Lovely Jenne from The Unicorn Challenge is teasing us once again with this photo. We are to get creative in 250 words or less. In exactly 250 words, this is my response.
βCoroner? What do we need the coroner for?β asked Police Sergeant Jeffries. βItβs obvious this poor slob jumped off the roof. Just look at him!β
βNot so fast, Jeffriesβ snapped Police Captain Russo. βTake a close look at his hand.β
Knowing his boss was expecting him to man up, Jeffries crouched down near the splattered corpse. God, he hated jumpers.
βYou know what I think, Cap? This guy was some sort of perv into the kinky stuff. That bottle in his hand is from Club Kashmir, the notorious sex den.β Jeffries looked up at his superior hoping to have made a good impression.
βJeffries, sometimes I wonder how you ever made it onto the forceβ sneered Russo. βIf you hope to be Lieutenant someday, you better prove you have what it takes. Pervert, my ass!β
Humiliated, Jeffries was beginning to think he wasnβt cut out for this line of work β always tripping over himself to impress the captain.
β Jeffries! Make yourself useful. Put that bottle in an evidence bag. And for Christβs sake, put on a pair of gloves first!β Russo shouted.
Jeffries felt like an idiot but did as he was told.
Captain Russo ordered everyone back to the station. βNot you, Jeffries. Youβre done for tonight. Go home. Report back tomorrow.β
Jeffries nodded curtly but smiled to himself as he fingered the Club Kashmir passkey in his pocket which he pilfered off the dead guy. At least some hot chickie will show him a little appreciation tonight.
I guessed that something was wrong as soon as I saw the look of shocked disbelief on my husband Davidβs face.
βBabe, whatβs wrong?β
With tears in his eyes David whispered βI lost my wedding ring!β
It was our last night in Cape Cod. After dinner we went for a walk on the beach. There was a lot of seaweed in the ocean from a storm a few days before. We walked along the shore, teasing each other with clumps of seaweed; thatβs when the ring must have slipped off his finger. But exactly where we had no idea. We crawled around searching but it was dark and we couldnβt see anything. David was devastated.
βHon, I know your wedding ring means the world to you but we can always replace it.β
βI know, Jess, but it just wonβt be the same.β
Dejected, we returned to our room and went to bed. After hours of trying to get to sleep, I grabbed my laptop and Googled βWill a ring wash ashore after falling in the ocean?β
Almost immediately there was a *ding* on my laptop β¦ a response from βTheRingFinders.comβ. It read: βWe can help find any lost metallic object on the beach or in the water. Enter your zip code and weβll get back to you ASAP .β
I entered the zip code for Cape Cod and 10 minutes later I heard from Rick at βRingFindersβ. After explaining our situation, Rick said heβd be at our B&B at 7:00 AM to start his search. Thank God for the Internet!
True to his word, Rick was already on the beach at 7:00. We ate breakfast on the veranda, never taking our eyes off Rick as he searched everywhere with no luck. It was almost checkout time when he trudged up to the B&B.
βNo luck, folks. Youβre gonna get socked in traffic if you donβt leave now. Iβm sorry to disappoint you but Iβm not giving up. Iβll keep in touch with you either way.β
Disheartened, we checked out and loaded up the car. Taking one last look at Rick, we waved goodbye when we realized he wasnβt waving goodbye β¦ he was waving in excitement. He ran up the beach with his arm in the air, hand clenched in a fist.
βI found it, folks! I found your ringβ he shouted.
We ran to meet him and he grinned as he placed a wet, sandy ring in Davidβs hand.
Thering was under 11 inches of water and seaweed!
Overjoyed, David hugged Rick and we asked how much we owed him.
βThis is a free service we provide but we gladly accept donationsβ Rick explained. βIts very rewarding to see the joy on peopleβs faces when theyβre reunited with their precious lost items.β
I donβt remember how much we gave Rick β¦ thatβs not important. What I do remember is David glancing at his ring all the way home and smiling.
What an experience and certainly an incredible act of kindness. Thanks, Rick!
Authors Note:Β Every word of this story is true. David is my son and Jess is my daughter-in-law. Theringfinders.com is a real organization and Rick, a stranger to David and Jess, did them a service they will remember for the rest of their lives. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction!
Jenne, our genial host at The Unicorn Challenge, has offered up the photo below as our inspiration to write a story of no more than 250 words. This is my 250-word response to that challenge.
There was once a land so very far away from every other land that it was almost completely forgotten by all the inhabitants of the world.
And on that land there were trees and bushes and plants of every type imaginable. Each tree, plant and bush bore the most incredible edibles β¦ luscious fruits of every variety known and unknown to man. There were at least 10,000 kinds of grapes, 8,000 sorts of apples, 3,000 types of pears, 2,000 varieties of peaches, 1,000 kinds of bananas, 400 types of berries, 400 varieties of oranges, etc. There were many sorts of vegetables that grew underground as well as on trees. There were streams, lakes and rivers with crystal clear water abundant with fish.
And on that very far away land lived a cyclops β¦ giant, of course, as all cyclopes are. He was left there years ago by his parents who knew he would never survive life in the city, a life of ridicule and torment and loneliness. They also knew they would never be able to show him any kind of love or affection; indeed, his mother was repulsed by the feel of his rough skin, and unable to look into his one large, blood red eye.
But the cyclops was not forgotten. Every birthday his parents would travel thousands of miles to bring him candy. He would greedily eat the candy and they would leave. Until the last visit when he ate the candy and for dessert, his parents.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is asking us to write a Six Sentence Story using the word “pass”. This is my six sentence story.
The house is quiet tonight β¦.eerily quiet β¦. for all the lights are off and only the glow of candles shines dimly through the curtained windows, performing a ballet of shadows on the walls and ceiling; every so often a door softly opens, barely perceptible murmurings are audible, then the door gently closes as intermittent muted sobbing creeps up from the parlor.
I sit on my bed huddled under a blanket, a tiny flashlight flickering a pale yellow beam on my diary as I jot down my memories of the day; I must be quiet because my mother will be very upset with me if she discovers Iβm still awake at this late hour.
My window is open just enough to let in some fresh air and the distinct smell of cigarette smoke wafts up into my room; I peek out to see my motherβs uncles sitting on the back steps silently smoking their unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes, their black armbands starkly visible against their plain starched white shirts.
I tip-toe across the length of my bedroom, praying the old wooden floorboards beneath the well-worn rug will not creak and ever so slowly I turn the glass doorknob; the hallway is dark but I can detect a muted light downstairs and I scurry nearer to the staircase railing for a better look as I sit there hugging my knees asking myself if I should creep downstairs and take a peek.
A few hours earlier the ambience of the house was much different, still subdued but active as delivery men came and went and acquaintances passed through the hallway into the parlor to pay their respects while my mother and the other women labored in the kitchen like mute worker bees, preparing trays of food for the constant flow of visitors, and my father, along with my uncles, positioned the many floral arrangements throughout the parlor; we children sat quietly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically subdued, occasionally glancing toward the walnut casket resting atop a platform in the center of the room and quickly look away.
Around 6:00 we were quietly whisked away into the dining room where we silently ate our supper, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil; it had been a long and sorrowful day, the longest day in our young lives, for the family matriarch, my great-grandmother had died.
This recording was made in September 1920, less than a year before Carusoβs death. His health was failing and the recording equipment was, by our standards, primitive. Despite all that, the power and beauty of his voice remain unmatched.
βDonβt look at me, Helen. Last year’s lessons with Vanessa nearly put me over the edge.β
βWell, I canβt do it! Ever since Marcia Morelli snatched that promotion for Real Estate Agent of the Year away from me, Iβm spending all my time at work playing catch up.β
βThatβs not my problem, Helen. Anyway, I signed on to coach Brandonβs baseball team this season, remember?β
βOh, cry me a river, Bob! Youβre the one who took an early retirement; your schedule is much more flexible than mine.β
βThatβs right, I retired so I could do things I enjoy like playing golf and going fishing. Itβs important to stay mobile after retirement so we donβt become dust in the wind.β
βWell, if you canβt do it and I canβt do it, why donβt we get Vanessa to teach Danielle how to drive?β
βAre you out of your mind, woman! Vanessaβs been driving less than a year. She canβt take Danielle out driving! Can you imagine the mayhem when those two hit the streets?β
βAt least Iβm making suggestions, Bob. All youβre doing is justifying why you canβt do it.β
βOh, Helen, save your breath and donβt look at me with such contempt. Iβm right and you know it. I wonβt idly sit by and watch both our daughters driving without an adult in the car. Itβs out of the question.β
βYou wonβt? Oh, thatβs wonderful, Bob! I knew youβd come around!β
βNow hold on there, Helen. I didnβt agree to anything.β
βWhy, sure you did, Bob. You said you wouldnβt sit idly by while the girls are driving around without an adult in the car.β
βBut I didnβt meanβ¦..β
βLook at it this way, Bob. Danielle is used to being driven everywhere she goes. If you donβt teach her how to drive, youβll just have to drive here wherever she wants to go. Iβd say this is a win/win situation.β
βAnd how do you figure that, Helen?β
βSimple! By giving Danielle driving lessons, youβll be doing your part to keep our insurance rates down, youβll be able to coach Brandon’s baseball team and still have time to do the things you enjoy and you wonβt turn into dust in the wind. And all it takes is just one daily one-hour driving lesson! Youβre a genius, Bob!β
βI am? Yeah, I guess I am. Hey! Wait just a gosh darn minute, Helen!β
It’s time once again for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to respond to the photo prompt by writing something brilliant in 250 words or less. In exactly 250 words, this is my response.
The first half of my morning commute was always quite pleasant. Iβd buy a muffin and a freshly brewed cup of coffee at Britain and McCainβs, then hop on the Metro North New Haven line. The 7:18 train was brightly lit, clean, and the seats were suitably arranged, making for a comfortable ride. Iβd always see the same faces, fellow suburbanites with their briefcases and newspaper tucked under an arm. A nod or a wave was all that was necessary; it was all quite civilized. Arriving at Grand Central Terminal, Iβd hustle to catch the subway; once inside, all masks of civility were discarded. It became a jungle, survival of the fittest. Finding a seat on the subway was a continuous battle. Any shred of human decency was stripped away as people trampled each other in the hope of securing a place to sit or, at the very least, a spot against a wall on which to lean. If you were unable to find neither seat nor wall, youβd have no choice but to position yourself in the aisles where you could hang onto the hand straps suspended from the ceiling or stand shoulder-to-shoulder like disgruntled sheep crammed in a stall with no place to go. If anyone should stumble and fall, God help them because no one else would! Livestock on their way to the slaughterhouse. No wonder so many people were frustrated and disillusioned, dragging themselves to jobs they hated in conditions not fit for man or beast.
Rachel and Paul had been together for six years. They assumed one day they would marry, have kids β the whole nine yards β but life has a funny way of taking twists and turns. Their romance and dreams just fizzled out but they remained very close and relied on each other for guidance β from the job scene to the dating game.
One night Rachel texted Paul: “Hey, babe. Ella & Sam set us up with blind dates for Fri. U in?”
Paul: “Y not? No plans anyway!”
Rachel: “Great! Emilio’s @ 7. Glad U R my back-up!”
Paul: “Ditto, babe! C U there.”
Both kicked themselves for calling the other “babe”. Old habits.
Friday night the foursome met at Emilio’s. While checking-out their prospective dates, Paul and Rachel exchanged alarmed glances; her eyes were screaming “WTF!” It was the fastest dinner in the history of Emilio’s restaurant.
As soon as Paul got home, he called Rachel: “What was that?!“
Rachel howled: “A TOTAL FREAK SHOW!! Your date was downright scary! She looked like Vampira and I swear her eyes were red! And what was up with that black cape β with a hood, for Christ’s sake? Did you notice her steak? It wasn’t rare; it was raw and practically throbbing!”
“And what about YOUR date?!” Paul exclaimed. “Wrist-to-neck tattoos, eyebrow, nose and lip piercings, boots with spikes and a “Carcass” t-shirt! He downed a bottle of beer in two gulps and belched like a bloody Viking!”
“I’ll never let Sam and Ella play matchmakers again. I’m sure they thought it was hysterical” Rachel quipped. “Anyway, my mother set me up with her friend’s cousin’s son, “The Doctor”, for next Saturday …. on Valentine’s Day, for Pete’s sake! If you get a date maybe we can try this again.”
“Sure. Nothing could be as bad as tonight” Paul replied. “I’ll call ya.”
A few days later Paul called to say he had a date for Saturday β a friend of a friend. “But she said “drinks only” and she’ll take a taxi.”
“Ok, fine, with me, but if it turns into another debacle like that last date, we all go our separate ways.”
Arrangements were made to meet at The Aviary in Central Park. Rachel’s date was Wesley, an OB/GYN. He was handsome, tan and suave. Paul’s date was Ginger, a salesgirl at Victoria’s Secret with modeling/acting ambitions. She was a vivacious redhead with mischievous green eyes.
“Well, there’s no point in me hanging around” Rachel said glumly. “Ginger should be back any second and three’s a crowd.”
As Rachel got up to leave she glanced out the window and saw Wesley and Ginger getting into his car. “What the hell? Paul! We’ve been dumped …. on Valentine’s Day!”
Paul and Rachel started the slow walk of rejection through Central Park. He jokingly bumped her shoulder with his.
“There’s a hockey game on tonight. Any chance you wanna watch?” Paul asked.
She bumped him back.
“Why not? I don’t have any plans now, anyway” Rachel sighed.
From our kitchen window I can see my little girl Nell playing with her new best friend Elena. Since moving to Atlanta two months ago, the girls have become inseparable. They are both four years old and about the same height but thatβs where the physical similarities end.
Nell is a green-eyed lanky Irish redhead covered in a profusion of freckles while Elena is a slightly plump Spanish beauty with brown doe eyes, smooth tanned skin and lustrous black hair.
As I stand at the kitchen sink I can see the girls frolicking in the yard with Elena’s puppy, Pongo. Their energy is boundless as they dash back and forth from the swings to the trampoline to their bikes. They like to play a funny game where little Pongo is a scary monster chasing them around the yard …. and Pongo is always happy to oblige.
Moving around the kitchen doing my chores, I can hear Elena counting, followed by an excited βready or notβ¦.here I comeβ, then the hysterical giggles as Nellβs secret (but usual!) hiding place is discovered.
The yard is fenced in and Iβm completely aware of the girls and what theyβre doing …. most of the time. Occasionally theyβll wander into a concealed corner of the garden to pick wild flowers for me and Elenaβs mom. Even though I canβt see them, I can clearly hear their conspiratorial mumblings as they go from one blossom to the other.
βButtercups, Daisies and Lillies of the Valleyβ whispered Elena.
All was quiet and I presumed the girls would come dashing into the kitchen and present me with a freshly-picked bouquet; instead Pongo bounded in, yipping and yapping like crazy …. an omen that all is not as it should be. To my relief, there’s no sign of anything unusual in the dining room. The front door is locked and my handbag is still resting on the desk where I left it. To my amazement, on the crisp white tablecloth sat a short blue glass vase brimming with Daisies, Buttercups, Lillies of the Valley and ivy. It was breathtaking.
I stood there admiring the green, white and golden cluster when suddenly I heard woeful whimpering and sobbing nearby. Pongo gave a little tug on the end of the tablecloth and there, huddled closely, were Nell and Elena, their little bodies covered in itchy red rashes. Only then did I realize the vine in the vase with flowers was poison ivy!
βCome with me, my sweet girls. Itβs nothing a little calamine lotion wonβt fix. Thank you for the flowers …. the most beautiful Iβve ever seen! Wonβt daddy be surprised when he comes home tonight!β I said, smiling and chuckling to myself.
And tomorrow we will rid the garden of all the pretty shiny ivy.
It’s time for The Unicorn Challenge! Jenne has provided the photo below and asks that we respond with a story not to exceed 250 words. Here is my 250-word response.
Russell was tired of my excuses, my insecurities, my hang-ups and what he called βThat Sicilian thing thatβs 2000 years oldβ, which would have had more gravitas if I didnβt know it came straight from “Godfather 2″. He was breaking up with me and I was laughing in his face.
He was right, of course. I was a lousy girlfriend and I certainly wouldnβt make him a good wife. I didnβt like sex with him; some of the things he tried to do went on forever and brought me no satisfaction. I was disgusted by what he wanted me to do.
Russell stormed out. Good riddance. Thatβs when I decided to follow my dream and move to Sicily. Travel arrangements went smoothly and, having spoken previously with the people where Iβd be staying, I knew getting accommodations would not be a problem.
My plans came together quickly. I packed a carry-on; more than that I wouldnβt need. In the morning I called for a taxi. Four hours later I was flying across the Atlantic on my way to the town of Erice. The place where I was staying was ancient, located on the top of Mount Erice, far from the useless worries of life. No cares, no distractions.
The bus dropped me off at Sorelle Povere*. My knock on the door was answered by a smiling older woman.
My quadrille for dVerse using the word βimagineβ
As a former childrenβs choir director, I often rewrote the lyrics to favorite songs.
My days as a lyricist ended after being chastised by a pastor who accused me of βlacking imaginationβ by using the same melody and ‘simplychanging the words‘.
Denise at GirlieOnThe Edge has challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story using the word ‘game’. In six sentences, this is my response to that challenge
If youβre wondering what βcapadosteβ means, itβs Italian slang for thickheadedβ and all will be revealed as I continue with my store which goes like this: A while back β¦. and by βa whileβ Iβm guessing close to 56 years now β¦. my husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) and I would get together most Friday nights with our friends at somebody or otherβs house where weβd do a whole bunch of nothing, like sitting around watching TV, playing cards, shooting the breeze, listening to music, smoking and drinking.
Now, before we go any further, I need to emphasize the fact that Iβm a lousy drinker and it doesnβt take more than one drink to get me tipsy, something I was well aware of but joined in the fun anyway because I didnβt want to be a βparty pooperβ; it was guaranteed that any night out that involved drinking always ended with me puking my guts out on the way home, Bill walking me to the front door where my father would be waiting up for me, saying goodnight then collapsing in my bed while my room whirled around like a spinning wheel.
Well, as you can imaging, these get-togethers with friends started getting old pretty fast until somebody mentioned a new gamehe played recently and asked if we wanted to hear about it, which, of course, we did; some of you out there in βReader Landβ may already be familiar with this pastime with playing pieces consisting of nothing more than a glass, paper napkins, a rubber band and a dime β¦. βThe Dime Gameβ!
The game was really easy, anyone could play it, we all did and the rules went like this: drape a paper napkin over an empty glass, securing it in place with a rubber band, then place the dime in the very center of the napkin (couldnβt be simpler, really, but thatβs just the set up) β¦. playing the game was significantly more difficult.
Since everyone smoked something or other back then, the idea was to take your lit whatever, burn a hole on the top surface of the napkin (praying it would stay small and not ignite the entire napkin), then the next player does the same thing; the goal of the game was to keep the napkin as intact as possible without the dime falling into the glass which resulted in the person who made the dime fall having to chug a shot glass of whatever libation was being served that night (and it wasnβt alcohol-free) so you know what that meant for me!
As a lover of board games, card games and party games, I was a total sucker for βThe Dime Gameβ and like the idiot I was, I played every time, got sloshed after two shots and was done for while everyone else was having fun; youβd think a lesson like that would have been learned rather quickly and to that I have only one thing to say β¦. βCapadoste!β
Three years ago my darling Nina, my life-force, my soulmate, was killed in a ghastly accident while riding her bicycle to the library. Iβd offered her a lift but she declined; Nina hated my motorcycle, calling it a deathtrap.
I remember the call, the ambulance and police, the excruciatingly long ride to the hospital, the lonely wait in the eerily quiet emergency room, the surgeonβs voice .β¦ his words that torment me day after day after day. My wife is dead, our all-too-short marriage erased.
I am lost, blindly wandering Gehenna. I shut myself off from everything. Well-meaning friends brought Ninaβs bicycle to the studio where she taught ballet. I heard itβs a lovely memorial but I canβt bring myself to go by.
Itβs time for me to leave, escape the painful memories and the desperation. Our friends stopped calling long ago and thereβs nothing left to do. Itβs time for me to go.
I remove my wedding band and place it on the dresser next to my phone and wallet.
βWill my motorcycle start up?βΒ I wonder βOr has it died, too?βΒ I grab my helmet and walk to the garage. My bike stands in the corner, covered by a tarp now buried under three years of regret and bitterness. I strap on my gloves, open the garage door and climb on my bike.
It is pouring rain; I have no idea where I am going. It doesnβt matter; I’ve stopped caring. Now I need to stop the heartache.
7:30 AM Friday, Drew texting: “Hey, sorry! I know it’s early. Got any plans this weekend?”
[OMG! My heart starts racing. My biggest crush in forever is asking me if I have plans this weekend. OK, get a grip. I donβt want to appear too anxious; after all, we’ve never actually dated β just the occasional coffee and walks in the park with our dogs, Arlo and Dexter.]
[Alright. A sufficient amount of time has passed.]
7:40 AM, me texting: “This weekend? Um …. I don’t think so. What’s up?”
[Just the right tone. Cool and calm …. which I’m neither at the moment. Gotta love texting. It’s so impassive when necessary.]
7:42 AM, Drew texting: “I scored two ticketsto Springsteen for Saturday night in …. are you ready for this? Vegas!”
[Vegas! I love Vegas! I love Springsteen! I’m practically hyperventilating. Settle down and take a deep breath. Remember …. cool and calm.]
7:44 AM, me texting: “Wow! That’s fabulous! Let me just check my calendar.BRB“
[Exit text, count to 30.]
7:46 AM, me texting: “Hey Drew, my weekend’s open.”
7:47 AM, Drew texting: “Excellent! Even Arlo’s excited!And Amy, listen …. it’s an overnight trip; we’ll begetting back late Sunday. I don’t want to push you. Are you cool with this?”
[Am I cool with this?? It IS a bit sudden but I have to admit it’s what I want. Go for it.]
7:50 AM, me texting: “I won’t lie, Drew …. it is kinda sudden but I’m ready; it’ll be fun.“
7:52 AM, Drew texting:“This is gonna be an amazing weekend, Amy. I’m so happy you said ‘yes’.See you at yourplace tomorrow morning at 8:00.The flight’s at 11:00.”
7:54 AM, me texting: “Perfect!See you then.”
My head’s spinning. This is really happening! So much to do before tomorrow! Skip lunch today and go to Victoria’s Secret. Get a bikini wax on the way home from work. Pack tonight.
I couldn’t concentrate at work and excitement kept me awake most of the night; I finally gave up at 5:30. Time for coffee and a shower.
A quick glance at the clock …. ten minutes before Drew gets here. I place my carry-on bag on the bed, toss in my toothbrush and zip it up.
The sudden shrill ring of the doorbell startles me. Forcing myself not to lunge for the door, I pace myself, smile and casually open it to see Drew smiling back at me, one arm cradling Arlo, his other arm around the shoulder of a stunning brunette in tight jeans and a Springsteen tank top. My smile freezes in place.
“Hi, Amy! This is Charlotte. I’m so glad you can take careof Arlo this weekend; we’re really looking forward to this trip. Anyway, the routine is the same as the last time you watched Arlo. We’ll pick him up Sunday night.Thanks, Amy. Sorry about the short notice. You’re a real pal!”
Taking the pup, I manage a “Have a great time” and watch Drew and Charlotte walk down the hall and head for the elevator. They are laughing in that carefree way. Slowly I close the door, my stupid grin gone as I snuggle Arlo.
When I first started writing on WordPress, I printed out every story I wrote along with its accompanying graphic.
I filled five of the largest 3-ring binders I could find at Staples.
I was so enthralled with the fact that I was actually a βpublished authorβ! I felt my work needed to be immortalized in plastic.
For what? My 15 minutes of fame? To prove I existed and to share my brilliant thoughts with the world? To have something to pass on to my children and their childrenβs children?
Who the hell do I think I am?
Then the stark reality hit me: who cares? No child of mine is going to want these tomes cluttering their shelves; besides, theyβll never find the time to sit down and read them. Theyβll get tossed in a basket next to the recliner, with all the other good intentions. Soon theyβll be relegated to the basement or worse, the attic β¦. the black hole in every home.
I know what youβre thinking: βWhy not self-publish on Amazon, Nancy, and have pretty books to keep on your shelf (or in a box) instead of unwieldy, unattractive 3-ring binders?β Honestly, I know me and it wonβt get done. I just donβt give a rat’s ass and those pretty books will end up as kindling or more βstuffβ to be disposed of when I croak.
I suppose I can have them buried with me so Iβll have something to read as I become one with the earth. Thatβs a thought.
And so I made the call. Sometime during the summer of 2023 I stopped printing out my stories. I now have a little more free time not to mention plenty of ink for my printer.
Anyone interested in five 3-ring binders of my stories? Theyβre going cheap.
βHold it right there, Everett! Iβll not be fooled again by the likes of you! My own twin brother! Who ever thought it would come to this? You always hated me, didnβt you, Everett? Even as a child you were a malicious, jealous little bastard, like the day you started the fire in the gatehouse. You knew Iβd be nearby working the horses and the first to see the smoke. And what happened? I got blamed for the fire! Everything I ever had, you wanted. You stole my darling Clarissa just weeks before we were to be married, then you forced yourself on her, all the while pretending you were me. She could never forgive me. She left town, a bitter, broken woman. My reputation was ruined and the only woman I ever loved was gone because of you. Now itβs down to our inheritance. You just couldnβt be satisfied with half, could you? You had to have it all. You think I donβt know it was you who took a shot at me the day we were out hunting with Father and Uncle Wyatt? Good thing for me you missed your mark that day. Well, Iβll not miss mine, you rotten, scheming son of a bitch. Thatβs right, this is the end, brother. Iβm going to enjoy watching you beg for mercy. Good riddance, Everett. See you in hell.”
βAnd β¦. Cut! Great job as always, Bobby. Thatβs a wrap. This oneβs got βAcademyAwardβ written all over it!β
It’s a fiver today, including prompt words from FOWC with Fandango and Weekly Prompts Wednesday.
βDebonair, sophisticated and charmingβ sighed Alice Carter. βI just love that movie. Cary Grant is so good-looking and classy. They donβt make movies like that anymore, you know?β
βAnd that Ingrid Bergman is some beauty, tooβ replied Aliceβs husband Ralph. βThose smoldering eyes, high cheekbones, graceful neck β a real looker, that one.β
βAnd so chic, too, Ralph. You always knew a real lady when you saw one. Well, I better start dinner. Iβm making your favorite β sausage and potato casserole.β
βI hope you made a lemon meringue pie for dessert.β
βOf course! Have we ever celebrated your birthday without your favorite pie? I know what you like, Ralph.β
“No, we have not, Alice. The kitchen is your milieu and no one makes a lemon meringue pie like you, my little chickadee!” Alice blushed with delight; Ralph’s compliments were rare these days.
Returning to the den after starting dinner, Alice found Ralph was watching the weatherchannel. “My goodness! That weather girl’s pants are awfully tight! They’re a bit unseemly for TV, I think. Don’t you agree, Ralph?“
“Oh, I don’t think so at all, Alice. She’s got a lovely figure; she probably works out every day. I’m sure her parents instilled in her an excellent work ethic. You know, I remember reading in some countries the TV weather girls are topless.”
“Topless? Why, I never” Alice declared indignantly; Ralph switched the channel to the news.
Alice clucked her tongue. βWhy arenβt there more delightful men on the news, men like that handsome Peter Jennings?β
βBecause heβs deadβ replied Ralph.
βHow about Mike Wallace? He’s so dapper.β
βAlso deadβ Ralph reminded Alice.
βLook at that clown, Glenn Beck, wearing jeans and sneakers on a TV news show! Give him a beanie and heβd look just like one of those little rascal kids. What ever happened to that nice Matt Lauer?β
βFired for overt misconduct and sexual harassmentβ replied Ralph.
βGood Lord! I donβt believe it! Well, what about Bill OβReilly, Eric Bolling and Charlie Rose?β
βFired, fired and, oh yeah .β¦ fired. Alice, can I please have a moment of peace and quiet to watch the news?β
βWell, pardon me for living! No need to be rude, Ralphβ she sniffed. βIβm going to check on the sausage casserole.β
When she returned Alice stopped dead in her tracks. βOh my God, Ralph! What on earth are you watching now?β
βItβs still the news, Alice. In fact, itβs called βThe News Channelβ. News all day, every day.”
βThe βX Rated News Channelβ, you mean! No wonder those poor men got fired. What red-blooded guy could resist floozies like that showing off their goods on national TV? They look like hookers! And look at you sitting there in your underwear all bug-eyed. Disgusting!β Alice harrumphed.
βPut a lid on it, Alice! You donβt have the slightest idea what youβre talking about. These women are professionals. Theyβre lawyers, professors and judges, not some bimbos with sketchy qualifications who just walked in off the street.β
βYeah, theyβre highly qualified alright β¦. as adult entertainers!β Alice snapped. βTake that one on the end with the dyed blonde hair and skirt so short I can practically see Niagara Falls! What happened …. did they run out of fabric? And the other one with the dark hair. Who is she …. one of the Kardashians? With those spike heels and implants, I’m sure she can get a job as a pole dancer!β
βWoah, woah, woah! Thatβs enough, Alice! Look, this here is Megyn Kelly. She has a law degree, is a journalist, an author and a world-famous political commentator as well as a news anchor. The dark-haired one is Kimberly Guilfoyle. Sheβs a political analyst, an attorney and former First Lady of San Francisco. Now sheβs engaged to Donald Trump, Jr.β
βWell, big whoop!! If you think Iβm impressed, Ralph, youβve got another thing comin’. Youβre delusional!β
βI donβt care what you think, Alice. Iβm sure their families are very proud of them. Besides being absolutely stunning, they are brilliant. Now why donβt you just run back into the kitchen and let me enjoy my one indulgence.β
βIndulgence??β Alice countered. βSo you admit itβs all about cheap thrills and nothing to do with the news. Youβre such a pig, Ralph!β
“Alice, your ignorance is showing. Can we please stop talking about this? Howβs that sausage coming, anyway? Iβm starving!β
Alice saw red. βHereβs an idea for you, Ralph. Get Kimberly whatβs-her-name to see to your sausage. Iβm sure sheβs highly qualified! And one more thing …. Happy Effin’ Birthday!β
βWhat does it look like Iβm doing, Morris? Iβm going to go sing with that band.β
βYou canβt do that. Youβre almost 73 years old!β her son replied. He was becoming impatient.
βWhat the hell does my age have to do with anything? Tony Bennett, Tina Turner, David Crosby were all in their 80s and still going strong.β
βMother, youβre not exactly in the same league as Tina Turner!β
βThank you for pointing that out to me and the family, Morris. Youβve turned into a self-righteous little prig β¦. certainly not how I raised you.β
βWell, one of us had to grow up, Mother. Youβre not going to sing with that band. I wonβt allow it. This isnβt Woodstock!β
βGrammy? Whatβs Dad talking about? You were at Woodstock?β Dina asked her grandmother in disbelief.
βAs a matter of fact, I was! You know, I wasnβt always your grandmother! I lived a whole other life before your father was born.β
βGrammy, why am I just hearing about this now? Iβm 22 years old and never knew this! How is that possible? Dad, how come you never said anything?β
βYouβre fatherβs embarrassed by me, Dina. I was always a very free spirit; I met a lot of incredible people before and after Woodstock.β
βGrammy, were you a groupie?β Dina asked conspiratorially.
βOh, Dina! Lets just say I had great fun.β
βMother, this conversation ends now!β
βOh, shut up, Morrison!β
βMorrison?β Dina whispered knowingly, eyes wide.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us to write a Six Sentence Story using the word “kick”. I threw in 8 other prompts I had in my back pocket; this is my response.
Last week I had my bi-weekly (every two weeks) session with my pain management doctor; I always get a perverse kick out of the term ‘pain management’ and feel like I need to say something witty and clever (sarcastic) about it to the insentient people who work there, hereafter referred to as ‘the staff’.
βYou know, the term ‘pain management‘ is all well and good however I’m really here in search of ‘pain termination‘”, I mention to the front desk receptionist who is characteristically unresponsive; my darling, unceasingly patient husband stands to the side with a sheepish yet accepting half-smile on his face (sometimes accompanied by a masterful eye-roll) knowing all to well there are times I cannot or simply will not control my Sicilian forked tongue, being the perspicacious and savvy sort that I am.
My doctor’s office is in a building with other doctors so thereβs always a soft parade of wheelchairs and people with canes, crutches, walkers or other means of physical assistance going into the various offices; many have spouses/friends/caregivers accompanying them with dogeared paperbacks, sudoku puzzles or endlessly-beeping cell phones except for my husband and me who both have appointments with the same doctor for ‘management’ of our pain, he at 11:00 and me at 11:20, and so we accompany and entertain each other.
Akey is needed to unlock the door to the ‘Guest Restrooms’ which are located near the elevators; this is a majorinconvenience and I have issues with this arrangement since there’s not one but two ‘Staff Only’ restrooms in the doctor’s office which screams HYPOCRISY considering the patients are the ones who would benefit from having a restroom nearby and because the ‘staff’ sometimes uses the ‘guest’ restroom when they have their own damn restrooms (but we can’t use theirs), and since no one is actually resting in the ‘restroom’, let’s drop the euphemism and call it what it is β a toilet, FFS!
I persevere and consider the walk to the ‘Guest Restroom’ part of my daily exercise but rest assured β I am seething inside and secretly hope there’s a member of the ‘staff’ in the ‘Guest Restroom’ who might accidentally trip over someone’s cane; there are a lot of canes at ‘pain management’.
Speaking of canes, I bring along my boldnew walking stick; I don’t always need it but I think it makes me look erudite, sophisticated and elegant in a nonchalant sort of way, even though my knees are barking like angry junkyard dogs; looking good is half the battle.
Lisa is serving as host for todayβs dVerse Prosery prompt. We are to write a piece of up to 144 words and include the line βBut that smile was the last smile to come upon her faceβ. This is my response for Lisaβs dVerse Prosery prompt.
We were living in Tennessee with my Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz after my mam and pap were killed in the South Carrollton, Kentucky train wreck of 1917. Just five days before Christmas and our family was torn apart. My mam and Aunt Luella were sisters; mamβs death nearly destroyed Auntie.
Back in January we all had such high hopes for 1917. My cousin Henry, Aunt Luella and Uncle Bozβs firstborn, was set to graduate high school in June, the first one in the family with that distinction. Aunt Luella was so proud of Henry, she couldnβt help smiling thinking of Henryβs bright future.
But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face.
Henry enlisted in the army one month before graduation. He died in the Battle of Cambrai on Thanksgiving Day.
βIt was a glorious day, greener than Killarney in spring. We were out for a stroll, the leaves sparkling with dew. You looked so beautiful, Maggie, you made my heart skip a beat. Bluer eyes than Iβd ever seen and hair the aroma of fresh peaches. We stopped and I picked a wildflower. I donβt know how you did it but you twisted the stem and made a ring. That was the day we became βengagedβ. You said we needed to walk under the branch that stretched out over the path to make it official. I held your hand and we walked to the middle of the little bridge. We stood there and I knew from that moment on we would always be together. Thatβs where I kissed you for the first time. We were very daring, you being an older woman and all. I was 11 and you were 13 but we knew then we were made for each other.β
βItβs exactly as I remember. Tell me more, Tom. Put your arm around me. Iβm so very cold.β
βDo you recollect the day we walked into the woods and discovered that cabin? I called it a βdilapidated shackβ; you said it was βour dreamβ. We fixed that place up good, filling it with dreams. We raised our family there and welcomed our grandkids. Now our grands are getting married. Three generations of dreams, Maggie. Maggie? Oh, my sweetest love. Sleep now and dream forever.β
Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers has challenged us to write a 100-word story prompted by the photo below. Incorporating prompts from Weekly Prompts Wednesday and FOWC with Fandango, this is my response to Rochelle’s challenge.
How many years does someone need to spend in a loveless marriage before the word divorceis mentioned?
That was Barbaraβs regrettable life. When her husband finally approached her, she didnβt hesitate; she knew she couldnβt love him as heβd hoped.
Their split was swift and formal.
Now Barbara walked out of the Prada shop in Salamanca and, with thrilling expectation, waved when she saw Evelyn across the street.
Their pace quickened and they embraced passionately, unafraid and unashamed to show their love for each other.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has challenged us once again to write a Six Sentence Story and to include the word “stock”. This is my response.
Monday after school, me and my friends were in our usual hang out β¦. Caroni Brothers Grocery Store β¦. where we go for snacks, gum, you know β typical things 10 year old boys like β and, as usual, my mouth was watering for my favorite candy in the whole wide world, Tootsie Rolls, BUT I forgot my allowance and my friends didnβt have any extra money to loan me so I just walked around the store feeling glum when all the while those chocolatey Tootsie Rolls kept calling my name; before I could even think about what I was doing, I reached into the display box on the shelf, snatched a handful of Tootsies and bolted out the side door, but instead of running as fast and as far away from the store as I could, I tossed my candy into my backpack and sat on the ground leaning against the wall, relieved that I got away with it, when suddenly Mr. Caroni appeared outta nowhere, looming over me like a gorilla, and he reached into my backpack for my stash of Tootsie Rolls, shook his beefy fist and snarled something about cleaning him out lock, stock and barrel and to βget outta here, you mangy little thief, and never come back!βΒ Β
That night I prayed Caroniβs would burn down β no such luck, by the way β and every day that week I gazed at the store with longing as my school bus passed by with one sickening thought haunting me: this coming Sunday morning, when me and my Dad are gonna take our weekly walk to Caroniβs for a loaf of Italian bread, a box of macaroni, a half-dozen cannoli and the newspaper; there’s no way I’m gonna be able to walk into that store and I’m thinking maybe I should just run away from home right now and never look back, but that would break my Mom’s heart.Β
Sunday arrived and Dad called out for me to βget a move on!β, all the while Iβm making up excuses why I canβt go but he ainβt buying any of them; thatβs it β dead man walking β and I dilly-dallied the whole way to the store, watching caterpillars, kicking pebbles, stopping to tie my shoelaces .β¦ again β¦. until my Dad couldnβt take it anymore and shouted βCβmon, kiddo; what is this .β¦ a funeral?βΒ and Iβm thinking βyeah, mine!β and before I knew it, I started crying and blubbering like my baby sister.Β
Squatting down and taking hold of my shoulders, Dad looked me square in the eye and askedΒ βOk, whatβs going on?βΒ and sobbing pathetically like a little sissy, I told Dad the whole sordid tale about me, Mr. Caroni and a handful of Tootsie Rolls; he took out his handkerchief, wiped my face, held it to my nose and said βBlow; listen, kiddo β¦. what you did was wrong and itβs obviously eating you up inside, but I’m afraid itβs not over because you still have to apologize to Mr. Caroni, which won’t be easy, but you have to do it β¦. and not a word about any of this to your Mom because this is a “guy thing” and it stays between us guys.βΒ
We walked into the store, picked out our usual items and brought them up to the counter where my day wasted no time mincing words and saidΒ βMr. Caroni, my son has something to sayβ;Β shaking in my shoes, I managed to look up at Mr. Caroni’s face and squeaked outΒ βIβm sorry for taking those Tootsie Rolls, sir, and Iβll never steal anything from you ever againβand I extended my hand; an eternity seemed to go by but, to my shock and relief, Mr. Caroni took my little hand in his large meaty one, gave me one solid shake and nodded in agreement.Β
βAnything else?βΒ Mr. Caroni asked, to which my dad replied βJust theseβ as he tossed a handful of my beloved Tootsie Rolls onto the counter; I’m sure glad my secret’s safe with Dad ’cause the last thing I wanna do is break my Mom’s heart.
There I was, sitting in my car taking a smoke break. Damn shame! We canβt smoke anywhere these days and thatβs a perfect example of discrimination.
Anyway, Iβm looking out the car window, and thatβs when I spotted it …. a rubber glove on the ground. Disgusting!
Since I was parked just across from a nursing home, I figured that glove belonged to one of the employees there and that made me even angrier than I was. Imagine, a health facility employee tossing a glove away like that! I bet they throw their masks on the ground, too. Pigs!
Whatβs wrong with people? Youβd think after 3+ years of Covid, they’d finally get it right and stop ditching their used gloves or masks on public property. I could never understand how someone, especially a health-care worker, could show such disrespect for other people. If I had seen whoever tossed that glove so indiscriminately, I would have said something.
Well, thereβs only one thing to do β¦. I donned a glove, picked up the offensive litter and deposited it in the trash. Puffing on my smoke, I walked back to my car feeling very proud of myself.
Just then a pigeon landed on the trash can, picked out the glove and flew off only to drop the glove on the road. Well, Iβll be damned! It wasnβt a deliberate act of human negligence after all! I chuckled, my faith in mankind restored.
Flicking my cigarette butt out the window, I drove off.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story and include the word “task”. This is my response.
Not having practiced the piano at all that one week, I called my instructor who was waiting for me at the church and declared into the phone βMrs. Ridgeway, itβs Nancy and I canβt make it to my lesson today because itβs rainingβ; I was quite proud of myself for coming up with such a creative and foolproof excuse.
In her clipped New England-accented voice, Mrs. Ridgeway replied βYouβre not a sugar cube and wonβt melt in the rainβ, then went on to say βSurely you have an umbrella you can useβ; I was quick to inform her that I had left my umbrella on the school bus, adding that no one was at home with me to lend me an umbrella and my mother didnβt approve of me walking unprotected in the rain to which my piano teacher replied βWell then, Iβll just come to your house for your lessonβ.
You could have knocked me over with a feather because I certainly was not expecting that response and, true to her word, ten minutes later Mrs. Ridgeway appeared at my front door, ready for the task at hand; I dilly-dallied as long as I could looking for my book of Schirmerβs Library of Musical Classics β Selected Piano Masterpieces, setting up my metronome, cracking my knuckles and swinging my arms a la Ed Norton and shifting butt cheeks searching for the most comfortable position until Mrs. Ridgewayβs patience reached the breaking point and she barked βEnough!β which nearly made me jump off the piano bench in a panic.
Shaking like the last leaf on a branch in a windstorm, I opened my lesson book to the appropriate page and began playing Beethovenβs FΓΌr Elise while Mrs. Ridgeway sat next to me, staring over my shoulder and glaring; I played as though I was wearing boxing gloves and, being the master sleuth that she was, Mrs. Ridgeway saw right through my brilliant plot.
Angrier than my sister the day she discovered I had ripped off all the heads on her Barbie dolls, Mrs. Ridgeway exclaimed I had wasted her valuable time and she doubled my lessons for the next week which would have been tolerable if she hadnβt reported to my mother who got so mad because of my lack of responsibility, she withheld my allowance for the next two weeks and took away my TV privileges β¦. even Dr. Kildare.
This is what FΓΌr Elise is supposed to sound like; youβll notice Lang Lang is not wearing boxing gloves (but I bet heβd sound just as good even if he was).
The incomparable Jackie Gleason and Art Carney in a clip from the Honeymooners – Suwanee River. How could I possibly resist?
The prompt for JusJoJan January 2, 2024 is brought to us by my friend Willow; the prompt word is βGregorianβ. Here is my submission.
The Abbot rushed toward the chapel, his robes kicking up dust all around him. He had never heard sounds like that before; he had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
The chanting continued, increasing in volume. Finally the Abbot reached the room and threw open the doors to the chapel. Immediately the startled monks stopped singing, all eyes on the Abbot. One look and everyone could tell he was furious.
βWhat is the meaning of this?β he demanded, his eyes sweeping the faces of all the monks in the chapel. βSomeone answer me! I demand to know why you are not chanting in the traditional manner. Who gave you permission to do this!β
With great trepidation, one brave monk stepped forward. With eyes lowered he spoke softly. βAbbot, forgive me, but while you were attending the funeral of your beloved mother, word was received from His Holiness, Pope Gregory, that all chants are to be sung in this manner. In his honor, the chants are called Gregorian.β
His Holiness! The Abbot was momentarily stunned by this information. He cleared his throat and replied βOf course! His Holiness. It must have slipped my mind while I was preoccupied with the funeral.β
The monks remained silent, all staring at the Abbot. At last he put everyone out of their discomfort by declaring βThe new chants are indeed quite lovely. His Holiness is most wise. Carry on, my sons.β The Abbot quickly turned and left the monks to their chanting. A slight smile came to his face as he heard their beautiful voices singing the praises of God.
Linda G. Hill has challenged us with the first prompt for JusJoJan January 1st 2024: and the #1 prompt of the year is βtrain.β Here is my submission.
Every morning I take the train to work in lower Manhattan from Far Rockaway, New York and back home again in the evening. Along with a multitude of fellow commuters, I ride the underground transit system (affectionately known as βthe subwayβ) for a total of three hours round trip. Thatβs a long time to observe the parade of weirdos entering and exiting the train.
Riding the subway for as long as I do, itβs easy to become familiar with my fellow passengerβs quirks and foibles β even assigning them made up names to go with their peccadilloes. And let me tell you β people are strange!
Far Rockaway is where the commute originates so Iβm always guaranteed a seat. A couple I call Marge and Homer gets on the same train as me. I have determined from their heated conversations that they have been engaged for about six years. Marge is ready to get married; Homerβs not. She talks about her biological clock; he talks about nothing but his upcoming promotion at work. Then Marge reminds Homer heβs been saying the same thing for five years now and their discussion becomes more heated with every chug of the subway.
First stop: enter Malodorous Man. This guy is always guaranteed a seat in the corner all by himself. The fact that he desperately needs a shower would be enough to keep people away but he also brings his breakfast on the train β a raw onion which he peels and eats with gusto as one would an apple.
At our next stop Mr. Obsessive gets on. He immediately takes out a can of disinfectant and sprays it in the direction of Malodorous Man who indignantly shoutsβHey, Iβm eatinβ here!β
Mr. Obsessive goes to HIS seat (where no one else dares sit because everyone knows itβs HIS seat), cleans it and begins his routine. First he unties his shoe laces making sure they are of equal length. Satisfied that they are, he reties his laces, then adjusts his socks so they reach the exact same height on both legs. He smooths his trousers, unbuttons and re-buttons his jacket, aligns the amount of shirt cuff visible from his jacket sleeves, straightens his tie and adjusts his hat repeatedly. Finally all is well in OCD Land.
At stop number three Malodorous Man departs and the Tattoo Twins get on, a teenage boy and girl covered from the neck down with multicolored tattoos. They lean against the door and start making out while Mr. Obsessive huffs in disapproval.
Totally out of character Marge suddenly declares to Homer that sheβs βhad enoughβ and moves to another seat next to Bob the Builder, a good-looking construction worker. Homerβs not happy about this; perhaps heβs noticed the same thing I have: whenever Bob the Builder enters the train he winks at Marge and pats his impressive tool belt. Bob and Marge begin a quiet conversation while Homer fumes.
Next stop and Mr. Obsessive fearfully sidles, past the Tattoo Twins who reach out and knock his perfect hat right off his head. Shocked by this unnecessary assault, Mr. Obsessive stares at the now unwearable hat, sniffs in disdain and scurries off the train.
Impulsively, a jilted Homer jumps up and punches Tattoo Boy in the nose who retaliates by shoving Homer backwards on his ass. A few passengers give Homer a thumbs up. Somewhat embarrassed yet proud of himself, Homer glances over at Marge for her approval. She, however, is too involved with Bob the Builder to notice. Homer tells Marge βitβs our stopβ but she shakes her head and snuggles closer to Bob. Homer huffs off and looks back just as Marge fondles the tip of Bob’s hammer.
Welcome to the daily subway sideshow where everyone is strange except me β or am I?
To everyone reading this right now, all my friends on WordPress, Iβd like to thank you for sticking with me, reading my posts, liking them and sharing your thoughts. Your comments mean a great deal to me; when I read them I know I have touched you in some way β¦. with laughter, fear, sorrow, hope, even anger. And you have touched me as well. I am very fortunate to have you in my life; thank you for being here day after day.
Thanks for appreciating the videos I attach to every post. That was just a lark I tried one day and I decided to stick with it. I think they really add something special to my stories. Itβs fun looking for just the right ones and from reading your comments, I know you enjoy them.
And speaking of music, try to listen every day to whatever moves you at the moment. Music provides a total brain workout. Listening to music can reduce anxiety, blood pressure and pain as well as improve sleep quality, mood, mental alertness and memory β just what the doctor ordered!
My wish for you is that your new year be filled with peace and love. May you be safe, may you be compassionate, may you choose wisely, may you be happy while bringing happiness to others and may you be blessed with good health and good friends.
Now itβs time for something really cool. While the visual quality isn’t the greatest, the audio is out of sight! From 1998, this is βHappy New Yearβ with guitar legends BB King and David Gilmour and on piano, the incredible Jools Holland.
Happy New Year! Rock on, my friends! π π π« β¨
As far back as Rob could remember, heβd had a love affair with water. All his life, whatever the circumstances, he was drawn to water.
Whether it was to seek comfort or solace, an escape from a busy day, a place to be one with nature watching the sun rise or set β being by the waterβs edge was a mainstay in Robβs life.
Today, as he sat on the docks with his faithful sheepdog Petra, Rob was seeking an answer.
He lived in a nice house and a had a great job, a group of good friends and lots of social activities. Rob and Petra were quite content. The only thing missing was a life companion. He had his share of relationships but two years ago someone special had entered his life. Rob now knew he was ready to make a commitment. She was the girl of his dreams β beautiful physically and in spirit, intelligent, outgoing and vivacious. She had a loyal and trusting heart and a lovely disposition. Rob had never felt such a connection before and he knew this was true love.
He spoke quietly to Petra:
βYou know, girl. I feel like the time is right to finally settle down with my true love. It took me a while to realize how I felt but now I know there canβt be anyone more perfect for me. Iβm truly happy and ready to pop the question.
What do you say, Petra, my sweet girl? Will you marry me?“
Another oldie while I’m being lazy this week! Some of you have read this; others have not. Here’s a freshened-up, rewritten story. Hope you enjoy this one! π
βWhat the hell am I doing out on a night like this?β Finn grumbled to himself, his mood worsening with each soggy step he took. βFreezing rain, my feet are soaked and I donβt even want to go to this damn office holiday party!β
Finn had been keeping something secret for a while: no one at the place where he worked knew he was going to quit. He waited for his boss, Mr. Hardy, to leave with his secretary, then Finn placed a sealed envelope on the secretary’s desk. It was addressed to his boss and marked βPersonal & Confidentialβ; inside the envelope was Finn’s letter of resignation.
He was sick of his dead-end job, always being passed over and stuck in a little cubicle all day. There had to be more to life than this and he was ready to find out!
Running into the little gift shop located in the lobby of his companyβs building, Finn spotted a small lapis lazuli paperweight near the cash register and decided it would make a fine item for the secret gift swap. As he reached for it, his hand collided with a delicate feminine hand with sparkling mistletoe-green fingernails.
βHold on, buster! Thatβs mine! I just left it on the counter while I went to get a gift bag.β
Turning his head, Finn encountered a familiar face; it was the receptionist at his office. He always thought she was pretty but tonight she looked particularly fetching.
βHayden, isnβt it? Well, Iβm sorry but the rule is if you put something down before paying for it, itβs fair game. Besides, Iβm in a hurry and I donβt have time to look around for anything else.β
Hayden recognized Finn immediately. He reminded her of a dreamy Hugh Grant in his younger days β handsome and charming β just not at this particular moment.
βFinn, right? Well, Iβm in a hurry, too. The office holiday party is starting and this is my selection for the gift swap. Youβre probably here for the same reason.β
βGuilty as chargedβ Finn quipped. βCome on, Hayden. Itβs been a crappy day. I just want to buy this thing, make an appearance at the party and get the hell out of there.β
βI feel the same way. These office celebrations are the worst! The last place I want to be is at that party but itβs mandatory. Nothing like βforced funβ!β
Finn had to chuckle at that.
βLook, Finn. Thereβs a bunch of other stuff right over there. Just go select something else. After all, I did see this first.β
βOh, alright! Itβs all yours!β Finn conceded and dashed off to find another gift.
He quickly spotted a rosewood ballpoint pen, grabbed a gift bag and returned to the register just as Hayden was finishing up her purchase. She gave Finn a little smile and headed out into the lobby. He couldnβt help noticing her shapely legs as she walked away, heels click-clacking on the marble floor. He watched till she was out of sight, then made his purchase.
Still waiting for the elevator, Hayden heard a familiar voice behind her declare, βSo, we meet againβ. She felt a slight rush knowing it was Finn.
βOr maybe youβre following meβ Hayden replied coyly, hoping she wasnβt blushing.
She and Finn never really spoke at work but they always caught each otherβs eye. Glancing at him Hayden was struck with how intensely blue his eyes were. At the same moment Finn was thinking how very kissable Haydenβs lips looked in the shimmering light of the lobbyβs chandelier.
They stepped into the elevator, the only two occupants as it made its slow ascent.
βMind if I ask why youβre dreading this party so much?β Finn inquired.
βThatβs easy.β Hayden replied. βI hate my job! The people are unfriendly, all I do is answer the phone all day andgive directions to rude visitors. This was not my dream when I first came to New York. Iβm bored to death and capable of so much more.β She glanced over her shoulder even though they were alone in the elevator, then asked conspiratorially βIf I tell you something will you promise to keep it a secret?β
Finn nodded and gave her the βzipped lipsβ sign.
βIβm quitting tomorrowβ Hayden whispered.
βNo kidding! So am I! I left a note on Mr. Hardy’s secretary’s desk just before I left today. I hate my job, too. Making a career out of working in a glass box 8 hours a day was never my plan. But mumβs the word, OK?βΒ Finn whispered back covertly and they stared into each otherβs eyes like kids making a pinky pledge.
βAny idea what youβre gonna do?β Finn asked.
βNot reallyβ Hayden sighed βbut Iβve always dreamed of running a bed and breakfast in Maine.β
βIt’s gorgeous thereβ Finn replied wistfully. βWe used to vacation at my grandparentβs lake house when I was a kid.β
The elevator door opened to the office party in full swing. Finn and Hayden rolled their eyes and deposited their little bags on the gift table. He went one way, she went the other but every now and then they found themselves looking for each other across the crowded, noisy room.
After a short time Hayden casually made her way to the elevator. She was just about to make her escape when she heard that familiar voice cry out βHold the elevator!β and Finn rushed in breathlessly.
They stood side-by-side, both unsure of what to say. Then the inevitable happened.
βI was wonderingβ¦..β they said at the same time and laughed self-consciously.
βYou firstβ prompted Hayden.
βI was thinking perhaps we could get a drink somewhere and talkβΒ Finn suggested.
βMy thoughts exactlyβ Hayden replied. And when they stepped outside they discovered the freezing rain had changed to snow. Finn thought the light dusting of snowflakes on Haydenβs hair looked enchanting.
Hayden smiled at Finn. βMaybe we can have that drink at my placeβ she suggested, her eyes twinkling.Β βWe could light the fireplace, listen to some music β¦..β
βSounds perfectβ Finn replied softly and slipped his fingers between hers.
The Elephant's Trunk 