Written for No Theme Thursday where Kevin
has offered us some incredible images to
inspire and get our creative juices flowing.
Revamping of a 2020 tale, this is my story.
Category: Short Story
Heads Up
Written for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 10.24.24.
We’re offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
The Prayer
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
A Great Working Relationship
Written for The New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild.
This week the three prompts from Aooga at OLWG #388 are
(1) tea coloured eyes, (2) change the words of this poem,
and (3) New Mexico schmerz. We can use them as is,
as an inspiration or not at all. This is my story.
#9 Dream
Sometimes you see an image
and you know it’s perfect for your story.
This is Kevin’s pic from No Theme Thursday: 10.17.24
and here is my story.
Luca’s
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
I was waiting outside Luca’s Restaurant for my guy to show up with that lovely little glassine envelope of blow. He was running late and I was freezing my ass off, chainsmoking. Even at this hour the place was busy.
A cozy-looking niche in the wall beckoned me; I scooted over and huddled there to keep warm. I was agitated, my toes tap-dancing inside my boots. It had been several hours since my last hit and I couldn’t collect my scattered thoughts.
Shoving my hands into my pockets to stay warm, I immediately came in contact with a stubby vial; a little spoon dangled from a delicate chain … a very clever design … although I must admit the one with the miniature spoon neatly built into the inside bottom of the screw-on cap was pure genius. This was a nice surprise! I had changed jackets the other day and didn’t remember it was there.
Elated, I wrapped my fingers around the bottle, smiling at the feel of the all-too-familiar smooth glass. I removed the vial from my pocket; it was difficult to see but even in the darkness I knew it was empty. Crap!
Where the hell was my guy?
As if summoning a genie, he appeared in the glow emanating from the light above Luca’s doorway. I began to stand when piercing sounds of squealing tires stopped me. Three unmarked cars pulled up and the feds jumped out, surrounding my guy. Busted!
Dammit! I receded into the bushes.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Snowblind” by Styx
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Dinner With The Boss
Written for Di’s Three Things Challenge #M849 and
Eugi’s Moonwashed Weekly Prompt; this is my story.
Joe did it again.
This morning he found himself in the elevator with his boss; they were chatting amiably about the baseball post-season games. Joe’s boss was impressed (and a bit jealous) to learn that Joe had a home theatre set up in his rec room with a 96” Samsung smart TV.
Before he could stop himself, Joe invited his boss over for dinner, a little billiards and the baseball game that night … without first checking in with his wife, Amy. This was not the first time Joe invited someone over without asking Amy; true, they were his friends and Amy didn’t mind because they just ordered pizza and played pool. But this was his boss and Joe was expecting Amy to cook a nice meal. And it was already 3:30 PM!
Joe sent Amy a text (because he was too chicken to call her in person!): “Hey, babe! Boss coming to dinner. Big opportunity for me! Don’t care what you have to do, just make me proud. Luv ya.”
Amy stared at her phone in disbelief. A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Wishing to avoid an unpleasant conversation, she answered Joe’s text with a simple “OK” but her blood was boiling.
Two hours later when Joe and his boss opened the front door, they were greeted with the most mouthwatering aromas coming from the kitchen. Joe looked around in awe at his sparkling house and the beautifully set dining room table. Amy greeted them, all smiles and looking lovely.
“Babe!” Joe whispered breathlessly. “The place looks fabulous and dinner smells amazing. How’d you do all this?”
Amy blushed sweetly and whispered back “It wasn’t so hard, honey. I just hired Minute Maid Cleaners, a personal chef and a waiter.”
“You did what?? We couldn’t possibly afford all that!” Joe barked.
“Sure we could, honey” Amy laughed, “after I sold the pool table and the TV.”
NAR©2024
Prompt words ‘maid’, ‘waiter’ and ‘cleaner’ for Di
and ‘blushed’ for Eugi.
From the era of the caveman, this is “Wives and Lovers” by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Let It Out
Written for Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge
and Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge incorporating
the words ‘leaves’ and ‘judge’. This is my story.
It’s been 16 years but I can remember everything about that night.
We were out to dinner with our friends Lily & Mac and Karen & Rob. I had been feeling a little anxious the whole day but figured I’d be fine at dinner – after all, these were people I knew and loved and who knew and loved me. Sitting at the table I was uneasy but hoped the feeling would subside.
It didn’t. It continued to build as I sat surrounded by a room full of seemingly stress-free people laughing and enjoying themselves while I was ready to bolt. I was with friends I’ve known for years and I was freaking out, convinced everyone knew something was wrong.
There I was, not only stressing over life in general but stressing over the fact that I was stressing and everyone knew it and they were just waiting for me to explode. I figured I had four choices: I could fake it and try to pretend everything was ok; have a meltdown, which would make us all uncomfortable and solve nothing; I could say I had a headache and go home – after all, everyone leaves their table for one reason or another; or I could face the truth and tell my friends how I was feeling. I chose the last approach. Apprehensively, not knowing how anyone would react, I told my friends I was having a panic attack.
No one had a clue.
What happened next was incredible. By admitting the truth, revealing my fear and vulnerability, everyone embraced me (not physically, of course – that would have been weird) but they all let me know it was ok. Whatever I wanted to do was ok. And more important than anything else, they did not judge me.
I chose to stay. Immediately, Karen reached into her purse, handed me the business card of her psychologist and said “Call her”. Lily then told me she also went to the same psychologist and quietly poured out her heart to me, unburdening herself while simultaneously letting me know I wasn’t alone. I was so engrossed in what Lily was telling me, I didn’t even realize my anxiety had passed. I had eaten my dinner and people were ordering dessert. The evening actually wasn’t a disaster.
The next day Lily called to check on me. I’ll never forget what she said: “You know, I was sitting next to you and I didn’t notice anything wrong. You looked perfectly fine and if you hadn’t said anything we never would have known.”
That was amazing to me! No one noticed the ticking time bomb at the table.
What a huge eye-opener that was. It made me realize that how I perceive myself is not necessarily how others perceive me. Being stoic and trying to hide my anxiety isn’t helpful; in fact, it could make things worse. Opening myself up and exposing my vulnerability showed me it’s ok to let others know “Hey, I’m freaking out right now and I need help.”
I learned a valuable life lesson that night: Let it out and let someone in.
NAR©2024
This is “Under Pressure” featuring Queen, Annie Lennox and David Bowie
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Crossroads
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
There he stood at the crossroads of his life. He was 72 years old and made more poor choices than he cared to remember. He was purposeless, never knowing which direction to take.
He was an indecisive man. The only true and clear decision he made was marrying his wife. She was his anchor when he began to drift, his lifeboat when he was drowning in the sea of life.
On this crisp autumn day, he was suddenly consumed with the urge to take a walk, clear his head. His wife offered to go with him, but he declined saying thanks, but he needed this time by himself to think.
His wife suggested he wear his new chartreuse windbreaker; if he lost his bearings, as he was often wont to do, he’d be easily visible. And so he donned his yellow-green jacket and took off to find himself.
Now here he stood at the crossroads of his life, literally. He had no idea where he was. As he looked around, he realized he was truly screwed for he blended in perfectly with his surroundings.
At that moment he cursed his wife. He wanted to wear his beloved red jacket but no, she suggested he wear the chartreuse one. Because he could never make up his mind, he did as he was told. Now he was lost without a clue which way to go.
And to think he went off to find himself. Now he wondered if anyone would find him.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Crossroads” by Cream
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Desert Sky
Written for The New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild.
This week the three prompts for OLWG #368 – We Both Know
are (1) an old Patti Smith song, (2) need more blue in the shadows
and (3) when I left El Paso. Here is my first story for OLWG.
Jenna pulled off the long empty stretch of highway and killed the engine. The view of the desert skyline was too stunning for words. She stepped out of the car and leaned against the door, the hot sun beating down on her face and shoulders. The late afternoon sky was intense, deeply saturated with shades of cerulean, and Jenna smiled. As a fledgling artist, she always found fault with her own artwork, declaring the colors “lackluster”; she was more at home with a camera than a paint brush. Nature’s palette didn’t need more blue in the shadows cast by the sun or more green in the desert grass. It was perfection.
Easing her way back into the driver’s seat, Jenna caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview. The delicate gold chain with the heart from Miguel was dazzling in the desert sun. Jenna lifted the heart to lips and closed her eyes.
Reaching for her cell phone, Jenna snapped a photo of the desert and sent it to Miguel; then she called him. After three rings, her call went to voice mail. Jenna didn’t care; the time was right. She left a message:
“Hey, babe! Can you guess where I am from the photo I sent? In an hour I’ll be home. Home. Just saying the word fills my heart with joy. When I left El Paso, I had no idea the photo shoot would keep me away so long. I miss you so much, mi amor. I can’t wait to be in your arms once again! I love you, papi.”
Jenna pushed the engine button and started heading home. About ten minutes into her drive, she hear the familiar strains of an old Patti Smith song coming from her phone … Miguel’s personal ringtone. She pulled over to read the message:
“Jenna, mi amor! I’ve waited this long. What’s another hour? Te amo!”
Smiling at the sight of the desert sky in her rearview, Jenna hurried home … home to Miguel.
NAR©2024
This is “Dancing Barefoot” by Patti Smith
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Rubbernecking
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
“Hey, Daryl! Phil! Get a load of this!” neighed Ed as he stared over Bess and Elsie’s fence onto the country road. “Do they really think they’re capable of running? On two legs?? If that don’t beat all!”
“What the heck are they doing?” asked Daryl.
“They’re jogging; humans run around all bandy-legged with arms flailing, getting sweaty, going nowhere in particular and looking pretty dumb while doing it.” Ed explained.
Phil trotted over. “Yeah. I read about these idiots in ‘Horse Beautiful’. It’s some kind of craze, far as I can tell …. some sort of asinine exercise routine.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Look at what we got coming this way, gentlemen. Now that’s some fine-looking little filly!” exclaimed Ed.
“Check out those tiny shorts she’s wearing. She can ride me bareback any time she wants!” Phil declared.
“Man, now that’s one stacked number! I could watch her jog and bounce around all day!” Daryl smacked his lips.
“Hey! What are you three stud farm rejects doing all this way from the barn?” It was Barkley, the yellow lab who lived on the ranch. “Farmer Brown’s gonna have a cow if he hears you jumped the fence again! Best get yourselves back home before someone notices you’re gone. C’mon! Giddy-up, boys!”
“Buzz kill!” snorted Ed and the trio took off.
“Bunch of jackasses!” Barkley yowled indignantly. “Well, good riddance to them and woof to you, my sexy lady. You jog by here often? Have I got a bone for you!”
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Who’s That Lady” by the Isley Brothers
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Confrontation
Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.
“Secrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. You’re living a secret life, Kenneth, and it’s destroying us.” June’s lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire …. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.
Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.
June wondered if he was even listening.
“You had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. “Yes, darling. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.”
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
“I’m leaving, June. I’m going back to the Congo.”
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. “And back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. “How could you, Kenneth!”
“Sunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”
“Dead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.
“The messages I’ve been getting .… they’re all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now she’s dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.”
“No! It can’t be true! I don’t understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. We’ll find the best doctors and fight this together!” June sobbed.
“Oh, darling June. If only it were that easy. There’s just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.”
NAR©2024
This is “Jungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Coulro Saves The Day
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 word or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
My whole life has been nothing but one big joke. I don’t know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .… literally. They are circus clowns and so am I.
Raffles and Mittens are my parents. Some of my aunts, uncles and cousins are Poodles, Flopsy, Jingles, Pogo and Skippy. Rumor has it that my great-grandparents were Bozo and Clarabell but we never know what to take seriously in this family.
We all live in a rinky-dink circus trailer and if you think walking into pantyhose drying in the bathroom is annoying, try existing with a squirting flower, a megaphone, a pop gun and a seltzer bottle every day of your life. This clowning around life ain’t that easy!
Anyway, we needed some mode of transportation to get around town for shopping and appointments so we went to the used car lot. Of course, the used car salesman tried to talk us into a clown car, which was terribly condescending. Clowns are people, too, dammit!
That’s when my boyfriend, Stumpy, had an idea. Stumpy is a coulro* and the best clown on stilts there ever was. Everybody looks up to him! With bicycle parts salvaged from the junkyard, he assembled the Clown Limo. With his long legs, Stumpy can drive us anywhere at all.
People say it’s the coolest ride in town!
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“. It may come from the ancient Greek word kōlobathristēs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.
This is “Take The Long Way Home” by Supertramp.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Bisnonna*
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.
The ambience in our house was different today, quietly busy as delivery men and acquaintances paying their respects came and went. My father and mother’s uncles directed the traffic of floral deliveries and positioned the many arrangements throughout the parlor. My mother and her aunts labored in the kitchen like silent worker bees preparing trays of food for the funeral dinner tomorrow.
We children sat meekly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically restrained. Occasionally we would glance toward the elevated casket in the center of the room and quickly look away. At 6:00 we were whisked off to the dining room where we wordlessly ate our evening meal, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil.
There seemed to be a never-ending flow of people, a soft parade of mourners entering our house. Veiled women dabbed their eyes and men removed their hats, heads bowed. This stream flowed seamlessly from 2:00 in the afternoon until 9:30 that evening, many people lingering to reflect while caressing their rosary beads. A priest arrived shortly after 9:30; he spoke softly in our native Sicilian dialect, offering prayers and words of consolation. When he was finished, everyone except my mother’s aunts and uncles departed. My little cousins, some no longer able to stay awake, were carried home and my sister and I were shooed off to our bedroom upstairs.
It had been a long and sorrowful day. My great-grandmother, the family matriarch, had died.
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.
Author’s Note: I was nine years old when my great-grandmother died. Much of that day is etched in my mind; in particular, I remember being unable to sleep that night knowing there was a dead body in a coffin downstairs in my parlor. Never ever will I forget the cold and waxy feel of my bisnonna’s skin on my lips as I, along with all the other children, lined up to place a kiss on her forehead … not something we did willingly.
This is “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
With Friends Like Gonzo
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less
using this photo as inspiration. Here’s my story.
“Kevin! Wake up, man! You gotta see this. Wake up!”
“Quit it, Luke! I’m trying to sleep!” Kevin mumbled crossly. The disgusting smell of stale beer, Slim Jims and weed slammed Kevin in the face; gagging, he pushed his brother away.
“C’mon, Kev. Something heavy happened down at the beach, man. I swear it’s not of this world, bro!”
“The only thing ‘not of this world, bro’ is your breath. You’re stoned, Luke; go to sleep.”
“I swear on the Bible, Kevin. If you don’t see this, you’re gonna kick yourself.”
Kevin sighed deeply and swung his legs out of bed. “Alright, man. I’m up. Let’s get this over with.”
Kevin and Luke drove out to the Pacific Palisades beach where Luke had his sighting. Kevin recognized the beach right away.
“Hey, Luke … doesn’t your buddy Gonzo clean this beach?”
“Far out, man! I forgot about that. This is gonna blow his mind!”
When they reached Luke’s spot, he dropped to the sand and began to belly crawl to the top, motioning for Kevin to do the same.
“Check it out, Kev. Have you ever seen anything like this, man? They’re crop circles, like in that movie!”
“You got that right, Luke. This really is something else! Could be an alien vehicle way out on the left side. If I squint I can make out the words ‘GONZO’S LUNAR ROVER. I BRAKE FOR WEED!’ Brilliant detective work, Carl Sagan! C’mon, bro. I’m buying breakfast. I’ll explain it on the way.”
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is a delightful video of a Japanese pufferfish creating underwater sand art. Photography by Yogi Ookata. Check it out, dudes!
Here is a rare rap song by Carl Sagan. Enjoy, yo! 😎
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
When I Grow Up
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.
“Hm, what’s this?” I asked myself, cycling up to an abandoned car … a bit of excitement in my otherwise dull existence.
It struck me as odd that the car appeared to have been deliberately driven to the side of the road, the engine turned off while, in sharp contrast, the door had been hastily left open. The key was in the ignition, the constant reminder of “ding-ding-ding-ding” shattering the stillness.
Instinctively, I yanked out the key, pocketing it. I exhaled, savoring the calmness. Looking around, there wasn’t a living thing in sight, but two trash bins implied the presence of civilization.
I stood at the silent intersection, the roads reaching out to the horizon. The only change in landscape was a mound strewn with tree cuttings. I decided to scope out the area to see what was about, but my exploration yielded nothing. The car and I stood idle.
Shrugging my shoulders, I began walking back to my bicycle when an indistinct sound penetrated the air – a muffled voice coming from the mound.
With renewed vigor, I ran up the rise, stopping abruptly at the sight below – a traveling circus being dismantled. It was then I noticed a silver-haired man giddily leaping toward the carny folk, waving and shouting “wait for me!”
Before I knew what was happening, I was bounding after the man, yelling for him to “take me along, too!” He motioned for me to “c’mon!”
At some point the car key fell out of my pocket, no longer needed.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Goodbye Cruel World” by James Darren
And for a bit of culture …. from the musical “Stop the World – I Want to Get Off”, this is the incomparable Anthony Newley with “What Kind of Fool Am I?”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Day 10 or It’s A Process
Ten days out from spinal fusion surgery and my lower back still hurts like a bitch on wheels. This is a much more difficult surgery/recovery than I expected; bearing in mind what’s involved …. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed …. I should have realized it would not be easy. And my doctor sent me home with Tylenol …. not even extra strength but regular Tylenol. Really?
Getting around the house with a walker, dressing myself and doing basic toilette is not problematic; beyond basic, it’s damn near impossible. What’s not allowed: stomach sleeping, bending or twisting at the waist, lifting anything heavier than 5 pounds. And, apparently, pain medication.
These days, I just about live in my electric recliner, getting up every hour or so to walk around, followed by icing my back. I tried eating my meals in the kitchen with Bill; it’s good to have a change of scenery and some normal time with him. The chairs, however, are not comfortable just yet so we eat together in the living room where there’s an over-large electric recliner with my name on it.
Making myself comfortable in a recliner is easier than in bed but still more difficult than I would have thought; the vertical 6″ incision is centrally located on the small of my back so I’m aware of every movement. There’s always something that hurts, that’s too big or too small, too hard or too soft, flattened out or all scrunched up, or just out of reach. Finding the perfect cushion has been a crusade; thankfully, Bill holds on to everything! Fortunately, once I fall asleep, I’m out for most of the night. Getting out of the recliner in the morning is slow-going as I’m stiffened-up from sleeping all night. It’s a process.
As far as my blogging goes, I’ll write when the mood strikes. I miss you and our camaraderie but my energy and strength are down. It took me two days just to write this! I apologize for not reading or commenting on your posts and I’m sure I’m not going to …. at least not for a while. I’m just not up to it.
Well, that’s the story, kids; taking life one day at a time.
Be good to yourselves. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
PS – As much as I’d love to hear from you, please try not to compare your own situation to mine or tell me about your dear Aunt Betty who was never the same after her surgery. I know you mean well but we’re all different and heal differently; downer stories don’t help. It’s human nature but a “get well soon!” would be far better and greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Here’s “It Don’t Come Easy” by Ringo Starr.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Paradise Found
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we ar1
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Eastern-most Long Island, New York. A little village called Montauk. “The End”, according to locals. Drive to the tip of the peninsula, walk a few steps and you’re in the Atlantic Ocean … literally.
1984 was our first visit. “Let’s go out for a weekend. If we don’t like it, we won’t go back.” Famous last words. We stayed at a no frills family motel on the beach; it was paradise.
Step outside the motel and watch your toes disappear into the sand. Big pool filled with sunburned families having the time of their lives. Huge towels and colorful umbrellas cover the beach.
An old salt regales us with tales about the first German U-boats arriving off Montauk in June, 1942. Psyched, we ride our bikes to the lighthouse where we discover WWII bunkers buried deep in the woods.
Montauk’s pizza place and ice cream joint are constantly busy. Drive five minutes west on ‘the stretch’ to a place known simply as “LUNCH” for a mouth-watering lobster roll or puffers and chips.
At night little fires dot the beach, glowing and crackling. Kids stab marshmallows with long sticks and plunge them into the flames for a gooey sweet treat that won’t be eaten again till next summer. Our boys’ hair is sun-streaked, skin bronzed, feet perpetually coated in sand. They’re happy as clams.
In time we started renting a house with a pool; vacations lasted six weeks; 35+ years of unforgettable family memories made, Montauk style.
Man, it was paradise!
NAR©2024
250 Words
The Memory Motel has been a fixture in Montauk since the mid-1920s. When the Rolling Stones were out at the east end, they would visit the bar at the motel for some heavy drinking, dancing, shooting pool, tussling, scuffling, and playing the only piano in town until sunrise.
This is “Memory Motel” by the Rolling Stones.
https://youtu.be/FJ4be-0Nt0s?si=mP0lpYtWe2zg_AFA
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Calm and Choppy Waters
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday
where the theme is ‘ship’. This is my stream.
Sometimes in life you make a connection with another person and you know right away it’s special. That happened to me 40 years ago on the day we moved into our new house.
We weren’t moving very far – just about a quarter mile from where we were living. That’s the wonderful thing about this little town; no one wants to leave! It’s quaint, friendly, clean and quiet with it’s beautiful harbor full of ships bobbing peacefully on small waves.
Moving day arrived and the crew was busy getting our boxes loaded for shipping to the new house. My husband stayed behind making sure all went smoothly while I headed over to the new house with our two small sons to wait for the moving vans.
We were sitting on the floor of our empty house playing a game when someone knocked on the door. It was our new neighbor, Debby, who came over to introduce herself. When she saw us sitting on the floor, she insisted we go over to her place which was right next door. When I explained that I was waiting for the moving vans to arrive, Debby said I’d have a clear view of my house from her comfortable sofa. I didn’t need any more convincing and agreed to go over.
When we walked into Debby’s house, the first thing I noticed were the numerous framed photos of large fishing ships, most of them with her husband grinning and displaying a huge fish. I thought how nice it would be for my husband to have a fellow fisherman living next door.
Debby and I started talking and it was as easy and natural as rain. We had so much in common, it felt like we’d known each other all our lives. She also had two young sons and my boys had instant friends. We talked non-stop while I waited for the movers to show up; by the time the vans arrived, a great friendship had been formed and is still going strong. We’ve been through bad hair days, secrets, laughs, tears, vacations, runs to the emergency room, weddings, flooded basements, missing cats, birthdays, Covid, lots of wine, illness, school fairs, Christmases and devastating deaths.
It’s so nice when you have neighbors you get along with; it’s priceless when you have a great relationship like mine and Debby’s. We’re very close and so much alike, people think we’re sisters. If I need to cry or share a laugh, Deb’s the first one I call. The same is true for her. We are each others best friend, two women lucky to have this amazing “soulship” to carry us through the calm and choppy waters of life.
NAR©2024
This is “Wooden Ships” by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Unnoticed
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
The claustrophobia started gradually for four-year-old Phoebe.
She had climbed into the back of her father’s flatbed truck to investigate the crates of chickens ready for market. Phoebe went unnoticed as her father threw a tarp over the back and locked the tailgate. When her dad found her, she was curled up in a ball, crying pitifully.
Over time, Phoebe seemed to forget about the incident in the truck.
Years later Phoebe was accidentally locked in her bedroom closet when a gust of wind blew through the window and slammed the closet door closed. Her parents were out and her older siblings were watching television; her frantic cries for help went unnoticed. Exhausted, Phoebe fell asleep in the closet, her family unaware. Her mother found her the next morning, traumatized.
Incidents like that kept happening. Phoebe became obsessed with her surroundings and her parents sought professional help. After eight years in the hospital, Phoebe was declared “cured”.
She met Evan, a great guy, and they began dating. Life was good again for Phoebe. For her birthday, Evan and Phoebe planned to see her favorite band. She felt safe with Evan and was unafraid to ride public transportation.
The train was packed. During one stop, Evan was pushed out with a crowd of passengers; the doors closed before he could get back in. Phoebe panicked when the train started up. She lost it.
At the last stop, Phoebe was found in the corner – disheveled, mumbling, eyes wild in terror. She was finally noticed.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne
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The Heartbreak: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona
This is my 3rd story about Harvey and Fiona.
For a look back at earlier installments, click here.
While Harvey slept during the day Fiona cleaned, shopped and cooked. She wanted a vacuum cleaner but Harvey said it was too expensive and the noise would keep him awake so she settled for a carpet sweeper. Their only chance to be together was at breakfast and dinner time – and of course for coffee and dessert when Fiona served Harvey his favorite apple pie. Fiona loved baking and it was all worth it to see the way Harvey’s face lit up every time she made another pie.
Fiona suggested a few times that it would be nice if Harvey worked during the day so they could be like a normal couple and spend more time together but her words fell on deaf ears.
She also longed for a baby. Each time she thought she was pregnant it turned out to be a false alarm. Fiona saw a doctor who wasn’t very sympathetic; he shrugged his shoulders, gave her ambiguous explanations and performed a couple of routine tests. He told her it was just one of those things; not all couples could get pregnant. When Fiona finally got up the nerve to mention to Harvey what the doctor told her, he laughed and said it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t get pregnant; “Just ask that sweet little Frenchie I knocked up during the war” was his mean-spirited reply.
Fiona felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. When she cried that she needed something other than chores to fill her lonely days, Harvey yelled to “go get a job and start earnin’ ya keep around here! Who needs another mouth to feed anyways?” Fiona was reeling; how could he say such hurtful things? Heartbroken, she eventually gave up on having a baby and found a job as a presser in a shirt factory. The work was exhausting and she still had to clean the apartment and cook for Harvey … and bake.
What happened to the guy she married? Harvey was constantly annoyed about something or other and drank more now than usual. He got mean when he drank and Fiona bore the brunt of his anger. When he demanded sex every night before going to work, she kept her mouth shut but she was silently screaming. This was no way to exist, like a piece of property and not a person. She’d lie awake at night remembering her mother’s warning words: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? I don’t trust him, Fina girl!” The only thing in her God-forsaken life that she truly enjoyed was baking and she did it all for Harvey.
Fiona would fantasize about how lovely it would be to have her own little bake shop; she’d make lots of delicious cakes and pies for her large following of loyal customers – not just for her selfish husband. She knew she could do it if she only had the chance.
To be continued. For a look back at earlier installments, click here.
NAR©2024
This is “Here Comes The Heartache” by Fair Warning
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Wordle: It’s Too Darn Hot
Written for Di’s MLMM Monday Wordle #383.
For the past few nights my sleep hasn’t been good but last night was the worst of all. We had a power failure! This was definitely not cool! No AC and nowhere to go to escape the heat. My apartment was dark and all the lights outside were off so I knew this was a widespread blackout, likely covering miles and involving the entire apartment complex. I aimed a flashlight at the thermometer on my balcony. Big mistake: it read 98º! Somehow knowing the temperature made it worse. And the mix of humidity and heat made everything feel gross. I desperately needed to get some rest. Winding my way into the bedroom, I heard a sound like heavy breathing coming from the bathroom. Sweeping the room with my flashlight, I located the source of the sound and I simply had to laugh; my dog Fred found somewhere to hide away from the heat and was fast asleep on the floor of the marble shower! This oppressive weather had done a number on him, too, poor guy. I was drained of all energy. I grabbed a small battery operated fan from the shelf, set it for high and collapsed onto the bed. I was asleep in seconds.
NAR©2024
This is “It’s Too Darn Hot” by Ella Fitzgerald
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
No Martinis
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
to get creative in 250 words or less using the
photo prompt as inspiration. This is my story.
The name’s Hammer …. Jack Hammer.
The life of a special agent is a lonely one. It’s nothing like a James Bond movie or a John le Carré novel.
There were no pens that turned into parachutes. There were no Alfa Romeos, Jaguars or Aston Martins to drive along the Positano coast in a high-speed chase. Not a single suave and dangerous owner of a multi-million dollar casino. Nary a gorgeous, exotic, provocative sex bomb with a highly suggestive name. There were no martinis … neither shaken nor stirred.
In short, there was no excitement, no risk, no action. Not once did I dive behind a sofa while bullets flew across the room. Never did I slide down a roof covered with Mediterranean tiles, land smoothly in my waiting MG and speed away from the bad guys. I have never been shot in the neck with a poison dart. Never was I threatened and tossed out a window by a jealous husband.
That’s the life I was expecting when I was recruited by the Enigma International Elite Investigative Organization .… otherwise known as E.I.E.I.O. My dream profession as a super-secret special agent was nothing but one boring stakeout after another.
Time to report in: “Negative, sir. Nothing going on at the location. Not even the car in the alley has moved.”
“Alley?”
“Yes, sir. On the left.”
“Your target has no alley, Hammer; it’s attached on both sides. You’re watching the wrong house, you idiot! Report to headquarters. Now!”
Shit.
NAR©2024
This is the theme song for the “Pink Panther”, written by Henry Mancini and performed by the WDR Funkhausorchester under the baton of Nic Raine.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
A Perfect Couple
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #159
where the first sentence is the prompt and
for Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt,
using the phrase ‘one day’. This is my story.
The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.
It’s hard to imagine life without her. When the hell did everything start to unravel?
Now he sat alone in the shell of their apartment, baseball game on the tv playing for no one, nursing his second scotch. This place used to be alive with people enjoying one of their famous parties. When he closed his eyes he could hear their friends’ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.
Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage – dinner at Gallagher’s, cycling along Riverside Drive, steamy showers after Saturday morning sex. They were in sync in their choices of movies, paint colors and the biggest decision of all .… neither one wanted kids.
He sat there, head in hands while a thousand thoughts went through his mind. When did he begin having second thoughts? Was it when her sister asked them to be godparents for her first baby? Was it watching the kids in the playground across the street? All he could remember was the night he whispered in her ear that he wanted to have a baby.
She was blindsided. What? No! He was just named partner at Central Casting. She was food editor for Country Living magazine. Life was perfect. They had an agreement, dammit!
Would she just consider thinking about it? No! How could he spring this on her now?
Days, weeks went by. She remained adamant, distant. Then one day he came home after work and she was gone.
Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers.
It couldn’t have happened to a more perfect couple.
NAR©2024
This is “The Dance” by Garth Brooks
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Our Little Rendezvous
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
prompt below for inspiration. Here is my story.
“Woods. Roger Woods. Please check again” I implored the desk clerk at the Hotel Moderne.
“I’m sorry, madame, there is no reservation for that name.” The young man looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and pity.
“You must be mistaken” I replied, my voice shaking.
“There is no mistake, madame. Perhaps you have the wrong hotel” the clerk suggested, offering me an out.
Of course I didn’t have the wrong hotel! Roger and I had been meeting here the second weekend of every month for three years.
I checked my phone for missed text messages or calls from Roger; there were none. Rather than stay in the lobby looking distraught and abandoned, I sat in the lounge and ordered a martini. I had a clear view of the front desk on the left and the entrance on the right. I’d be able to see Roger the moment he arrived.
After thirty minutes and two martinis, I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that I looked like a lonesome and tedious woman who had been stood up.
I became aware of someone approaching. Expecting to see Roger, I looked up, smiling; it was the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note: “Dearest Cecile. I cherish our little rendezvous but it’s time to go our separate ways. Farewell. Roger”
‘Our little rendezvous!‘ I was shattered. Just like that, as unexpectedly as it began, it was over.
Looking straight ahead, I gracefully exited the hotel.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Non, Je ne regrette rien (No, I do not regret anything)” by Edith Piaf
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Remembering 1967
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word “platform” into
a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s my six.
Flower child, barefoot Woodstock hippie …. no, she was never one of those; she was always the sophisticated cool one with her oh so very low-rise jeans, alluring halter tops, ridiculously high platform shoes and drop dead smile.
At twenty she was chic in a smooth and sensual way that was second nature, never one who had to try too hard; she had IT while embracing her imperfections which made her intoxicatingly irresistible.
Living in the fast lane, she danced all night at clubs, rocked out at concerts and hung out with everyone from judges to junkies even though she never really enjoyed drugs with the exception of the indescribably exquisite quaalude which now, at 75, she smiles and remembers coming on to the sounds of Procol Harum.
Memories of 1967, the Summer of Love …. friends and lovers, never a lack of either; men were drawn to her and women were envious of her but it was impossible not to like her.
She was no alley cat, no “screw-‘em-in-the-disco-bathroom” type; she made the rules to her game: never do anything you don’t want to and stop whenever you feel uncomfortable.
Her life was and still is a passionate one with no useless regrets, inadequate apologies or unbelievable explanations …. only her scars which show a life well lived …. and that’s exactly how she likes it.
NAR©2024
This is “A Whiter Shade Of Pale” by Procol Harum
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
A Get-Away
Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge (‘madness’)
and Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge (‘magic’).
This is my response to those challenges.
It had been quite a long while since Rob and I had a chance to take a vacation, to escape the madness of the city to someplace remote and peaceful. Skiing sounded like a good idea, a break after the unbearably hot summer. All we wanted was a little get-away to relax and unwind.
Our Google search brought us to a place called Marmot Basin located in Jasper, an alpine town in Canada’s Alberta province. The photos were breathtaking; the area was one of the most natural and unsoiled landscapes we’d ever seen. The site said Jasper was “an authentic mountain community that managed to retain a cozy, warm and ‘real’ atmosphere with a laid-back vibe”. It was also one of North America’s largest protected nature preserves. It would be great to get lost for a few days, forget about our hectic lives.
The flight to Jasper was interminable; eight hours with a connection in Denver. The time change did a number on us physically but our welcoming and romantic chateau more than made up for the tedious travel. It was rustic yet charming with beamed ceilings, comfy furniture and a huge fireplace. We spent our first night snuggled up in bed.
Right after breakfast the next morning we set out for a day of skiing. Hoping to find a secluded trail, we consulted one of the guides who gave us a couple of suggestions. We headed out, delighted to see a pristine layer of powdery snow. Looking around we realized we were the only people in the area and there was nothing in sight except evergreens on the hillside.
We started off slowly then gradually picked up speed; the conditions were perfect. About twenty minutes into our run we came upon a split in the trail. Taking a break, Rob leaned against a tree and consulted a map, deciding which way we should go. Suddenly we felt movement beneath our feet and the ground gave way in what sounded like a whispering waterfall. In an instant we were tumbling down, enveloped by cascades of snow.
It seemed like an eternity before I came to a stop. I was unable to move but realized I was still clutching my pole. Somehow I managed to wrangle my arm free from under my body and began whacking the snow above me. I didn’t know if I was under three feet of snow or thirty; I had to try to free myself. Snow kept falling on me as I hacked away. Slowly my grave became brighter and I realized a magic sliver of sunlight was peeking through. I heaved myself into an upright position and broke through the snow.
It was a struggle but I managed to climb out and started yelling for Rob. All I heard was my echo; everything was deathly silent. I found my phone in the inside pocket of my ski suit and dialed Rob’s number hoping to hear his phone ring; I heard nothing. Checking my phone I saw there was no cell service in the area; I couldn’t even call for help. Gingerly I walked around a bit, all too aware the ground could give way at any moment. My only hope was to try to find help.
I must have walked for miles; the sun had set and I found myself surrounded by trees. I had no idea where I was. Exhausted, I fell to my knees, sobbing. If Rob was still buried in the snow there was no chance of finding him alive.
Through my tears I thought I saw a glimmer of light. I squinted and could barely make out the shape of a cabin in the woods. Was it real or magic? Was I hallucinating? I had to keep moving or I would surely die during the frigid night. Slowly I got to my feet and walked toward the light, praying it was not an illusion. I was so very tired; if only I could close my eyes just take a little rest before I continued. It was so bitterly cold.
NAR © 2024
This is “Snowblind” by Styx
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
A Fate Worse Than Death
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word “wire” into
a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s my six.
There are parts of Jersey City which are very dangerous …. dingy bars, seedy hotels, mob-run strip joints and dark alleys where unspeakable things happened; Jack Black had a taste for all of them.
Most nights Jack would slither into his favorite bar, sit in the shadows on the end barstool, case the joint, nurse his bourbon and smoke his Lucky Strikes; Jack had patience and sooner or later she’d walk in …. maybe a secretary working late or a bored and lonely housewife.
About 20 minutes later, a woman ran in from the rain and glanced around the room, her eyes ignoring Jack as she shook her damp dark brown hair, then headed to the bar and ordered a martini; she rummaged through her purse searching for her cigarette lighter and just as Jack was about to make his move, the bartender offered her a light.
Jack toyed with the electrical wire in his pocket, annoyed at missing his opportunity to talk up this new beauty, but the night was young and he had all the time in the world.
Cool as a cucumber, Jack watched as the woman sipped her martini and smoked her cigarette, but when she asked the bartender for a menu, Jack knew he had been given a second chance and his fingers did a tap dance of anticipation around the wire in his pocket; just then the door swung open and a man blew in and when the woman at the bar spotted him, she ran to him and they embraced as she exclaimed that he was right on time as dinner would be coming out any second.
Jack was not a happy boy at this turn of events and, seeing no reason to hang around, he opened the door to leave and walked right into a gorgeous blonde; laying on the charm, Jack apologized profusely and offered to buy the woman a drink to which she smiled, agreed and replied that she was bored which was …. as she put it …. a fate worse than death.
NAR©2024
This is “Pennies From Heaven” by the Skyliners
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Harmonica
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
He was neither old nor young and if he had memories … good, bad, happy or sad … they were long forgotten, washed away like tears in rain.
His hand reached for his breast pocket, fingers touching the familiar object resting inside. A harmonica. He had no idea where it came from nor did he know why it was in his pocket yet somehow with an intrinsic knowledge he knew it was his.
Removing the instrument from his pocket, he stared at it as he reverently caressed the wood, reading the faded inscription. Raising it to his mouth, he began to play an old tune he forgot he even knew.
People passing by dropped coins into the white cloth shopping bag at his feet. He might not remember much but he’d never forget the delicious aroma of the crusty baguette in his bag.
A little boy of perhaps eight years of age shyly approached, dropped a coin in the man’s bag and ran back to his father waiting nearby. There was something about the older man that made the boy’s father pause for just a moment.
This ritual continued for several days and the two men pensively acknowledged each other with a nod.
One day before the boy ran back to his father, the man slipped the harmonica into his hand. When the boy’s father read the inscription, he knew. He looked up but the older man was gone.
He closed his eyes as a teardrop landed on the harmonica.
NAR©250
250 Words
This is “Georgia On My Mind” by Charlie McCoy
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
How I Spent My Summer Vacation
The last time I used that title was for an essay in 4th or 5th grade!
Our vacation started the morning of Wednesday, July 10th. The destination? Mohegan Sun in Uncasville, CT to attend a concert and play the slots …. two things we haven’t done in a very long time. It’s a little more than a 2 1/2 hour drive straight up I-95. Check-in time wasn’t until 4PM but we lucked out because our room was ready when we arrived at noon and we were able to check in right away. We dropped off our bags in our room and headed for the slots.
One thing we forgot since the last time we were at Mohegan Sun is the place is enormous and designed in such a way that everything feels like it’s about 4 miles from everything else! We did a lot of walking and later in the day my lower back started barking like a junkyard dog but I wasn’t going to let that stop me! 😖
Sitting at the slot machines gave me a chance to rest and my back calmed down, but every time I started walking again the pain came back. We tried to limit our walking but it was extremely difficult.
Our main reason for going to Mohegan Sun was to see the Daryl Hall + Elvis Costello Concert Tour. We took advantage of the accommodations/concert package which meant we didn’t know in advance where we’d be sitting for the show or how much the tickets cost. You can see by the photo of my ticket that there’s no price indicated. It turns out the seats were very good and we had a clear view of the stage.
on the aisle next to Section 15.
Elvis Costello and his group performed first. They were excellent …. a tight little combo …. and I was surprised how much my husband liked them; he wasn’t familiar with Elvis’ music and didn’t know what to expect. We were both blown away by Elvis and his band …. keyboard player Steve Nieve and drummer Pete Thomas.
And I can say the same for my man, Daryl Hall. In all honesty, though, his sound check wasn’t the greatest and the sound quality was mixed. Hall’s band of seven was extremely loud in person but it doesn’t come across that way on the video. The songs were great, Daryl was in good voice and his piano playing was excellent. Some of the most enjoyable parts of the concert were the sax solos by Charlie DeChant who’s been playing with Daryl since the early days. That guy can really play! The concert wasn’t perfect but it was great and a long time coming for me.
The action at the slots was pretty good – teaser payoffs, nothing big – and we probably broke even. We’re not big time gamblers; it’s all about having fun and knowing when to walk away with some money in your pocket.
There were a few moments of panic during Saturday evening’s dinner when we heard about the shooting at the Trump rally. Our son Bill is a cameraman and teleprompter and has been assigned to cover some of the rallies. He’s a grown man and doesn’t check in with us when he’s out of town for work so that night we didn’t know if he was at the rally or not. A couple of quick texts reassured us that Bill was safe (and at the Met game in Citi Field with his sons). This scare reminded me of something I’ve said many times: it doesn’t matter how old our children are; we will always worry about them.
Once we were assured our son was ok, we were able to relax and enjoy the rest of our vacation. We left Mohegan Sun Sunday morning and made ourselves comfortable for the 3 hour drive to Saratoga Race Course, where we spent one very exciting and extremely hot day, weather wise. It’s incredible watching the people who are into racing or following a particular horse; they really go nuts! My back was throbbing like a bass guitar and I had to sit a lot during the races.
After a day at the races, it was off to Lake George …. only a half hour drive. The entire area of Lake George is gorgeous and so very relaxing, which was exactly what we needed after five days of busy-ness. There’s nothing like being right on the water, sitting in a lounge chair and staring at a beautiful, peaceful view. I did a lot of that while at Lake George!
It was wonderful to get away for a bit; it wasn’t our usual month in Montauk but it was just what we needed. I was surprised how much I missed blogging and I’m happy to be back here with all of you.
So, what’d I miss?
NAR©2024
Here’s a little taste of Mr. Casual, Charlie DeChant, and his awesome sax.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 