear, I am not a morning person! I want to stay up late like the grownup I am, and sleep late, too. Because I do love my sleep! Second, I’ve undoubtedly lost precious hours of it on Sunday night trying to extend the weekend to the last possible moment. Third, Monday means…work, and commuting, often driving in the snow and ice, and facing another week. To be clear, I don’t hate work, just going to work. I get the shakes just thinking about it. Consider the entire scenario, and you get why I despise Monday mornings. It’s something I and my character Glory have in common in my novel PERSEPHONE IN HELL.

Glory is a 15 year old beauty who hates going to school. She’s skipped so often, the principal finally calls her mother who, for the first time in seven Mondays, makes sure Glory leaves the house in time for the first bell. In many ways a typical teen, Glory is not dressed for winter.

“It was the dawn of miseries. Even the goddess Aurora herself, pulling the sun through the heavens in her chariot of gold and red, couldn’t have wished for that particular daybreak. Glory trudged down the snowy street in her mini skirt and open-toe platform shoes to school. She walked on the edge of the street in the slush. Dirty lumpy piles of it frozen everywhere. Bad enough it’s Monday. Who wouldn’t despise Mondays? Waking up at six a.m. on any day of the week is pitiless. But Mondays are downright abusive. It’s still dark out. What kind of farmer do people think I am? I need my sleep. The north wind showed no mercy.”

Glory hitchhikes her way down the frozen road. She finds a ride in the first truck to come along. In a trance, she fantasizes about Robin Hood (she’s into Robin Hood, definitely!) as the truck driver who can’t believe his good luck gets warm.

“Glory’s intense violet eyes strained to see through the foggy glass. Robin stopped hiding in Sherwood just long enough to save Maid Marion from being forced to marry the evil Sheriff of Nottingham. Where is Nottingham, anyway? And where was good King Richard when you needed him? Off to fight the silly Crusades. That’s a man for you. You can’t count on good winning out. You can’t count on men being good. And you couldn’t count on any man, not even a lionhearted king, to protect you from the slime bags of the world. No man but Robin, of course, and he isn’t real. You can’t keep a real man from forcing his way on you.”