Kristine E. Brickey

Struggling tonight. I was looking forward to today's workout at my Cross Fit, aptly named 'The Undead.' 5 RFT. 15 DLs, 25 Abmat SUs. I went rx. Seems like lately, my body requires more time to recoup, but I'm trying to do mobility, focus on my gains, etc... Round 1 and I was already behind, but moving at a steady pace as my coach had advised. 25 sit ups take me awhile, and I tried to keep reminding myself that a year ago I would have been home on the couch, not even working out. By Round 3 I was struggling, breathing during the ab mats got more difficult. Half the others were already finished. FINISHED. I DL'd forward...my mind swirling with 'leave your ego at the door' and other positives I've reinforced from this site and CF since last May. I'm 52. Oldest by a lot in the class. Yet...as I completed the entire 5th round alone, my fellow GLC mates cheering, I fought the mental struggle more than the nausea and shortness of b...

*A Heads Up before reading...This piece contains my emotional response to the Conference at the White House with people from the recent Florida shootings. This is my personal reaction. I am not starting a debate. If you want to argue, please don't bother. At least not now. I am too broken right now to play with those people. I needed to write this in order to breathe. There will be more later, but I will not be drawn into arguments on this piece. Sincerely, KEB*  Earlier this evening, I sat and listened to the round circle discussion of parents, teachers, and students, all survivors of school shootings. My heart was heavy as one after another student shared their fears, the idea that their entire life has included this fear; that they've never known a world that didn't include mass killings in schools. Tears flowed as parents shared their tales of receiving texts and calls from sons and daughters as their children hid, gunfire in the background.        Howev...

I am so proud that my piece, written in New Orleans during the Writing Marathon of 2017, is the kick off to this amazing radio presentation. This is the link, so please enjoy, and let me know what you think of it at some point. I love New Orleans and the writing that I do while inspired by all that is 'The Big Easy.'   http://www.kslu.org/awards_recognition/index.html .

             Sassy was going to kill her friend Cindy for getting involved in her love life, forcing her into this ridiculous predicament. Was it considered a doubly blind date if she hadn’t actually met this Matthew before, NOR was aware he was going to show up here, expecting she knew she was on a date? Just because he’d seen her article and sent flowers, what, she was obligated to date him? She’d sold the flowers to her coworker, but then Cindy had nabbed the card and made herself matchmaker. Imagining Cindy’s head jiggling as she shook her silly later this afternoon helped a little, Sassy thought with an evil grin. At least rejection in this public place should prevent any brouhaha .          All this information floated around Sassy’s brain as Matthew sat waiting. Grimacing, Sassy tried to decide how to best explain; but just then, the waitress arrived with lunch.      ...

This morning I woke up to find my husband already awake and ready for work. He greeted me with 'Happy Birthday!' and a hug as I sleepily made my way into the living room. On the kitchen counter, beside a lit lilac candle, sat a beautifully wrapped gift. He'd already had water and electric put into our horse barn for me as a 'not very romantic' (his words) present, though the most romantic in mine! Taking care, I unwrapped the flowered paper, careful of the multiple layers of tape to get to the box inside. Nestled in pink tissue was a magenta polka dot bag. As I opened the silk ribbon, my heart raced. "You didn't...oh my gosh, Chad...you didn't!" It was a book. Just a book, but so much more. I'm going to have to be careful what I share out loud with this amazing, wonderful man who will go to such means to light up my life. He's never kept a secret (worst poker face ever). He doesn't wrap, at least never like this beauty. His expres...

Two pounds, 10.1 ounces, angry dark red skin, my fourteen weeks premature girl lay on her back, arms and legs open at her sides-no muscle tone to hold them close, no fat legs or chubby cheeks. She was only hours old, and the nurse in charge of me had done her best to dissuade me from seeing her yet. ‘Get some sleep first,’ she tried, looking to my Mom for support. My mother looked at me, and recognized and understood my resolve. ‘You can put her in bed, but I can tell you she’ll only get up as soon as you leave to find her daughter.’   So, here I was, scrubbed from fingernail to elbow, iv tubes beneath my white robe, all my nerves exposed, and needing to see my first child. She was still in the very first room, where I learned later babies go to make sure they will make it to the first of the most intensive care rooms. I stood in the doorway, white walls, white table. My eyes locked on the tiny creature upon the warming table. My heart felt the wariness of the staff. They fear...

Chaotic Beauty     Naghi’s (Corner of St. Ann and Royal Street) Monday 7/10/17 10:15AM Crystal chandeliers sparkle, drawing first my eyes and then my feet into Naghi’s boutique. “Do you mind,” I ask the man, “if we come and write here awhile?” Without hesitation he waves us in. “Come, come. Enjoy!” The center of the room is a kaleidoscope of fountains, the largest in the middle and moving out in a five foot radius, a hodgepodge of cultures and water spouting magic. ‘Purple Rain’ is painted in vivid variations of eggplant, lavender, and indigo acrylics. It boldly takes up the entire wall above the brick fireplace, filling the corner as brashly as Prince himself might have done when he was alive. Behaving as if they belong there, frightening African masks scowl, laugh and silently scream at me from their positions on the walls. Mixed intermittently among them is a shining white marble statue of three Greek gods, frozen forever in wrestling battle, nak...