π Nancy is a storyteller, music blogger, humorist, poet, curveballer, noir dreamer π
When Chris woke up Monday morning, he knew something was not quite right. He was always the one to jump out of bed full of energy, ready to start the day. Not this morning. His neck and shoulders felt stiff and achy, probably from helping his brother repair his deck over the weekend. He didnβt overthink it, figuring a couple of Advil and a hot shower should do the trick.
And they did. Chris felt much better but by noon the tightness in his neck and shoulders was back. Rubbing his neck made the soreness feel a little better; that was when he remembered the masseur at his gym. He decided heβd stop by after work for a massage.
When Chris arrived at the gym, Rick β the front desk guy β told him the masseur was no longer there and his replacement hadnβt started working yet. Rick leaned forward a bit and quietly said, βLook buddy, I could get in trouble for telling you this but my cousin Alex recently opened a massage therapy practice. Itβs not easy getting a practice up and running so I offered to help out by referring a few gym members. If youβre interested, Iβll share Alex’s contact info with you.β
Chris knew he didnβt want to spend another night suffering so he decided to take Rick up on his offer. Rick sent his contact information to Chris and five seconds later he had the number for βAlex Brody, Massage Therapistβ in his phone. Thanking Rick for the tip, he left the gym and headed to his car.
Chris always kept his gym bag in the car with a fresh change of clothes. He sent a text to Alex, saying he was referred by Rick and explained his situation; Chris added that he hoped he could get an appointment that evening. It didnβt take long for him to receive a reply; Alex agreed to see him in 45 minutes. He was good to go β just enough time to grab a cup of coffee and head over.
Chris arrived at Alexβs place with a few minutes to spare. He grabbed his gym bag, climbed the stairs and rang the bell. The door was opened by an attractive woman in shorts and a t-shirt. She extended her hand and said βHi. You must be Chris. Iβm Alex. Nice to meet you.β
A look of surprise and confusion registered on Chrisβ face, then he gave a little chuckle and said βOh, I see whatβs going on here. Whatβs your full name, Alex? Alexandra?β
Alex withdrew her unacknowledged hand. βThatβs right. Is there a problem, Chris?β
βYeah there is, Alexandra. The problem is women like you who dupe unsuspecting people like me by using a guyβs name simply because they lack the confidence to make it in the big bad world by using their real name. I thought Iβd be dealing with a man tonight.β
βYou know what, Chris?β quipped Alex. βI thought Iβd be dealing with a man tonight, too.β
And she shut the door in his face.
NAR Β© 2023
Don’t forget to join me today
In The Groove at The Rhythm Section;
we got a thing going on over there.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
βThese arenβt my panties, George.β
βWhatever do you mean, Carla?β
βWhat could I mean? I think you know, George.β
βI have a confession, Carla.β
βI knew it!β
βThose panties are mine.β
βSay what?!β
NAR Β© 2023
One of the best things about being empty nesters is not having to cook full meals every night.
Billβs easy, always has been; heβs not the meat and potatoes kind of guy. Weβre happy with soup, BLTs, burgers on the grill, my sensational ham and cheddar omelets β¦ you get the picture.
There are some days when I feel the urge to cook and will prepare a lovely risotto or perhaps seared sea scallops over a lentil ragΓΉ. Rare but it does happen. Iβm very content taking it easy these days.
But I have to draw the line at one thing: Chef Boyardee ravioli in a can. Six words that never should be put together. Itβs a travesty; itβs also one of Billβs favorites.
I was raised on pure, natural homemade Italian food. βPastaβ in a can is not food. Correction β itβs food: bad food, eye-averting food, gag-inducing food. Itβs a treat for Bill to eat this staple from his childhood. He gets practically giddy buttering his bread and dipping it in the (dare I say) sauce in anticipation of that first mouthful. That, my friends, is a scene that once seen cannot be unseen.
Me? I wonβt even open the can.
Gag me with a spoon!
NAR Β© 2023
When drunk, my wife Blaire could be a sexy vixen or a slutty bitch; tonight was definitely the latter.
Sprawled out on the deck of my boat βMariposaβ, Blaire slowly got to her feet and staggered toward me, one hand grasping the boat railing and the other a bottle of vodka.
βFor fuckβs sake, James, why do you always have to wear that ridiculous outfit?β Blaire slurred. She drained the bottle, dropping it on the deck.
βThis is proper nautical attire, darling, perfectly appropriate for every occasionβ I replied. βBut you donβt know the meaning of proper and appropriate. Youβre all but falling out of your dress.β
Blaire ran her hands up and down her tanned body. βWhatβs wrong, Captain? Donβt you like the way I look? All the other men doβ Blaire purred tauntingly.
βDarling, youβre such a drunken whoreβ I snarled and she reached up to slap my face. I grabbed her wrist and shoved her out of the way. She fell, hitting her head. Putting the boat in neutral I quickly checked on Blaire; she was dead. I adjusted her dress and looked around the boat making sure nothing was out of place.
Heading for the dock, I made a frantic call. βMayday! Mayday! Emergency on board βMariposaβ!β
The police asked a few routine questions but it was obvious my wife had too much to drink; she lost her balance and fell. It happened so fast I couldnβt prevent it β¦ even if I wanted to.
NAR Β© 2023
Once again I rise to the Unicorn Challenge hosted by Jenne Gray.
Stay tuned for a
brand new Friday post
starting on April 28
in The Rhythm Section.
Itβs gonna be all day, every day
music blogs and videos
and itβs gonna be cool!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
NAR Β© 2023
βCourse One: Escarole Soup. Course Two: Manicotti and Salad. Gina, what is this β Sunday dinner or a reception for the Pope?β
My girlfriend Gina showed me a copy of the menu her mother had planned for dinner. It was a seven course feast! βDo you eat like this every Sunday?β
βNo, silly β only when we have company. This week itβs my dadβs side of the family. Thereβs a lot a people and mom always says itβs better to have too much food than not enough.β
βWait a second. Thereβs going to be other people besides your parents? Like how many?β
Gina started counting on her fingers. βAbout 18, maybe 20.β
βThe first time I meet your parents Iβm also going to meet 20 strangers and you didnβt think to warn me??β
βOh, donβt worry. Theyβre gonna love you.β
βNo. Theyβll be employing Sicilian interrogations tactics. Theyβll chew me up and spit me out. Iβm Irish with blonde hair and pale skin. I donβt stand a chance!β
Gina laughed. βOh stop exaggerating. Weβre not The Mob, ya know. Just a mob!β
And she was right. I couldnβt believe the number of people that descended on her house. They were loud, funny, loving and very welcoming.
Ginaβs mom set the table extravagantly, using her best dishes, utensils and glasses. And the food was incredible. Besides the soup, pasta and salad there was fresh baked bread, an antipasto, a huge platter of meatballs and sausages, two roasts, a bunch of vegetables, fennel, fruit, nuts, a slew of desserts I couldn’t pronounce and coffee. Ginaβs uncles and male cousins ate like there was no tomorrow and no one stopped talking the entire time β except for Ginaβs grandmother who didnβt utter a sound and stared at me with beady eyes the whole day. Honestly, that tiny woman dressed in black from head to toe scared me to death.
As the woman cleared away all traces of dinner, Ginaβs dad got up, went to the cupboard and returned with a beautiful box made of highly polished wood with the finest Italian marble inlay. Placing the box on the table, he opened it to reveal an assortment of expensive imported cigars. The men lit up and a bottle of anisette appeared out of nowhere.
Ginaβs Uncle Vito produced a deck of cards from his vest pocket. βYa know how to play Red Dog, Phil?βΒ he asked me.
βUm β¦ itβsΒ Bill, sir. And no, Iβm not familiar with the game.βΒ
βHey, no problem, Irish. Weβre gonna teach ya. And donβt look so nervous. We may rob ya but we ainβt gonna kill ya. For some reason our Gina likes ya and if she likes ya, we all likes ya.β
While we played cards, Ginaβs cousins Louie and Frankie played their accordions and the women danced; it was the most surreal and unforgettable experience of my life.
I watched as Gina’s grandmother rose from her chair. Slowly she walked over to me and looked me square in the eyes. She grinned and pinched my cheek till it was beet red. And la famiglia howled.
I swear β 53 years later her stamp of approval is still on my face.
NAR Β© 2023
Originally posted in 2019
Join me today At The Movies
for another interesting post
and a great music video.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Grundy sat in his favorite spot: a dilapidated bench on the boardwalk at Coney Island overlooking Brighton Beach. He was celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of his divorce from Barbara, the βBitch of Brightonβ as he called her. And he was getting drunk as he did every night.
His routine never changed. After his shift at McDonaldβs, heβd grab a Big Mac, walk across the street to the Liquor Loft, buy a $7.49 bottle of Old Crow Kentucky Bourbon and a pack of Camel cigarettes, then stroll over to his bench and settle in.
Grundyβs Bench … his home away from home. Well, not literally. Thanks to his cousin Marcy and her husband Phil, he had an actual roof over his head. Grundy was real close to Marcy, growing up together and all, and Phil was as nice as they come, humble but with the bearing of a prince. Grundy lived with them and their three kids and all Marcy asked was for Grundy to cook Sunday dinner for the family. Hell, heβd cook dinner every night for those precious people if he wasnβt always shit-faced after work.
βPretty sweet dealβ Grundy thought as he took a swig of his Old Crow. βIβm a freaking loser, an embarrassment, yet they treat me with a love I donβt deserve.β He had his own room, a TV and Marcy did his laundry. He mostly kept to himself, getting home late. He had the day shift, breakfast and lunch included. The pay was lousy and so was the food but it beat a blank.
How the fuck did he end up here? Carl Grundy, a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America, working in some of the finest restaurants in the world … once one of the best chefs in New York … now a burger flipping drunk in Brooklyn.
So what happened? Bourbon happened. He wasnβt much of a drinker β an occasional beer β but one night after a particularly ugly argument with Barbara, he surreptitiously chugged a shot of the restaurantβs finest bourbon. It was ambrosia and he had another. Before long it became a ritual, then a habit and finally an addiction. He got caught, fired and the cycle began. Land a new gig, drink their booze, get sacked. Eventually the only job he could get was at Mickey Dβs and Old Crow was all he could afford.
Out of nowhere he recalled the words of some televangelist his mother used to watch: βYour decisions cause your circumstancesβ. Damn straight! He didnβt even realize he was crying. Well, enough reminiscing for one night.
Grundy gave his beloved bench a pat and stood up to begin his walk to Phil and Marcyβs. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his chest and crumbled to the ground.
βOh, Lord! Iβve made a fine mess of thingsβ Grundy gasped. βIβm hurting and I want to go home. Mom and Dad are waiting for me.β
He died alone that night, his hands still clutching an empty bottle.
NAR Β© 2023
It’s that time of year.
Come on over to
In The Groove;
find out what’s the buzz.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
βWalnut, definitely walnutβ declared Sylvia Klein. βLook what is says in the brochureβ:
Honor your loved one by choosing an exquisite solid wood casket.
The strong, stately Elite Walnut is a timeless casket that comes with
beautiful platinum swing bars and a secure locking mechanism.
Like most of our funeral caskets, the Elite Walnut features
an Eternal Rest Adjustable Bed and matching pillow.
The luxurious silk velvet lining makes this casket an excellent choice
at the remarkably low price of $17,000.
βDoesnβt that sound ideal, Lenny?!β Sylvia exclaimed to her husband.
β$17,000?! What else is in there β the Crown Jewels?! Who pays that kind of money for a casket?! Sylvia, for that amount we can give our grandsons a bar mitzvah feast fit for a king!β
βDid you see the part where it says βadjustable bed and matching pillowβ? Oh, Lenny, think how comfortable Iβll be.β
βComfortable?? For crying out loud, Sylvia, youβre gonna be dead. D-E-A-D dead! This isnβt a week at the Ritz Carlton! Adjustable bed my ass!β
βLenny, why are you acting like an old tightwad? You always said money is just a number. This means a lot to me!β Sylvia exclaimed tearfully.
βSylvia, calm down. When have I ever been a tightwad? Our daughters had extravagant weddings. You wanted that chandelier for the dining room which, Iβll remind you, cost a pretty penny. Then there was the Steinway mahogany baby grand and you donβt even play the piano! Let’s not forget the Jaguar with all the bells and whistles and more cruises than 10 seasons of ‘The Love Boat’! Everything you ever wanted I happily gave you but this β this is just a big waste of money!
βLeonard Klein, how can you say that?! My final resting place and youβre calling it a waste of money! Sylvia wailed.
βSylvie, Iβm sorry. Calm down. Can we please discuss this later?β Leonard pleaded.
βWait, Lenny. You havenβt heard the best part. This is a special for Rosh Hashanah β buy one, get one at half price. Thatβs only $25,500 for two β one for me and one for you!β
Leonard sighed deeply. βOy vey, Sylvia, I donβt need all this stuff! Put me in a plain pine box and toss me off the yacht. You can even write on it βLeonard Klein sleeps with the fishesβ!β
Sylvia started sobbing. βOh, Leonard, how can you say such a horrible thing? The thought of you being nibbled on by fish and crabs and God knows what β¦ I could die!β
βSylvia, please stop crying. I was just making a little joke. If you want this ‘Elite’ whatever, weβll get it. Ok? You feel better now?βΒ
Sylvia sniffled and nodded her head. βOh yes, Lenny! Youβve made me very happy! Now one last thing: I canβt be buried. Iβm terribly claustrophobic. The thought of being underground β Iβd die! I want to be cremated.β
βCremated?!β Leonard yelled, running his fingers through what little hair he had. βNow you want to be cremated? Are you meshugenah, Sylvia? $17,000 for a piece of firewood?!β
β$25,500, Lennyβ Sylvia replied.
NAR Β© 2023
Check out my new
Name That Tune
post today in
The Rhythm Section
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Coffee mug in hand, I leaned over the railing of my little vacation rental staring out at the Great Smoky Mountains. Recently divorced and childless, I was now truly alone for the first time in a dozen years.
βGlorious sunrise, isnβt it?β a smooth southern baritone voice remarked. I turned my head to see a ruggedly handsome man with unruly blonde hair in jeans and a sweater.
We exchanged smiles and appreciative glances. I replied that it was indeed glorious.
He lingered for a moment or two, then declared βWell, Iβm off. Flapjacks, bacon and a great cuppa java for breakfast”. He walked a few steps and turned. βI wonder, do you like Double Barrel Cabernet Sauvignon? β
I sipped my coffee thoughtfully and said, βI havenβt had the pleasure but I do enjoy a good chilled white wine.β
βMeet me right here tonight; if you think this is a thing of beauty, you should see the sunsets. Theyβre astounding.β And he walked off, the clop of his boots on the deck the only sound.
He was right about the wine and the sunset. That was the last night I would ever be alone again.
NAR Β© 2023
(Renamed and repurposed for The Unicorn Challenge, April 14, 2023. The gauntlet has been tossed and the challenge accepted. Write on!)
Originally, the Chelsea Piers evening boat tour was scheduled to depart at 6:00 PM but was cancelled due to dense fog. Disappointed, Emma consulted her tour guidebook for something else to do. She read:
THE VORTEX. NOT YOUR FATHER’S WATERING HOLE.
LOCATED AT 15 CHRISTOPHER STREET
IN THE HEART OF CHELSEA.
SMOKING PROHIBITED IN ACCORDANCE WITH
THE NEW YORK CLEAN INDOOR AIR ACT.
OTHER THAN THAT, ANYTHING GOES!
βHmm. Now thatβs intriguingβ Emma thought βand itβs nearby.β
Just a short walk later and Emma arrived at The Vortex, a secluded and rather alluring place. Finding a seat at the bar, she ordered a dirty martini. Reflected in the mirror behind the bar was the image of a retro-looking poster. Sliding off her barstool, she casually walked up to the poster for a better look. She snapped a photo and returned to the bar.
More people were coming in now β an intriguing and diverse patchwork of ethnicity, race and sexual orientation. Emma found it all so exciting and very New York! When the bartender brought her drink, she commented on how electric yet relaxing the atmosphere was and asked βCan you tell me something about that poster?β
βSure! Itβs a beauty, isnβt it?β he replied. βThe Vortex is an edgy and somewhat somber play written by the literary giant, NoΓ«l Coward. It premiered in London in 1924 garnering Coward great critical and financial success. Itβs a story about a nymphomaniac socialite and her cocaine-addicted son. Many thought the drug was a cover for homosexuality. As you can imagine, it was considered pretty shocking back then. Rumor has it that Princess Margaret owned the original poster for a while. She was a free spirit and loved a good lampoon, especially those directed at the upper classes and British aristocracy.β
βWow! You certainly know a lot about that poster! Itβs all very fascinating!β Emma exclaimed. βSomething tells me thereβs more to the story.β
βOh, there isβ the barkeep agreed. βDuring the run of “The Vortex”, NoΓ«l Coward met an American director and producer named Jack Wilson. They ran with the same crowd where drugs, booze and same-sex relationships were prevalent. Wilson became Cowardβs business manager and lover. We thought ‘The Vortex’ was a cool name for the bar. My mother recently brought that poster to me; it looks great there, doesn’t it?”
βIt does! Sounds like you might have a personal connection to this storyβ Emma suggested.
βYeah, in a circuitous way I do. My great-great-grandmother was once a chorus girl and she got on famously with Jack Wilson β so much so that she and her husband named their first baby Jack Wilson Morrow and asked Jack to be the baby’s godfather. The tradition continued through the years; lots of my relatives were named Jack Wilson so-and-so. In fact, my name is Jack Wilson Connors.β
βPleased to meet you, Jack Wilson Connorsβ Emma laughed as she extended her hand. βIβm Emma Peterson Kennedy and you have officially blown my mind with that great story!β
βI like you, Emma Peterson Kennedy! Always nice making new friends. How about another drink β on the house?β
Emma blushed a little and said βYes, Iβd love one.β
While Jack was preparing Emmaβs drink, all sorts of thoughts were running through her head … ‘Heβs cute, friendly, great personality and no wedding ring. It’s been far too long since I went out with a really nice guy who didn’t have a lot of excess personal baggage. He likes me, he seems interested. I wonder β should I? What have I got to lose?’
βFor my lovely new friend, Emma. One perfect dirty martini” Jack said with a flourish. “I hope I get to see a lot more of you.” His engaging smile revealed two incredibly delightful dimples that melted Emma’s heart on the spot.
Trying to sound nonchalant, Emma said βYou know, Jack, it says here on the poster that thereβs a performance ofΒ “The Vortex”Β tomorrow night. If you’re not working, how about we make it a date?βΒ
βIβd really love to see the play with you, Emma” Jack said “but my husband and I already have plans for tomorrow night.β
βHusband!? Oh my God, Jack! Iβm so sorry! This is so embarrassing. I didnβt realizeβ¦β¦β¦β
βThat I’m gay? No worries, Emma. It runs in the family.β
NAR Β© 2023
I have a brand new post for you today
At The Movies in The Rhythm Section.
Why not stop by a take a took?
https://rhythmsection.blog/
An incredible post by my friend Spira.
It’s not necessary to have read his previous
posts to feel the depth of this one but that
would definitely be your loss.
Chapter V of Way Of The Warrior.
Β (previous chapters can be found at the dedicated page of the blog, here)
{Written in Six Sentence form.}
View original post 372 more words
It was a beautiful Saturday morning when my son Tom called.
“Dad, Allie’s gone into early labor! We need you to stay with Molly.” He sounded excited and nervous.
“I’m on my way!” I immediately answered.
As soon as I arrived Tom and Allie left for the hospital.
“Grampy, can we go to the school fair?” Molly asked. “Daddy was gonna take me today.”
“Sure, pumpkin. Let’s go!” I replied β anything to help pass the time.
The playground of Molly’s school, St. Cecilia’s Elementary for Girls, had been magically transformed into a carnival with food stands, games of chance and a giant inflated pirate ship.
“Look, Grampy! A bouncy ship!” Molly tugged at my sleeve. “Can I go on, please?”
“You bet, honey! Looks like fun!” I gave my granddaughter a boost. I was half in and half out when the ship started bouncing, taking me for a ride I’ll not soon forget!
Well, a bouncy anything is no place for a 60-year-old man and 20 little girls. They were rolling all over me and every time the damn thing came to a stop, I tried getting out but kept losing my balance.
Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the pirate ship was surrounded by police. One cop with a megaphone shouted “Sir, this ride is for children only. You’re in serious trouble. Come out now or we’ll come in and drag you out!”
I finally managed to crawl my way out. My clothes were in total disarray, little girls were crying and I heard someone yell “You sick bastard!”
Arr! I made the news that night. My fifteen minutes of fame!
NAR Β© 2023
I have a new post up today
at the Rhythm Section for
In The Groove.
Why not stop by and
check it out?
https://rhythmsection.blog/
βCome, I want you to see somethingβ my mother beckoned.
She showed me two graduation portraits, one of me, and one of my twin sister.
Pointing to my portrait, she said βThatβs my beautiful daughter, Nancy.β
She looked at my sisterβs portrait, cocked her head and declared βI have no idea who that isβ.
Blissfully unaware, no longer cognizant.
NAR Β© 2023
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #306
Happy Sunday to all and to my friends
who are celebrating today,
best wishes for a joyous Easter!
I hope sometime during your busy day
you can take a break and join me
in The Rhythm Section
for the Easter edition of Name That Tune
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Two young brothers were on their way home from the bake shop with sweets they purchased for Easter. Taking a shortcut through the woods, they greedily ate their delicious treats.
To their surprise as they rounded a bend, they came upon a gnarled old tree branch blocking their way. Because the path was exceedingly narrow and the brothers were exceptionally chubby, they knew they would not be able to walk around the branch.
They decided to toss it into the murky pond below.
The brothers wiped their sticky faces with pudgy fingers and licked the crumbs off their hands, then wiped them on their shirts. Just as they reached out for the branch, it growled angrily at them.
βGet your fat, gooey hands off me!
The boys were too pudgy to jump back and only teetered like Humpty Dumpty. βWho are you? What do you want?β they asked the branch.
βI am Groot. I was once part of the oak tree in your yard until you uncaringly jumped on me. Your hefty weight caused me to break away and here I lay, forgotten.β
The boys were indifferent. βWe were having fun and you are only a branch.β
Without warning Grootβs arms began to grow. They wrapped themselves around the boyβs ankles and flung them into the pond. The brothers sank to the bottom, never to be seen again.β
Groot smiled. The couple who mindlessly used him to hang their heavy swing was approaching.
βCome to meβ, he thought.
NAR Β© 2023
Written for the April 7, 2023 edition of The Unicorn Challenge.Β Jenne Gray and has thrown down the gauntlet and I have accepted the challenge.
DAY 1 – Today, as I walked the hills, God spoke to me. Weβve had many talks before but today was different. There was a certain unhappiness in his voice and he didnβt say much. Later, right in the middle of dinner, I heard God calling: βNoah? NOAH!β Oh, for Christβs sake! Always when Iβm eating! I got up and went to our usual spot. God said that he was going to start a torrential rain that would flood the earth, essentially killing everyone. Then he told me to wait for instructions. OMG! This is heavy duty. I totally lost my appetite.
DAY 15 β Two weeks later God called again and said he wanted me to build a boat … actually, he called itΒ an ark andΒ it had to be a certain number of cubits (Note to self: Google cubits). After itβs built I can bring only my wife Na’amah, our sons and their wives. In truth I did ask if I could leave the women behind but God just laughed and laughed. He said there was a method to his madness and I’d thank him later. Now, hereβs where it gets really mβshuge: God told me I had to bring two of every animal, male and female, and enough food to feed every living thing for forty days and forty nights. I donβt think evenΒ HeΒ knows what a monumental undertaking this is.
DAY 18 – Tonight I told the family what we had to do and they looked at me like I was from Mars. I said “I know, I know! Enough with the looks already! As nuts as it sounds, that’s what He wants so that’s what He’s gonna get.” My sons began helping me build the ark while the women baked plenty of unleavened bread, cured meat and picked legumes, vegetables and fruit.
DAY 318 – Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we finished the ark. You should have seen the crowd we attracted! I guess these people have nothing else to do all day except watch us work and crack jokes. “Just wait; you’ll see” was all I could say. So now came the major task of collecting the animals from their holding bins and loading them all onto the ark. Just as we got the last of the animals on board, the skies opened up and it started to pour. Rain like I’ve never seen before came down in sheets. The water rose quickly and we pulled up the plank, making sure everything was totally secure. We could hear the people outside; they weren’t laughing at us now. We felt the support beams fall away and the ark was afloat. Soon we were far enough away and all was quiet except for the sound of the rain. It was not easy and the women were very upset but I knew I was doing God’s will.
DAY 358 – Let me tell you, these last 40 days were no pleasure cruise; I don’t remember ever being locked up with four women and no means of escape. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Today we opened the hatch and discovered the rain had stopped. We released one of the doves; after a while it returned with a branch and we knew the waters had started to recede. Things looked promising; we even saw a rainbow. Then out of nowhere my wife says βNoah. Thereβs a problem. Nobody noticed we forgot the unicorns.β Well, I sure had a good laugh over that one. βYou believe that fairytale??” I guffawed. “Next thing youβre gonna tell me is someone’s gonna write a book of biblical proportions about us. Maybe they’ll even make a movie. Na’amah, you crack me up!β
NAR Β© 2023
Please join me today
At The Movies
in The Rhythm Section.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Deb’s got something fabulous
and exotic going on today.
Check it out!
Welcome to World Music β a musical journey around the world. The object of this segment is to showcase artists from around the world, and in particular the musical styles synonymous with each country. Last week we went to wonderful Denmark, but I suspect you might need your sunglasses for E.
Music has been an integral part of Egyptian culture since antiquity in Egypt. Egyptian music had a significant impact on the development of ancient Greek music, and via the Greeks it was important to early European music well into the Middle Ages. Due to the thousands of years long dominance of Egypt over its neighbors, Egyptian culture, including music and musical instruments, was very influential in the surrounding regions; for instance, the instruments claimed in the Bible to have been played by the ancient Hebrews are all Egyptian instruments as established by Egyptian archaeology. Egyptian modern music isβ¦
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I do not reblog indiscriminately.
God, I hope stupid isn’t contagious!
βDid I look at them?! Are you kidding me? Of course I looked at them! Theyβre phenomenal!! I thought my eyes were gonna bug outta my head!β my brother Paul jokingly remarked to his twin Patrick. I obviously walked in on them in the middle of a private conversation β probably about girls or sports β two subjects constantly on their 15 year old minds. They quickly shuffled the books and papers on Dadβs desk into one big pile, their faces turning red.
βWhat are you doing here, Penny? Arenβt you supposed to be at math club?β Patrick asked nervously.
βYes but todayβs session was cancelled because our math teacher had a meeting. But what I’m doing here isnβt nearly as interesting as what you’re doing here in Dadβs study.β
Paul and Patrick both started talking at once, turning even brighter red and getting more nervous every second while fiddling with the mound of papers on the desk. βWho, us?β asked Paul. βNothing much β just the usual. We were talking about some of our favorite ball players … you know like A-Rod, Derek Jeter, Cal Ripken, Roger Clemens.β
βYeah, thatβs rightβ agreed Patrick. βWe were looking at our baseball cards and magazines and comparing stats. No big deal.β
βOh, is that so?β I challenged. βThen explain to me why you sounded so excited if it was βno big dealβ and why youβre here in Dadβs study using his desk β which you know is off limits β when all your baseball cards, magazines and what have you are upstairs in your bedroom?β
My brothers started squirming as I continued.
βI know you boys and Iβm sure youβre up to something. Where are all your cards? Where are all your magazines? I donβt see anything baseball related at all. So you see by this simple matter of deduction, your lame answers are wrong and my reasoning is right!β
The boys looked at each other, quickly gathered their piles of papers and books and began running to the stairs and the safety of their bedroom. In their haste to get away from me, everything they were holding slipped from their arms and fell to the floor.
And there it was β the thing they were so desperately trying to hide β a copy of Playboy with Farrah Fawcett in all her glory on the cover.
I gasped in righteous indignation. βIβve never been more ashamed of you two! Thatβs a filthy sex magazine! Do you know what she is??β
Paul sighed deeply and whispered βSheβs a goddess.β
βYeah, a goddessβ repeated Patrick breathlessly.
βShe is not a goddess!β I yelled. βSheβs a Hollywood bimbo, a floozy … at least thatβs what Mom says.β
βI donβt think Dad would agree with thatβ replied Paul. βAfter all, itβs his magazine. He’s got quite a collection!”
βDadβs?!?β My hands flew to my face in shock and all my books fell to the floor.
βWell, what have we here?β quipped Patrick. βPlaygirl magazine, Penny? Iβm appalled!β Paul pretended to faint.
βOh, you two think youβre real funny. I bet you wonβt be laughing when I tell you itβs Momβs magazine!β
βMomβs?!?β the boys shouted in unison. βBut sheβs … Mom!!β
βLooks like weβre at a standoff, wouldnβt you agree, boys?β I said conspiratorially βLetβs put both these magazines back in the desk where we found them.β
βAnd no one will be the wiserβ agreed Paul.
Just then we heard a loud “AHEM” and spun around to find our parents behind us!
Dad was angry. βWell, it’s obvious you little snoops canβt be trusted. You were caught red-handed and now you’re going to have to pay the price. I’m very disappointed in the three of you. Youβre all grounded for two weeks.β
On my way upstairs to my room I heard my parents laughing and Mom teasingly saying “Could you imagine if they found our stash of VHS tapes? Good thing I keep them well hidden!”
“Oh, you are so right! Come here, my little vixen” Dad replied in a voice that sounded strangely like Ricardo MontalbΓ‘n.
Ew! Gag me with a spoon!
NAR Β© 2023
Don’t forget to join me today
as we get In The Groove
at The Rhythm Section.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Sheβs not a bad girl, not really.
True, sheβs defiant. Unruly.
Arenβt they all at that age?
Pushing the corners of
their little envelopes simply because
girls just want to have fun.
No, sheβs not a bad girl.
Mischievous, naughty, uncontrollable.
But look at that adorable face.
How can anyone stay mad?
Sheβs not a bad girl.
Unrepentant and willful
but for heavenβs sake;
It was only a plant!
NAR Β© 2023
It had only been two weeks since Diane moved into her house in Sag Harbor and she was already questioning her decision. The house once belonged to her grandparents and sheβd visited often as a little girl. Diane didnβt remember the neighborhood being so quiet back then.
The area was beautiful with its charming architecture but she saw no one except for an occasional jogger or dog walker. She hadnβt realized just how far off the beaten path her grandparentβs house was.
Now here she was, a recently divorced thirty-something with nothing but time on her hands. The cottage was lovely but she wondered how many hours she could spend in the pool. No, she needed to find something to occupy her time. She needed a job.
Diane poured herself a cup of coffee and set up her laptop on the little table in her backyard. She was about to scan the job listings when she was distracted by noises next door. Looking up she saw a man leaning a ladder against her neighborβs house.
βThey must be having work doneβ Diane thought and went back to her laptop. Another noise caught her attention and she saw the same man preparing his tools. She also couldnβt help noticing he was rather handsome and well-built. When he removed his shirt in the hot afternoon, Diane decided she was being a bit hasty about looking for a job.
She would be quite content here in her yard enjoying the view.
NAR Β© 2023
Written for the March 31, 2023 edition of The Unicorn Challenge. Jenne Gray and C. E. Ayr have thrown down the gauntlet and I have accepted their challenge. Let the quest begin!
βIβm sorry, maβam, thereβs no one registered here by that name.β The young man behind the desk looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and pity.
βYou must be mistakenβ I replied quietly.
βThereβs no mistake, maβam. Perhaps you have the wrong hotelβ the clerk suggested, trying to give me a way out.
Well, of course I didnβt have the wrong hotel! Frank and I had been meeting at the Pierre the second weekend of every month for three years. I checked my phone for any texts or missed calls; there were none. Rather than stay in the lobby looking distraught and abandoned, I walked into the lounge and ordered a martini. I sipped my drink and waited for Frank.
After thirty minutes and two martinis I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that everyone who saw me sitting by the bar thought I was either an elegant call girl just past her prime or a now lonesome and tedious woman who had been stood up.
I became aware of someone approaching. Expecting to see Frank, IΒ looked up, smiling; it was the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note. It read: βDearest Christine. I have treasured our little trysts but now we mustΒ go our separate ways. Farewell. FrankβΒ
βOur little trysts!β I was shattered.
Just like that, as suddenly as it began it was over. Looking straight ahead, I gracefully walked out of the hotel. After buying a bag of roasted nuts from a vendor on the corner, I walked over to Central Park. I sat on a bench feeding the pigeons, thinking of everything and nothing.
NAR Β© 2023
It was the middle of February, probably one of the coldest days of the year, but that didnβt bother me. I liked the cold; people just assumed my persistent runny nose and watery eyes were from the harsh weather when in reality the cause was yet another hit of cocaine β my constant companion, my best friend and my most insidious opponent.
I was waiting outside the NY Public Library in Manhattan for my guy to show up with that lovely little glassine envelope of blow. He was running late, as usual, and I was freezing my ass off, so I decided to wait in the lobby. At least it was a little warmer.
Just a few feet from the entrance sat a bench where I took up residence. I was starting to get agitated, my fingernails tap-tapping on the wooden slats. It had been several hours since my last snort β an eternity for an addict β and I couldnβt still my scattered mind. A disapproving prune-faced woman sitting on a bench opposite me kept looking from my fingers to my face, clearly annoyed. Self-consciously I put my hands in my pockets, immediately coming in contact with my little amber bottle with the attached spoon β what a clever design that was, although I must admit the one with the little golden spoon neatly built into the inside bottom of the lid was pure genius. You know the one I’m talking about. OK β this was a nice surprise! Iβd completely forgotten about it when I changed jackets the other day; I always keep my stash in my backpack.
Elated, I wrapped my fingers around the bottle, delighting in the feel of the all-too-familiar smooth surface. I could just walk to the corner of the lobby and pretend to blow my nose while actually taking a hit. Iβve done it a hundred times. One quick glance at the bottle and I cursed; it was empty. Hoping against hope, I decided to check my backpack just in case Iβd hidden a spare bottle.
I reached down to retrieve my backpack from under the bench when I caught a glimpse of a bright pink book, obviously forgotten or misplaced by a library patron. Being a curious sort, I reached over to check it out and my heart stopped; in bold black print was the title of the book β QUITTING COCAINE: YOUR PERSONAL RECOVERY PLAN. That book and I stared at each other for a full minute. Was this some kind of joke, a sign of divine intervention or just a crazy coincidence? Well, Iβm not the type who believes in coincidences; everything in our lives happens for a reason, whether we like it or not.
My leg was bouncing up and down like a jackhammer β something that always happened when I needed a hit β so I put my backpack on my lap, crossed my legs and snuck a peek at the book. The first line was a blistering slap across the face: βKeep shoving coke up your nose and youβll be dead by this time next year.β No βprobablyβ or βthereβs a chanceβ; just a flat-out death sentence, literally. I read the first chapter in five minutes; still no sign of my guy so I continued reading. Forty-five minutes later Iβd read the whole book and still no delivery. But I realized my leg had stopped bouncing; when did that happen?
Slipping the book into my backpack, I noticed the authorβs name on the back cover: Dr. Arnold M. Washton, an internationally recognized psychologist and author specializing in substance abuse treatment. A little further down was a picture of the good doctor, an email address, phone number and the location of his office. Holy shit! This was definitely no coincidence. His office was about a three-minute walk from where I sat at the library.
For the first time in my pathetic and broken life I felt like I had a purpose. I left the library and walked straight to Dr. Washtonβs office. I had no idea if the place was even open but I knew I had to take the chance. When I arrived I hesitated for a second, then rang the bell. Immediately there was a buzz and the door unlocked. As I entered I heard a manβs voice call out βIn hereβ and I walked into a dimly lit office. It was a very calming room with the smell of leather and black cherry pipe tobacco.
Dr. Washton sat in a large over-stuffed chair next to a blazing fireplace reading a book. He took the pipe from his mouth and looked up at me; his eyes were warm and kind.
βI need helpβ was all I said.
βThen youβve come to the right placeβ was his response.
And I knew I had.
NAR Β© 2023
Don’t forget to check me out today At The Movies.
I have another great video for you!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Despite great wealth and prominence, nothing could save Andre Deloitte’s wife Claudine.
The year was 1910. Andre, Claudine and their ten-year-old son Henri lived on Breakneck Lane in the exclusive Garden Heights section of New Orleans, Louisiana. Their majestic manor, “Mon RΓͺve”, was Claudine’s dream home but she detested the foreboding name of the street. Andre reassured Claudine she was just being silly and superstitious and the family happily settled into their home. The popular couple hosted extravagant parties and entertained the rich and famous from all parts of the world.
Andre owned the illustrious Deloitte Jewelers. His clientele was elite β oil tycoons, judges, entertainers, governors and successful entrepreneurs such as Miss Lulu White, “Queen of the Demi Monde” and madam of the elegant bordello Mahogany Hall in Storyville, the infamous red-light district of New Orleans.
It was during one of their lavish soirees when the Deloitte’s dreamworld turned into a nightmare. Claudine was making her usual grand entrance down the marble staircase when the heel of her shoe became entangled in the hem of her gown. She fell, landing at the foot of the stairs like a mangled doll, her lovely neck snapping like a twig; she died instantly. Claudine’s apprehension towards Breakneck Lane wasn’t so silly after all.
Andre was devastated by Claudine’s death and threw himself into his work. Henri was left in the care of the household staff and a kindly au pair named Josephine. The boy missed his mother very much but thrived under the tutelage of his caregivers. As he grew into his teen years it became obvious to Josephine that Henri needed his father’s guidance more than ever. Andre decided the best course of action was to bring Henri into the family business.
Henri enjoyed being in the shop with his father and soon became quite knowledgeable about gems and precious metals, even demonstrating a flair for designing jewelry. Andre told Henri he had a highly regarded client located across town who was interested in buying several one-of-a-kind pieces. Andre urged his son to accompany him to his patron’s residence where they would display Henri’s unique creations. The client was Madam Lulu White.
Mahogany Hall was home to “women of the night”. Girls lounged on sofas, their unfastened robes revealing supple naked bodies. Others wore filmy shawls with intriguing thigh-high striped stockings and high heels. Henri blushed when he realized a few of the girls were eyeing the bulge in his pants β something that bewildered yet excited the inexperienced teen.
Henri spoke to his father about the allure of Mahogany Hall and his desire to return. Andre realized there was no stopping Henri and smiled knowingly as he drank his cup of Bowdoin Chicory Coffee. “Just don’t fall in love, son” was Andre’s advice.
Fascinated by everything about Mahogany Hall, Henri returned the next day. As he walked around the estate he became aware of soft music and followed the sound to a small parlor. There, at a spindle leg table in the middle of the room sat the most alluring creature imaginable. She sipped a glass of Raleigh Rye, her lacy manteau barely covering her breasts. There was a hint of a smile on her face and her eyes fluttered in a dream-like state. Sensing Henri’s presence, she looked up and smiled. Placing her glass on the table, she slowly removed the pins from her hair. Her eyes danced seductively as waves of chestnut hair cascaded around her shoulders. Mesmerized, Henri could not control his burgeoning erection. He smiled back.
“EnchantΓ©. I am Henri Deloitte.”
The girl replied “I know who you are. I hoped you would ask for me. I am Isabelle Broussard.”
Despite his father’s warning, sixteen-year-old Henri fell hopelessly in love.
For the next year Henri was a frequent visitor at Mahogany Hall. He made his wishes clear to Madam Lulu that Isabelle was to see no other men; he was happy to pay dearly for the luxury of having her exclusively to himself.
In November of 1917 the government abruptly shut down Storyville and Mahogany Hall was forced to close its doors. Henri searched frantically for Isabelle but Madam Lulu and all the girls were gone. Despondent, Henri joined the army, fighting overseas in World War I. The young lovers never saw each other again. The birth of Evan Deloitte the following May was Isabelle’s most treasured memory of her blissful love affair with Henri.
NB: This story is fiction; however, Madam Lulu White and Mahogany Hall were very real as was the government shut down of Storyville in 1917.
NAR Β© 2023
It’s Tuesday so hop on over to
The Rhythm section.
I’m there today getting In The Groove!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Our male mail carrier throws the mail onto our front porch.
Our female mail carrier ties a bow around it and places it neatly on the chair.
Not really but she would if she had the time.
βRemove everything from the waist up and put on a robe, opening in the front. Place your belongings in a locker and make sure to take the key with you.β
Securing my faded grey robe, I walked out into the pleasantly decorated waiting room. There were comfortable chairs, tables with magazines, and a coffee maker with a variety of coffee, tea and a tin of cookies. Four other women were waiting their turn, flipping through magazines or simply resting, arms folded protectively across their breasts. One woman wore a distraught look, hear eyes terrified and pleading βPlease, not again!β
I made myself a cup of decaf, choosing a delicate butter cookie as well. I sat and reflected on the number of times Iβve waited in this room. Once a year for the past 17 years Iβve made this dreaded trek, making outlandish promises and bargains with God which always proved to be superfluous … so far.
After about ten minutes, a perky brunette in carnation pink scrubs and matching Crocs came in the room and called out βMrs. Thompson?β I rose from my seat and the brunette continued, βHi. Iβm Kelly, your radiology technician. Iβll be doing your mammogram today. Just follow me and weβll be done in no time.β
We entered the brightly-lit exam room, coming face to face with Darth Vader … my nickname for the massive mammogram machine … a sleek black, chrome and glass monolith standing like a sentinel in the middle of the room. Now hereβs where two women who are complete strangers instantly become bosom buddies, so to speak.
Kelly instructs me to slip my right arm out of my robe and reach up to grab the handle on Darth Vaderβs side. βNow step in as close as you can,β Kelly says while lifting my right boob onto the flat glass plate emerging from Darthβs chest. Pulling and kneading my breast into the perfect position, she then pushes a button which slowly lowers another flat glass plate on top of my breast. I watch in morbid fascination as my once round and ample breast slowly flattens, spreading out and taking on the appearance of a water balloon about to burst. Satisfied with the positioning, Kelly ducks into a tiny protective glass booth on the other side of the room.
βTake a deep breath and don’t move, Mrs. Thompson. Hold it, hold it, keep holding … now breath.β Kelly emerges from her protective booth and we repeat the process on the left side.
βOk, weβre all done. Just have a seat while the doctor looks over your images. Hopefully the wait won’t be too long.βΒ
Finally Kelly returns and says the doctor will see me now. More girl-on-girl time as the doctor manually examines my breasts with impossibly cold hands.
βEverything looks perfect, Mrs. Thompson. Keep doing your self-exams.β I thank her, refraining from saying my husband enjoys examining me regularly.
Dressing, I frown at the red bruises on my chest, then quickly smile and say a little prayer of thanks knowing the “girls” are ok.
I pass the front desk with a cheerful βTa-ta, ladies. See you next year!β
NAR Β© 2023
There’s a quaint little road not too far from me
Where the sign by a hedge reads “Love Lane”.
People travel for miles and miles to see
The street with that enchanting name.
The houses all look like fairy-tale homes
As psychedelic butterflies flutter by.
Statues of toadstools, angels and gnomes
Make passersby grin and contentedly sigh.
There’s never a cloud-filled sky o’er Love Lane
And the flower gardens bloom all year long.
A gentle breeze spins the old weather-vane
While a cardinal whistles his song.
At the end of the street is a sweet little church
Which has seen brides and grooms come and go.
A duo of lovebirds comfortably nests on their perch
Cooing greetings to all those below.
Alongside the church is a babbling brook
Where ducklings are happily splashing.
A couple cuddles close with their poetry book
While their children are playing and laughing.
Love Lane can fill every heart with great joy
Like it’s Christmas or Valentine’s Day.
Sweet as a crush for a young girl and boy;
It’s just puppy love, or so people say.
Can a place like Love Lane really be true
Where peace, joy and harmony reign?
Is it possible to never feel lonely or blue;
To not suffer heartache or pain?
Someday as I walk down that storybook street
I’ll happen upon the true love of my life.
All the luckiest spouses on Love Lane do meet
And my lover will make me the happiest wife.
NAR Β© 2023
Why not join Mr. Bump today and tomorrow
in The Rhythm Section as he hosts
The Culture Club and Name That Tune!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
The Elephant's Trunk 