Dad never learned to drive so mom had to take matters into her own hands.
She got her driver’s license in 1957 at age 40. Oh, she’d driven a bit when she was younger but women drivers in the 30s and 40s was unheard of.
Her first car was a Studebaker Golden Hawk and she ran that thing into the ground, literally.
One blindingly sunny day with the pedal to the metal, mom drove off the road, smashed into the cemetery and dug up a few floral arrangements along the way.
A provocative & evocative image from Jenne at The Unicorn Challenge; our mission, if we choose to accept it, is to write our reaction to this prompt. Here is mine.
Carry myself with pride, as my mama taught me. My name is Elizabeth but everyone calls me Betsy. I am sixteen, pretty and full of life. This is day one of my first paying job – working in the cotton mills. I’m lucky and so grateful.
Mama is home caring for my seven little siblings. Daddy left one day and never came back.
In my lunch sack is bread, an orange and a chunk of cheese; a plain lunch but it keeps me going. During my break I’ll sit by the banks of the river and splash my scorched face. Life is good.
Carry myself with stooped shoulders. I’ve been in the mill for eight months. It’s hotter inside than the blazing Georgia sun. Humid, too, to keep the thread from breaking. Boiled potatoes and river water for lunch. I’m sixteen. Maybe I’ll meet a husband here.
Carry myself on leaden feet. I work six days a week, twelve hours a day. I earn $1.00 each week. The air is thick with cotton dust. Nobody talks anymore; we keep our mouths covered but that doesn’t stop the coughing. I have no time or energy for anything else. I’m sixteen and feel like I’m sixty.
Carry myself with doom. I’m coughing up blood and see nothing in my future except dying in the mill. I think I’ll just walk into the river and never come out.
Carry my dead body to the graveyard. I was only sixteen and my name was Betsy.
The man stood off to the side, silently watching, seething.
They were neighbors, friends at one time …. brothers, a lifetime ago. When asked to go into business together, he turned his friend down saying it was a foolish venture, throwing good money after bad. He was afraid.
His friend was successful in his business and became wealthy beyond measure while his own life languished. Jealousy turned to self-pity which morphed into anger and hatred so deep and volatile, his head pounded at the sight of his once friend.
And look at her with that flashy red purse. Disgusting.
It was that little snot Petey and hislacklusterefforts in watering theendiveplants. One job and he failed miserably.
Well, after being told week after weekthat he was doing a lousy job, he’d finally found somegumption(ill-placed though it was) and hung me out to dry. What a mastertwit he turned out to be!
Here I am; I have no arms to pull myself up, no legs to jumpdown. Guess I’ll be here till the real thing comes along.
General Agricola was restless; for three nights he did not sleep. The Caledonians were plotting, of this he was certain. They were a pompous lot, thinking they could defeat his legions.
There was fire in his belly and he was determined to prove himself irreplaceable to the emperor, Vespasian.
Agricola summoned his first officer, Acilius. “I require the services of the scribe, Tertius. Depart immediately and bring him to me.”
Acilius did as commanded. The wizened scribe, Tertius, sat at the foot of Agricola, his calamus at the ready. He began the most crucial message of his life.
It was a tradition in my house when I was a kid; Mom made macaroni with gravy meat every Sunday and Thursday.
Nobody called it pasta; it was Ronzoni macaroni. And we didn’t say “sauce” either; it was “gravy”. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole – that’s Sicilian “gravy meat”.
Mom’s cooking was absolutely incredible. With the steamy kitchen window open just a crack, the aromas wafted out into the night, beckoning aunts, uncles, cousins and a few neighbors to dinner. Our apartment was always full.
The bright light wasn’t really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
A four-line response to the photo-prompt challenge below from Greg @ Four Line Fiction
Image: Abandon Houses / Abandon, Decaying and Forgotten Group – Facebook
“Is there really such a thing as the perfect marriage?” Marcella wondered; at one time she believed the answer was “yes”.
Now, laying on her bed alone in her apartment, Marcella’s head was swimming; after 18 years of marriage, how could she have been so terribly mistaken?
She had discovered a loose thread, one which kept annoying her, and as she toyed with it, pulled on it, every neatly sewn stitch in the tapestry of her life began to unravel until there was nothing left but tatters.
“How does a man who seemed unwaveringly devoted to her and their daughter have another wife and children on the other side of town and everyone knew except her?” Marcella asked herself, her mind now numb; the very idea was staggering and she nearly laughed at how totally preposterous and unimaginable it all was.
Both men lived in the same apartment building, one on the ground floor and the other, two flights up. They would see each other in passing, nodding ‘hello’ or muttering the occasional “How ya doing?” They were approximately the same age and had seen each other often but a friendship never developed.
Then the corona virus hit and everything changed.
They happened upon each other in a nearby park, masked up, walking their dogs. One had a golden retriever, the other a chocolate lab. They struck up a socially distanced conversation, at first talking about their dogs then, of course, the craziness of COVID.
They were both unemployed computer engineers, laid off because of company closures. Each one contemplated moving back in with their parents but that was impossible; neither one came from accepting or understanding families.
They started biking and jogging together, often running the six miles that made up the full loop around Central Park. As they talked they discovered they had much in common: their nonexistent love lives, their passion for chess, a fascination with micro-brewing and their dream of working from home as computer app designers. And how gut-wrenching it was coming out as gay. Bittersweet commentaries.
The next step was so natural: moving in together. They could share one apartment and save money, work on ideas for app design programs, dabble in a little home-made beer and totally, passionately, fiercely fall in love.
A new year, a new start. Love in the time of corona.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my original response to her challenge.
Devin and Charlie jumped out of her car, fiercely kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes.
What great luck for the teens with sex drives in hyper-mode; Devin’s cabin all to themselves while both sets of parents were far off on weekend vacations.
The teens planned to spend every minute in bed.
Devin retrieved the key from her pocket and unlocked the door.
The first shock was the romantic glow in the fireplace. The second? Finding all four parents getting it on …. and not with their own spouses.
And there stood Devin and Charlie letting it all hang out.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my response to her challenge.
“We’re out of gas, Pepper.”
“Look, Brad! There’s a light! Let’s walk to it.”
“Good idea! Maybe someone can help.”
Arriving at a house, the couple was struck by its serene beauty. They dreamed of owning a home like this.
They knocked and a woman answered.
“May I help you?”
Brad explained their situation; the woman said there were full gasoline cans in the garage and invited them in.
The interior was breathtaking.
“Your house is gorgeous!” exclaimed Pepper.
“Oh, it’s not mine; I’m the selling agent. You interested?”
Brad and Pepper exchanged surprised and delighted glances.
Did you ever get the feeling you were being watched?
The forecast for snow turned out to be highly exaggerated as there was barely a coating; much had already melted away.
I’d hiked these woods many times; I was comfortable here and felt safe among the deer and wild birds. Today was different; I couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched.
I scanned the area and that’s when I saw him. You’ll see him, too. Look in the upper left section of the photo. There, hiding behind the grey rock is the face of Edgar Allan Poe.
It was a busy night at The Cock ‘n Bull. The second act was about to start when Paige Turner came running out of her dressing room screaming that she’d been robbed.
Imagine my embarrassment when I, Angie O’Plasty, queen of the Chicago circuit drag queens, was accused of trying to absquatulate with all the girl’s expensive wigs!
Of course it was a complete misunderstanding and I was exonerated when my nemesis, Brook Trout, was found with the stolen goods.
“Well, it’s the address the hotel clerk gave me and our GPS brought us right here.”
Alex and Gwen sat in their car wondering how the little yellow shack by the water could possibly be “the best fish and chips place in all of Liverpool”.
Exiting the car, they were struck by the tantalizing aroma of frying food. Grabbing each other’s hands, they ran to the front of the shack. The smell of fish and chips was mouthwatering and there were at least fifty people in line.
“Grammy, come see our new homework room. Daddy painted the walls for us. Come look!”
My grandchildren tug at my arms, leading me into their newly decorated room. There were three workstations for them to do their schoolwork, shelves lined with books and a big old wooden chest filled with treasures.
The underwater scenes my son painted were wondrous; honestly, the theme didn’t matter.
It was the memories that came flooding back to me from thirty years ago when he painted the walls of his own room with cartoon characters he created.
Sadje has asked us in her Sunday Poser if we have any bad habits we want to give up.
Who, me?
Do not get me started on bad habits. That will only result in a monumental snowball effect which will totally ruin my day and likely bore the pants off everyone else.
Just the fact that I’m sitting here taking the time to write this when I could be cleaning out a closet is statement enough; I don’t need to produce a laundry list of my bad habits.
It’s been raining like gangbusters here since Saturday – the type of weather when all you want to do is watch old movies, read or write on your blog. I thought about keeping up with my daily walks but it was pouring so I said “Nah” and pulled my hoodie up over my head.
Look, here’s the bottom line:
Everyone has bad habits, big or small. If anyone can point a judgmental finger at another person while professing to not having one single bad habit themselves, they’d be lying … or at the very least, bragging. Those are bad habits right there.
No, don’t get me started on bad habits.
We are all flawed.
Perhaps we might want to hone our good habits and not dwell so much on the bad ones. Imagine all the money we’d save on antacids!
I rest my case.
PS: Yesterday we were granted a brief window of no rain. We dragged our sorry asses out of our recliners and went for that walk after all. I felt good about that. The jury is still out on what will happen today. And that is no lie.
You know how it is when you see a person or hear a name and it sort of rings a bell but it’s not in its usual context so you don’t make the connection?
Yeah, that’s what happened to me when I discovered Carlton’s Candy Coop – my favorite place for all my sweet-tooth cravings.
Chocolates, nougats, peanuts, caramels … all those mouth-watering, sugar-rushing, delectable tummy treats that stick to your teeth but you don’t care because they’re just too damn yummy!
Then it hit me. Carlton. Carlton? Carlton! But of course! Carl Carlton was my dentist!
We kept teasing Uncle Herb that he was turning into a hoarder and he might end up like the infamous Collyer Brothers who died of starvation and heart failure among tons of trash and hoarded items.
I think that scared the crap out of Uncle Herb and he agreed to let us help him clear out his stockpile of stuff. Check out that darling bistro set we uncovered. A little TLC and it’ll be good as new.
I wonder what else I can find back there. Surely a look around won’t hurt. After all, one man’s junk is another’s treasure.
