Elements

It's Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today!

This story came to me from many directions, 

one of them being a song that has become one of my favorites since I became a mom: 

"I've Got Peace Like a River," sung by Elizabeth Mitchell. 

The connection of river, ocean, and fountain 

made me think about the elements, 

and this short story was created...

Elements

By Kimberly Zook

My years as an organic chemist have taught me only one thing: every human on earth has a single element that permeates their entire being. Unfortunately, I'm still trying to discover mine.
 
MERCURY (Hg) - My husband's metallic body pools into a heavy liquid over mine as he falls asleep on top of me under the hot Nicaraguan sun. Beads of quicksilver drip into my pores. A restless scorpion stirs under the roof of our hut. My lungs dampen to a level of toxicity when my suave Latin lover rolls off my body.

It is winter in the states. Are my sisters thinking of their ex-pat sibling baking in a hut on a dual-volcanic island shaped like an hour-glass, waiting...

We married only three weeks after magnetically meeting on the shore of Lake Managua. Its waters drip of mercury. Our honeymoon, a ferry ride over waters buzzing of bull sharks, ended at Ometepe Island, Raul's home.

"I used to race those sharks as a boy," Raul told me, "but they're unpredictable and aggressive. You're lucky they didn't catch me."

Volatile mercury, known for speed and mobility among the Roman gods, should be handled with care.


MANGANESE (Mn) - Her hard and brittle calluses crackle in my hand. Raul's mother snorts and returns to flattening tortillas on plantain leaves in the spicy kitchen. My efforts at making tortillas do little to melt this manganese mother. Our relationship is already tainted with rust. My kidneys ache of her element.

"Mi carina, Zobeida," she exclaims at the entrance of a dazzling young woman. My dear, Zobeida.

"Quien es que?" Zobeida asks as a little girl peers around her legs. Who is that?

The disgust in his mother's voice burns my face. "Raul's esposa." Raul's wife.

"Esposa," spats Zobeida. Her eyes reflect a painful shock before she shrugs it away. "Puede cocinar?" Can she cook?

Raul's mother cackles and tosses her head to the black stove where my lumpy thick tortillas burn next to her fluffy light ones. At the table, Zobeida begins to sort through a pile of black beans, casting aside the ones bored into by insects.

The forgotten little girl stares up at me, her coffee-rich almond eyes linger on my necklace of cowrie shells.
Raul's been gone for six days now, off to Managua with a cart full of plantains. My passionate drunken love for him begins to dissipate as the bruises of manganese upon my body color to a shade of amethyst.

Manganese colors glass a shade of amethyst, which was once believed to protect a person from intoxication.

MAGNESIUM (Mg) - The little girl giggles as I wrinkle up my nose at the stench of a stink bug. We've been harvesting coffee all afternoon. I've learned only that her name is Maria and she is six years old. I anticipate Raul's return, so I can understand more about her.

Maria's delicate thin fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from accidentally disturbing another pungent bug. Her infectious laughter and brilliant smile have healed my wounds from this morning's interactions in the kitchen, and I relax in the shade of the tall coffee plants.

"Papa!" Maria shouts. She bursts into the air like an exploding vision of fireworks, and races down the row of plants. I glance up from my basket of red coffee berries to find Raul walking toward us. I look past him but see no one. Raul gets down on one knee and Maria steps up and jumps into his arms, a move so smooth it's been long-practiced.

His free hand grabs my waist and pulls me to his body.

"My daughter, you met," he states.

"Mi papa," Maria says proudly.

"They live with us, some days."

"They?" I ask, stepping away from his magnetic pull.

"Maria and her mother, Zobeida."

My body hardens. Raul sees the accusation in my glare.

"She's not my girlfriend. You now are my wife." Raul slowly reaches down for my hand. "My wife, I love."

The instant drain of attraction for Raul leaves my body quaking as his last words sprinkle down on me like rain drops on a cracked desert floor.

I panic, running blind inside the labyrinth of my mind until Maria's hand gently touches my shoulder. She leans out of Raul's arms towards me and lightly touches the seashells around my neck.

"I make."

Magnesium, a supernova element, is essential to all living organisms.

I published this story with WOW! Women on Writing a couple of years ago. 

Their writing contest is currently open until August 31st, so I encourage you to enter it!!

The Motherhood Muse

I'm excited to announce a new website I've created:

The Motherhood Muse

This new website offers a literary magazine on motherhood and nature (sign up for our free e-newsletter to receive the first issue free!), a blog, writing contests (with monetary prizes!), and more! We're also on Facebook and LinkedIn, so come join our community!

If you sign up for our free e-newsletter by November 1st, not only do you get the first issue of the e-Zine free but you'll also have a chance at winning a $15 starbucks gift card or a prize package of items from our boutique. *See our blog for hints at how to increase your chance of winning!

So please check out The Motherhood Muse website and blog today!!

I will still be writing here at my Zook Book Nook blog; however, during the next three months I will probably be spending more time writing on my new blog.

Thanks for checking out The Motherhood Muse today!

Toot Toot

An entire month has slipped by without journaling online here about my experiences as a mama-writer! The month of June involved travelling via planes to San Diego and via our car to Banff, Alberta, and our daughter surprisingly handled it all fantastically! She saw her first moose and her first bear, which also happened to be firsts for me, too.

Upon returning home I found a story I submitted to a writing contest for Mom Writer's Literary Magazine published online. I thought I would just take a few minutes out of my day from playing with my daughter to toot my own horn, something that isn't easy for me to do :)

If you'd like to read my story please follow this link: http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/FirstPlace.htm

Now on to planning our little one's first birthday party!

A Slip of the Spoon

It appears the Mom Writer's Literary Magazine website is no more after they were taken in by Mamazina. Therefore the link to my publication no longer exists.

In case you'd like to read my 1st place winning entry in the 2008 Writing Contest, I have posted it below!

A Slip of the Spoon

by

Kimberly A. Zook

I knew what I was supposed to be doing, but my desires distracted me as the aroma of red wine delicately danced upon my face with silky taps of ballerina slippers. Enveloped in sensual notes from the piano and glowing flames from candles on our dinner table, I closed my eyes in pleasure. Tonight is the night. No longer must I be satisfied with the teasing tastes of vintage grapes. My daughter was finally weaned from my breasts, and I was free to drink as much wine as our waiter could pour.

            Claiming the night for celebration, my husband swept my daughter and me out the door and into The Keg, a local steak restaurant. Once we were seated, I pulled out my Mary Poppins carpetbag and began rummaging around inside for our daughter’s distractions: toy keys, foam book (chewable, although “Not Intended for Teething”), bottle of milk, and a container of yogurt. Our daughter’s impeccable palate at 15 months preferred the soft, sweet taste of yogurt, cheese, and milk over breast milk. And so I could savor the wine list, knowing that tonight would be the first night I could drink an endless cup.

            “The largest glass of Merlot you have,” I told the waiter as I stuffed my purse under the table, hearing a forgotten toy squeak in protest at not being chosen.

            As the tingle of wine began to sweep across my scalp and numb my constantly-in-motion fingers, I sighed and sat back in my chair. My husband smiled at me. I smiled at him. I took another sip of my wine, swirling the delectable sweetness on my tongue. Tonight my desire to rekindle my vintage-self as a woman would be fulfilled. Oh, the sweet promise of wine.

            “She looks hungry,” my husband said, placing our daughter’s bib around her neck.

            As I pried open the yogurt container, she eyed the basket of bread and butter the waiter had placed on our table. I dipped the baby spoon into the yogurt and began to sing, “Eat. Eat. Eat your food. Eat your food I say.” Our daughter looked down at the yogurt and opened her mouth.

            “A toast,” my husband claimed. “To nursing our daughter for so long and to fulfilling your desire to drink wine again.”

            I prepared a piece of buttered bread for myself while eyeing my glass of red wine. I recalled the weekend down in Napa Valley where my husband and I biked from vineyard to vineyard, sampling reds, whites, cheese, and chocolate. It was the best weekend of my life. It was the weekend we created our daughter.

            Like any multi-tasking mom, I sipped my wine, smiled enticingly at my husband, and fed my daughter another bite of food. Deprived of wine for so long, it didn’t take long before my kneecaps went numb. Maybe I won’t get past the first glass, and here I was hoping to finish with a Riesling tonight.

My husband laughed. “It won’t be too much longer until the rest of your body gets all tingly.”

Meanwhile, our voracious eater kept smacking her lips. She swatted my arm with her tiny hand and opened her mouth. I swept another spoonful into her mouth and took a deep swig of wine.

“Gosh,” I said, “She’s really hungry tonight. Usually she stops after a few bites and wants her bottle.”

My husband smiled at me as he poured more wine into our glasses.

“Would you like some bread, honey?” I asked as I fed another spoonful of food into our daughter’s little mouth.

Taking the bread basket from me, my husband asked, “Where’s the butter?”

My eyes scrutinized the table: toy keys – check, foam book – check, bottle of milk – check, container of yogurt – check.

“That’s funny,” I said, “Our daughter’s jar of yogurt is completely full.”

A little hand suddenly wrapped around my fingers that held our daughter’s spoon in front of her face. She shoved it into her mouth and licked her lips. Her eyes widened with pleasure and she squealed with joy.

My eyes narrowed in on the container of food that I had been serving her. One small smear of butter remained inside. Our daughter reached forward and swiped up the last smudge of butter out of the container. Smiling, she held out her finger to offer me her food.

My husband chuckled. “I guess I’ll take some yogurt with my bread tonight.”

I sighed, looking at my distracted, flushed face contorted in the belly of the empty wine glass in front of me. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to be that sophisticated woman again. My husband and daughter smiled at me, a multi-tasking mommy who maybe doesn’t need the magic of vintage grapes to feel desirable.