Written in response to John Holtonβs
This Week’s Writerβs Workshop Prompts,
based on the prompt word βshoppingβ. Hereβs my story.
Category: Short Story
Golden Boy
Last week the three prompts from aooga at OLWG #390 were
1) I canβt touch the ground; 2) a bar thatβll give me credit and
3) haunted wind chimes. Using two of Kevinβs fabulous images
from No Theme Thursday for further inspiration, this is my story.
A Sudden Slip Of The Tongue
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 Long Hot Soak
Written for Wordle #679,
using the 12 prompts below.
Here is my story.
sighs γ» fire γ» flip γ» ravaged γ» blue γ» floor γ»
emerge γ» masks γ» ashes γ» soak γ» skin γ» weave
On the Corner of Elm and Poplar
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.31.24.
Weβre offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
Desperate Times
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.31.24.
Weβre offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
What? Me Paranoid?
Woman Of Substance
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.
Gashkuduro
Written for Wordle #678; I have incorporated the 12 words
which you see below into my story and featured one of the
amazing images created by Kevin at No Theme Thursday.
Here is my story; heed the warnings within.
ghoulishγ»nightγ»windγ»tricksγ»spinγ»wrap
spellγ»withinγ»deadγ»cryptγ»buriedγ»wicked
The Letter
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.24.24,
Fandangoβs Story Starter #172 (#FSS), Eugiβs
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt (pretend), and
Gerry C & Sue Wβs Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge (fascination). This is my story.
Bar Kathmandu
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.
Heads Up
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.24.24.
Weβre 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 Writerβs 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 itβs 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 Lucaβs 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 couldnβt 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 β¦ a very clever design β¦ 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 didnβt 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 Lucaβs 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.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
This is βSnowblindβ by Styx
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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. Joeβs boss was impressed (and a bit jealous) to learn that Joe had a home theatre set up in his rec room with a 96β Samsung smart TV.
Before he could stop himself, Joe invited his boss over for dinner, a little billiards and the baseball game that night β¦ 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 didnβt 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!): βHey, babe! Boss coming to dinner. Big opportunity for me! Donβt care what you have to do, just make me proud. Luv ya.β
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.
βBabe!β Joe whispered breathlessly. βThe place looks fabulous and dinner smells amazing. Howβd you do all this?β
Amy blushed sweetly and whispered backΒ βIt wasnβt so hard, honey. I just hired Minute Maid Cleaners, a personal chef and a waiter.β
βYou did what?? We couldn’t possibly afford all that!β Joe barked.
βSure we could, honeyβ Amy laughed, βafter I sold the pool table and the TV.β
NARΒ©2024
Prompt words βmaidβ, βwaiterβ and βcleanerβ for Di
and βblushedβ for Eugi.
From the era of the caveman, this is βWives and Loversβ by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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.
Itβs 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 Iβd be fine at dinner β 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 didnβt. 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 Iβve 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 β 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 β 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 βCall herβ. 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 wasnβt alone. I was so engrossed in what Lily was telling me, I didnβt even realize my anxiety had passed. I had eaten my dinner and people were ordering dessert. The evening actually wasnβt a disaster.
The next day Lily called to check on me. Iβll never forget what she said: βYou know, I was sitting next to you and I didnβt notice anything wrong. You looked perfectly fine and if you hadnβt said anything we never would have known.β
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 isnβt helpful; in fact, it could make things worse. Opening myself up and exposing my vulnerability showed me itβs ok to let others know βHey, Iβm freaking out right now and I need help.β
I learned a valuable life lesson that night: Let it out and let someone in.
NARΒ©2024
This is βUnder Pressureβ featuring Queen, Annie Lennox and David Bowie
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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, heβd 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.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
This is βCrossroadsβ by Cream
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Desert Sky
Written for The New, Unofficial, On-Line Writerβs 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 βlacklusterβ; she was more at home with a camera than a paint brush. Natureβs palette didnβt 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 driverβs 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 didnβt care; the time was right. She left a message:
βHey, babe! Can you guess where I am from the photo I sent? In an hour Iβll 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 canβt wait to be in your arms once again! I love you, papi.β
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 β¦ Miguelβs personal ringtone. She pulled over to read the message:
βJenna, mi amor! Iβve waited this long. Whatβs another hour? Te amo!β
Smiling at the sight of the desert sky in her rearview, Jenna hurried home β¦ home to Miguel.
NARΒ©2024
This is βDancing Barefootβ by Patti Smith
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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.
βHey, Daryl! Phil! Get a load of this!β neighed Ed as he stared over Bess and Elsie’s fence onto the country road. βDo they really think theyβre capable of running? On two legs?? If that don’t beat all!β
βWhat the heck are they doing?β asked Daryl.
βTheyβre jogging; humans run around all bandy-legged with arms flailing, getting sweaty, going nowhere in particular and looking pretty dumb while doing it.β Ed explained.
Phil trotted over. βYeah. I read about these idiots in βHorse Beautifulβ. Itβs some kind of craze, far as I can tell …. some sort of asinine exercise routine.β
βWhoa, whoa, whoa! Look at what we got coming this way, gentlemen. Now thatβs some fine-looking little filly!β exclaimed Ed.
βCheck out those tiny shorts sheβs wearing. She can ride me bareback any time she wants!β Phil declared.
βMan, now thatβs one stacked number! I could watch her jog and bounce around all day!β Daryl smacked his lips.
βHey! What are you three stud farm rejects doing all this way from the barn?β It was Barkley, the yellow lab who lived on the ranch. βFarmer Brownβs gonna have a cow if he hears you jumped the fence again! Best get yourselves back home before someone notices youβre gone. Cβmon! Giddy-up, boys!β
βBuzz kill!β snorted Ed and the trio took off.
βBunch of jackasses!β Barkley yowled indignantly. βWell, good riddance to them and woof to you, my sexy lady. You jog by here often? Have I got a bone for you!β
NARΒ©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 Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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.
βSecrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. Youβre living a secret life, Kenneth, and itβs destroying us.β Juneβs lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire β¦. 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.
βYou had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Donβt you think I have a right to know?β
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. βYes, darling. Itβs time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.β
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
βIβm leaving, June. Iβm going back to the Congo.β
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. βAnd back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubtβ she spat out bitterly. βHow could you, Kenneth!β
βSundaβs dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didnβt make it.β
βDead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?β June asked, bewildered.
βThe messages Iβve been getting .β¦ theyβre 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 sheβs dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.β
βNo! It can’t be true! I donβt understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. Weβll find the best doctors and fight this together!β June sobbed.
βOh, darling June. If only it were that easy. Thereβs 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.β
NARΒ©2024
This is βJungle Feverβ by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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 donβt know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, donβt get me wrong; Iβm not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .β¦ 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!
Thatβs 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!
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“.Β It may come from the ancient Greek word kΕlobathristΔs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.
This is βTake The Long Way Homeβ by Supertramp.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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 motherβs 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 motherβs 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.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.
Authorβs 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 bisnonnaβs 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 βPaint It Blackβ by the Rolling Stones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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.
βKevin! Wake up, man! You gotta see this. Wake up!β
βQuit it, Luke! Iβm trying to sleep!β Kevin mumbled crossly. The disgusting smell of stale beer, Slim Jims and weed slammed Kevin in the face; gagging, he pushed his brother away.
βCβmon, Kev. Something heavy happened down at the beach, man. I swear itβs not of this world, bro!β
βThe only thing βnot of this world, broβ is your breath. Youβre stoned, Luke; go to sleep.β
βI swear on the Bible, Kevin. If you donβt see this, youβre gonna kick yourself.β
Kevin sighed deeply and swung his legs out of bed. βAlright, man. Iβm up. Letβs get this over with.β
Kevin and Luke drove out to the Pacific Palisades beach where Luke had his sighting. Kevin recognized the beach right away.
βHey, Luke β¦ doesnβt your buddy Gonzo clean this beach?”
βFar out, man! I forgot about that. This is gonna blow his mind!β
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.
βCheck it out, Kev. Have you ever seen anything like this, man? Theyβre crop circles, like in that movie!β
βYou 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 βGONZOβS LUNAR ROVER. I BRAKE FOR WEED!β Brilliant detective work, Carl Sagan! C’mon, bro. Iβm buying breakfast. I’ll explain it on the way.β
NARΒ©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! π
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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.
βHm, whatβs this?β I asked myself, cycling up to an abandoned car β¦ 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 βding-ding-ding-dingβ shattering the stillness.
Instinctively, I yanked out the key, pocketing it. I exhaled, savoring the calmness. Looking around, there wasnβt 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 β a muffled voice coming from the mound.
With renewed vigor, I ran up the rise, stopping abruptly at the sight below β a traveling circus being dismantled. It was then I noticed a silver-haired man giddily leaping toward the carny folk, waving and shouting βwait for me!β
Before I knew what was happening, I was bounding after the man, yelling for him to βtake me along, too!β He motioned for me to “c’mon!”
At some point the car key fell out of my pocket, no longer needed.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
This is “Goodbye Cruel World” by James Darren
And for a bit of culture …. from the musical βStop the World – I Want to Get Offβ, this is the incomparable Anthony Newley with βWhat Kind of Fool Am I?β
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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 β¦. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed β¦. 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; itβs 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, Iβll 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 Iβm sure Iβm not going to β¦. at least not for a while. Iβm 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. π
NARΒ©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!
Hereβs βIt Don’t Come Easyβ by Ringo Starr.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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. βThe Endβ, according to locals. Drive to the tip of the peninsula, walk a few steps and youβre in the Atlantic Ocean β¦ literally.
1984 was our first visit. βLetβs go out for a weekend. If we donβt like it, we wonβt go back.β 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.
Montaukβs pizza place and ice cream joint are constantly busy. Drive five minutes west on βthe stretchβ to a place known simply as βLUNCHβ 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 wonβt be eaten again till next summer. Our boys’ hair is sun-streaked, skin bronzed, feet perpetually coated in sand. Theyβre 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!
NARΒ©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 βMemory Motelβ by the Rolling Stones.
https://youtu.be/FJ4be-0Nt0s?si=mP0lpYtWe2zg_AFA
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Calm and Choppy Waters
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday
where the theme is βshipβ. This is my stream.
Sometimes in life you make a connection with another person and you know right away itβs special. That happened to me 40 years ago on the day we moved into our new house.
We werenβt moving very far β just about a quarter mile from where we were living. Thatβs the wonderful thing about this little town; no one wants to leave! Itβs quaint, friendly, clean and quiet with itβs 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 weβd 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.
NARΒ©2024
This is βWooden Shipsβ by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©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 fatherβs 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 βcuredβ.
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.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
This is βCrazy Trainβ by Ozzy Osbourne
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 