Reflections on a Bedtime Story

As I lay down in bed free of worries or cares,

I am hardly aware of big feet on the stairs.

The soft crunch of carpet beneath hard-soled shoes

Alerts me that Dad’s home from work in his ‘blues’;

His navy blue suit coat, his navy blue tie, his navy blue trousers -

They all catch my eye, as my knob turns

And slowly my door’s opened wide,

Revealing my Dad holding books at his side.

For the next quarter hour I listen intently

’Til Dad’s finished reading and kisses me gently.

His voice echoes on as he shuts off the light.

Soon he says, ‘pleasant dreams’, and I answer, ‘goodnight’.

~Jill Cotu

CASEY BLOOM AND THE TIME TINKERERS                middle grade fiction 

This is the story of an 11 year old boy's journey to find himself. Featuring an old clock turned time machine, lessons in quantum physics, a cast of quirky characters, and a mysterious stranger, Casey Bloom reads like Harry Potter meets Back to the Future.

Chapter 1 Teaser:

Casey was along for the ride when his Grandpa’s car, a 1992 Ford Taurus painted two tone beige, made a sharp left. The vehicle was 32 years old. Casey wondered how it was still running as Grandpa pulled into the local thrift store where every employee and customer alike knew Grandpa by name. “Just a quick donation, kid,” Grandpa promised. Though they both knew the sentiment was a lie and an apology; this was no mere act of good will, it was a reconnaissance mission.

Actually, it made perfect sense that the old Taurus was alive and kicking; Grandpa could fix anything. His handyman skills were legendary. A banker by trade, Grandpa’s hobbies usually involved a hammer, wrench, or screwdriver. Now that he was retired, he’d taken to tinkering with old clocks often acquired second hand. “You never know what story lies between the hands of time,” he casually philosophized, as they walked down the aisles. “Ah! This is a beauty!”, Grandpa exclaimed as he picked up an Admiral desktop model, “Craig is going to be jealous.” Craig was employed at the new age bookstore where Grandpa worked part time. The sign over the door, made from hand carved rough bark, read, “Merlin’s Novel Nook”. The interior was exactly as you’d expect: dragons with pull cords attached to their wings hung suspended from the ceiling, the crystals and mineral rock formations on offer were too numerous to count, and the headings of bookshelves read, ‘Angels’, ‘Quantum Physics’, ‘Numerology’, and ‘Meditation’. Truth be told, Casey loved it. He often looked forward to visiting Grandpa, if only to have more time to educate himself on all things mysterious and occult. This, however, was not one of those times. He had been sent 3000 miles away from his home in Michigan to Grandpa’s home in California, while his brother was on his way to space camp. The horrible injustice of it all was enough to make him sick. He shuffled his feet, making his way toward the cash register. “See anything you like, Case?” Grandpa feebly tried to break Casey’s bad mood. Met with silence, he continued, “I know it doesn’t seem fair that Ryan’s hob nobbing with rocket scientists at Camp Kennedy this week, but I for one am glad to have you here. A full week of boy’s time with my youngest grandson.” “I’m eleven, and you only have two grandkids,” Casey countered. “Yeah, well…the sentence sticks, I’m still right, and I believe I’m also hungry. Let’s go home and have some sandwiches. I made my famous lemonade,” said Grandpa. Casey gave a brief smile. The thought of the honey sweetened citrus concoction lifted his spirits. He loved Grandpa, he just wished he didn’t currently have to compare him to an astronaut.

My Aunt's Pants

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be just like my Aunt Wanda. She was crazy, in the best way. She gave my sister and I gag gifts at Christmas. One year she used puffy paint to decorate the new sneakers we’d left at her house.  My mother was furious, but my sister and I smiled at the silly present.

Aunt Wanda laughed all the time. Sometimes when she laughed I felt shy; I didn’t always understand the joke and I didn’t know how to make people laugh quite that hard or loud. I wished I wasn’t so self conscious. I wished I had Aunt Wanda’s sense of humor and confidence. I asked my mom to buy me a pair of leopard print pants; they would make a statement, like Aunt Wanda.

…and I grew and I grew. Christmas came around again and my family received a package in the mail. It had travelled all the way from Texas! My Aunt Donna had sent handmade presents. Yarn coasters, cross-stitched napkin rings & bookmarks, and jams & jellies. I adored every single thing we unwrapped; each gift looked to my eyes more crafty and creative than the last. Oh how I wished I had skills to make all those cool things. I vowed to get an after school job at Frank’s Nursery & Crafts so I could earn money and buy all the things necessary to be just like my Aunt Donna.  Perhaps Aunt Donna would sew me a pair of paisley bell bottom pants like she wore.

…and I grew and I grew. I started high school. When we visited my favorite uncle, his girlfriend Colleen was always around. She was cool. Very cool. She wore white pantsuits and rock music t shirts. She took my sister and I to concerts, and let us order extra cherry syrup on our ice cream. When she married my uncle, I gained a new aunt - someone that I could talk to and share my teenage secrets with. I asked my mom to buy me a tight fitting pair of blue jeans with white stitching around the pockets. I imagined a pair of concert tickets sticking out of the back pocket.

….and I grew and I grew. There was always a party at Aunt Eileen’s house. She was best cook in the family. In my opinion, she was the best cook in the world. She prepared food like she was expecting a hungry crowd of hundreds, even if the gathering was just a dozen people. In addition to being a lawyer, she had gone to beauty school and knew how to cut & color hair. She had a pilot’s license and a helicopter landing pad on her roof! She taught herself to speak Italian. She was a real renaissance woman. There was nothing she could not do. Whether she was busy in business or the kitchen, she always looked like a magazine ad. Her clothes and jewelry were perfect and put together.

I asked my mom to buy me a smart pair of trousers, pleated and pressed pants that I could wear with just the smallest high heel. Oh please?? I wanted to feel as accomplished as Aunt Eileen.

…and I grew and I grew. I went away to college, and I had a pen pal: my Aunt Pat. She lived in California. She drove a white classic car, and wore expensive perfume. She had her own office, and a wonderfully decorated home with fragile things and custom oil paintings and a smell of flowers wafting throughout. When I visited, she made me feel like a queen. She listened to me. She guided me with sage wisdom and common sense advice.

I spent many afternoons day dreaming about decorating my own house one day just like Aunt Pat’s, and of moving gracefully through life with charm and appreciation of all the things I hadn’t known in the home I grew up in. (Like avocados, and black & white movies.)

I saved up and bought myself a new pair of pants: black leggings with lace on the bottom, like I had seen in Aunt Pat’s closet. I felt beautiful.

…and I grew and I grew. I attended a family reunion with 200 other proud Italian Americans. My Aunt Gracie announced my arrival to her home by ringing a big brass bell for all to hear. In her kitchen zucchini bread was cooling on the stove next to pots of boiling pasta water; rigatoni and homemade sauce would be ready soon. Aunt Gracie taught me the importance of family and tradition. Any pants would do, so long as they were covered by a tomato-stained apron and I had loved ones to spoil.

When I was young I wanted to be just like my aunts. Then one day I found I had grown into a woman, with a head full of my own brilliant ideas, and a heart full of memories made, love shared, and lessons learned.

I had a closet full of my own clothes.

I realized the only pants I wanted to wear were my own.

Author: Jill Cotu