This guy. I’ve been following him for a few months now and I’m not even sure what his name is. He’s dark yet funny, mysterious, complicated, strange, quite brilliant and always entertaining. And he’s got me hooked. I decided to share this piece because it spoke to me; hell, I could have written it! I think it will speak to anyone who blogs and/or writes and wonders why they bother to do it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. (In case you’re wondering about those rather large apostrophes, it seems the WordPress theme I have won’t allow me to get rid of them so I apologize for their presence. Please try to ignore them and just read the post!)
A LIVING NIGHTMARE

Covered by what felt like a plastic tarp, Stanley Collins tried desperately to figure out where he was and what had happened. All he knew at this moment in time was that he felt colder than ever before. It was claustrophobic and there was something dangling from his toe. But, perhaps the most terrifying realization of all was the fact that he was completely paralyzed. Even his eyes and mouth refused to open but his mind raced on.
βGotta think, gotta think! Why am I here and how did I get here?β
Suddenly he heard a voice. Was it real or in his head? Stanleyβs brain strained to hear – βOk, letβs see who we have here. A John Doe and Stanley Collins, both for tonight. Damn! Two autopsies. Looks like Iβll be getting home late again. Letβs start with our John Doe.β
Stanleyβs brain screamed frantically βAutopsy?? Wait, Iβm alive, Iβm alive!!β
βThink, you fucking jerk!β Stanleyβs brain admonished him. βJust calm down, count to ten and think.β Some thoughts starting wriggling around his brain. He remembered working for a used car dealership. What a laugh that was! The entire time he worked there, he never sold a single car and jokingly called himself βthe non-commissioned salesmanβ. Of course, he was fired.
After that he applied for a job at a casino. He had no experience so the only job he could get was sitting in a back room sorting poker chips by denomination. That turned into a fiasco, too, when he was caught pocketing a couple of $100 chips. βYou asshole!β his brained screamed. Fired again AND he had to return the chips!
Two jobs down the toilet. His wife Betty called him a loser and she was right.
βBut what happened after that? How did I end up in a refrigerated morgue drawer awaiting an autopsy β¦ and Iβm not even dead?! Think, Stanley, think! β Stanleyβs brain raced inside his unmoving, unfeeling head.
βWait a second. I remember! Betty kicked me out. I couldnβt get a job. I had no money. I had nothing β¦ nothing but my house key. So while Betty was out I went to the house. All the furniture gone, my clothes werenβt there and all Bettyβs things were boxed up. There wasnβt even anything I could pawn! I walked into the kitchen, turned on the gas stove and knelt down, resting my head in the oven. And thatβs how Betty found me β¦ dead from gas inhalation. Only I wasnβt dead! The mother of all fuck ups, I couldn’t even do a good job killing myself!β
Just then Stanleyβs drawer was pulled open. He was wheeled to an ice cold metal table, all the while his brain screaming βWait! Stop! Iβm not dead! Canβt you hear me?? β
Suddenly the screeching sound of an electric saw jolted Stanleyβs brain. He screamed in agony as the saw tore through his chest. Was it his brain screaming? Was he screaming? Could anyone hear him?
The only sound was the piercing squeal of the saw.
NAR Β© 2022
*Originally published in 2018
SOMEONE WILL PAY

Roger Newcombe was a nasty, mean-spirited man; his only companions were his little Welsh corgi Magpie and his wheelchair. Roger had no family or friends; over the years he had alienated everyone who ever cared a whit about him. Even the postman fell victim to his bitter tongue and resorted to delivering the mail as quickly as possible, his hat pulled down low over his eyes.
The only things Roger had plenty of were bad memories and schemes.
It wasnβt always like that for Roger. True, he was a plain-looking man, never handsome, but he was a trusting soul and kindhearted. Roger felt out of place at his parentβs extravagant dinner parties and never wanted to attend but as the only heir of the richest man in the county, it was his obligation to make an appearance.
Thatβs when he saw the alluring Loretta Spencer, a new serving girl with a tiny waist, long legs and shocking auburn hair. Roger was smitten at first glance but was too shy to stare let alone talk to Loretta.
Kindness and a trusting nature went only so far and the young single women who came in contact with Roger were not attracted to him. Only Loretta paid him any attention with a barely perceptible wink of an eye and a shy but innately sensual smile. One fortuitous day Roger happened upon Loretta preparing the table for dinner; the two struck up a conversation which developed into a flirtatious friendship which in turn blossomed into a romance. Rogerβs parents were livid about the relationship but Loretta encouraged Roger to be a man and speak up for himself and their newfound love. His parents were too stunned by Rogerβs sudden display of courage to respond.
No one was more surprised than Roger. He had always been resigned to life as a lonely bachelor; now heβd fallen madly in love with a servant in his parentβs employ and he didnβt care who knew. He was enthralled by Lorettaβs bewitching ways, intoxicated by her erotic education in lovemaking. Roger could not believe someone as beautiful, beguiling and seductive as Loretta could love him in return. They were married within a year and went on a grand honeymoon to Wales. Upon their return, they settled into the Newcombeβs lavish estate.
Roger accepted a job in his fatherβs company, sitting in his office all day doing very little and making a great deal of money which Loretta freely spent. She was a happy and pampered wife. Her relationship with Rogerβs parents was estranged and she saw them only at dinner but being married to Roger made all her dreams come true.
That peaceful scenario was suddenly shattered when Rogerβs parents were killed in a plane crash while on vacation. Roger was devastated by the loss of his mother and father but that was not the end of the shocking news for Roger and Loretta.
At the reading of Mr. and Mrs. Newcombeβs wills, Roger was struck dumb when he learned his motherβs last wish was for their home to be renovated into a rehabilitation facility for children with disabilities. In his fatherβs will, a new president was named for the company; it was Jonathan Whittaker, the current vice president. Roger was spitefully and embarrassingly overlooked, being left only an insignificant amount of money.Β
As the only heir, Roger fully expected to be left the Newcombe fortune and named president of the company. He didnβt really want the job β just the prestige that came with it. He could delegate his key employees to do all the work while he sat back and watched the company flourish. Now he and Loretta had no home and very little cash. Roger deeply regretted giving Loretta free rein to his money, buying so many expensive and unnecessary items. He loved her and was blinded by her charms. He was also too proud to try to return or sell the items to recoup his losses.
Loretta, being as smart and clever as she was beautiful, wasted no time setting her sights on Jonathan Whittaker, the new president of the company. Like a tigress on the prowl she hunted him down, dazzling him with her seductive ways. She finessed her way into his head, whirled her way into his heart and squirmed herself into his bed. Loretta convinced Jonathan to relieve Roger of his position at the company which he did immediately. While Roger was out of the house one afternoon, Loretta stealthily cleared out what little money he had stashed away in his safe and quickly served him with divorce papers. As soon as she was free of Roger, Loretta would marry Jonathan and she would once again be the wife of a wealthy man.
Roger was reeling; he could not believe how his life had completely fallen apart. His parents were dead, the only home he knew was no longer his, he had no job, no money and no wife. In a desperate plea to Jonathan Whittaker, Roger asked for and was granted a pension from the company β just enough to get by each month. He begged his fatherβs lawyer to intercede on his behalf and was given permission to live in the small annex house next to the Newcombe estate. Roger felt there wasnβt much more that could go wrong in his life.
He was mistaken.
One day as Roger was entering the annex house, he looked over at his old family home and saw Loretta pass by one of the upstairs windows. “What was she doing there?” Roger wondered. He went to the house to confront her; Loretta was packing the last of her things when Roger showed up. After a heated conversation Loretta brusquely walked by Roger, her suitcase smacking him in the back of his knee. Roger lost his footing and fell down the stairs. Loretta slowly walked down the stairs, looked at Roger not knowing or caring if he was dead or alive, and stepped over him. She calmly walked to the front door and left the house, closing the door behind her.
The next day Roger was found lying at the foot of the stairs; he was alive but he was paralyzed from the waist down. Now Roger Newcombe felt nothing in his heart but bitterness, anger and resentment. All he did was sit in his wheelchair by the window of the annex house with Magpie on his lap. With every stroke of the little dogβs soft fur, Roger thought βSomeone will pay.β
That was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind.
NAR Β© 2022
LITTLE BEAN

I was on my way home from my daily walk this crisp October morning. The sky was a startling blue with the sun burning so brightly it could have been August in Vermont. Only the brisk wind that swirled through the red and orange Autumn leaves reminded me that it was Fall. I wrapped my favorite wooly scarf around my neck, tucking my long hair inside, and instantly felt a welcoming warmth.
Earlier in the week I spotted a group of white-tailed deer and hoped I would see them again today. I never go out walking in the woods without my old Nikon β a rare find at a local tag sale. It was in surprisingly good working condition. Now the walls of my little cabin were strewn with framed black and whites β memories of my treks throughout the changing seasons.
As I made my way down the trail toward my house, I noticed droplets of blood on the dirt β a sign that the white-tailed does were in estrus. By May the fawns would be here. I instinctively patted my belly where my own βLittle Beanβ was beginning to grow. I was just twelve weeks along with the most precious gift from my husband Jeremy, no doubt the result of his recent shore leave in August. My baby and the fawns would arrive at the same time.
Rounding a bend in the trail I spotted a white-tailed buck and doe under the trees. They were rubbing the sides of their faces together, possibly whispering words of affection. As quietly as possible I slid open the front of my camera case and began snapping photos. When the deer noticed me, they leapt away as gracefully as the falling leaves.
I continued down the path to my cabin which was now in sight. I stopped to pick up a few particularly beautiful maple leaves; even now, nearing the end of their lives, they were perfect creations. I thought again of the fawns and βLittle Beanβ.
The house was chilly; I lit a fire and prepared myself a cappuccino. I was certain I was able to get a dozen photos of the deer which I would develop later in the afternoon. There was something I needed to do first. After placing my things on the table, I sat down to write to Jeremy. Heβll laugh when he reads that I finally captured the canoodling white-tailed deer. I kissed one of the red leaves and tucked it into his letter. I smiled as I read my closing line: βMy darling, be home soon! All our love, Maggie & Little Beanβ.
NAR Β© 2022
FFFC # 189, hosted by Fandango
ACT NATURALLY

Hand in hand, the two ran quickly and quietly from the main house until they were far enough away to feel safe. By now it had gotten quite foggy and they had trouble seeing, which was okay; if they couldnβt see then they couldnβt be seen. They slowed down to a walk and then found a secluded spot where they could be alone.
Daphne plopped herself onto the soft, thick blanket of moss, pulling Henry down with her. They laughed, then remembered this was all hush-hush. βShhβ they both said, giggling, fingers pressed against their lips. βWe could get in serious trouble if weβre caughtβ Henry warned.
They had been waiting for weeks for this chance to be alone and now that it was here they were both feeling a bit nervous and unsure; it was, after all, the first time for both of them. But they were determined.
βSo, were you able to, you know, get some?β Daphne asked shyly yet excited, wide eyes staring at Henry.
βYeahβ Henry replied, βbut it was more difficult than I thought. I drove to Pelham and tried to buy some there but no luck. I saw a vending machine in a 711 but it was empty.β
βSo whereβd you get them?β Daphne asked, engrossed in Henryβs story.
Henry lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially βIn my fatherβs nightstandβ and he softly laughed while Daphne gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
βWonβt he miss them?β Daphne asked, concern in her voice.
βNah, he had a whole bunch and I only took a couple so he probably wonβt even notice. I was surprised to find them; I didnβt think he and my mom did it anymore.β
Daphne looked deeply into Henryβs eyes and whispered βIβm ready. Are you?β
βDefinitely. I think weβre the only ones of all our friends who havenβt done itβ and the twosome drew a little closer.
βI canβt wait to see what it feels likeβ Daphne said softly as Henry reached deep into his jeanβs.
They got comfortable on the mossy blanket and Henry slowly took it out. Daphne laid back and whispered βI want you to put it in my mouth, Henry, just like they do in the moviesβ and Henry smiled. He withdrew one packet and carefully opened the foil wrapper. His hands were shaking a bit but tonight was the night and nothing was going to stop them.
Daphne stroked it lightly, enjoying the feel of her fingers around it, excited by the new sensation in her mouth.
βRemember, nice and slow at first, ok Daphne?βΒ Henry said and she nodded slightly.
Henry leaned closer and struck a match, igniting the joint in Daphneβs mouth. She took a drag and immediately began to choke and cough. Handing her a bottle of water, Henry took the joint from Daphne and took a drag. He, too, convulsed in a fit of coughing.
βI think we need to take smaller hits, Henry. At least thatβs what Iβve heardβ Daphne suggested and it didnβt take long before they got the hang of it.
They smoked about half the joint and Henry started laughing. Daphne had no idea what was so funny but she started laughing, too. Before they knew it they were rolling round on the moss laughing hysterically. Henry managed to get the words out while gasping for air. βMy parents are still getting high!β
Daphne thought that as the funniest thing sheβd ever heard and coughed out the words βYeah, and they tell us not toβ. The two sixteen-year-olds laughed and made little snorting noises as they shared a few more hits off the joint. βYou stole your fatherβs stashβ squealed Daphne, barely able to talk straight. And they cracked up again.
When the hysteria died down a bit, Daphne asked βJeez, Henry, Iβm starving. You got anything to eat?β
βOh, shit. No, I got nothing and Iβm hungry, tooβ Henry mumbled. βLetβs go back to the house. They must be serving dessert by now. But be very quiet and remember to act naturally.β
βYeah, Iβm coolβ Daphne slurred.
And the two somehow found their way back to the house, stumbling and giggling the whole time. They were acting anything but natural.
NAR Β© 2022
Written in response to: Sadjeβs What Do You See β #155
https://youtu.be/vJYyKxgmL0k
CROSSROADS

There he stood at the crossroads of his life. He was 56 years old and made more career changes than he cared to remember. He never seemed to find his niche, his place in society. He was adrift, never knowing which direction to take.
Now he was unemployed again; it was not for lack of trying. He was an indecisive man. The only true and clear decision he made was marrying his wife. She was his anchor when he began to drift, his lifeboat when he was drowning in the sea of life.
On this crisp autumn day, he was suddenly consumed with the urge to take a walk, clear his head. His wife offered to go with him, but he declined saying thanks, but he needed this time by himself to think. He wouldnβt be gone too long.
His wife suggested he wear his new yellow windbreaker; if he lost his bearings, as he was often wont to do, heβd be easily visible. And so he donned his yellow jacket and took off to find himself.
Now here he stood at the crossroads of his life, literally. He had a terrible sense of direction and had no idea where he was. As he looked around, he realized he was truly screwed for he blended in perfectly with his surroundings β bright yellow and golden autumn leaves were everywhere and he was in the midst of them.
At that moment he cursed his wife under his breath. He wanted to wear his beloved purple jacket but no, she suggested he wear the yellow one. Because he could never make up his mind, he did as he was told. And now he was lost without a clue which way to go, surrounded by bright yellow and golden autumn leaves.
And to think he went off to find himself. Now he wondered if anyone would find him.
NAR Β© 2022
Written for FFFC # 188, hosted by Fandango
Flashback Track Friday #88
Hey! Look what I just wrote!

Welcome once again to Flashback Track Friday. Each week, one of us will present a song to you, and out of that song, will prompt you with a question.
A special treat for you this week, as The Sicilian Storyteller has agreed to take time out from her busy schedule, and to write a guest post for us. And she even has a double-whammy this week, two blinding track by one of our favourite artists. So, without further ado, over to you, Nancy.
John Lennon, whose anniversary we celebrated only last Sunday. One of the most well-known and recognizable people of all time and founder of the legendary Beatles, John was a singer, musician, songwriter and peace activist. His songwriting partnership with Paul McCartney remains the most successful in history. That is an incredible achievement.
Starting with the world-famous βAll You Need Is Loveβ, his songs were adopted asβ¦
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Love Lane, a poem by Nancy Richy at Spillwords.com
Spillwords.com presents: Love Lane, a poem by Nancy Richy, born and raised in The Bronx, NY, has lived in Larchmont NY …
BROKEN GLASS

Today was a very bad day for me and I came this close to going to the emergency room. That was the last way I wanted to spend a lovely Sunday afternoon in the fall. Has anyone noticed emergencies seem to crop up at the most inconvenient times β in the middle of the night, on the weekend or holiday β whenever itβs impossible to track down your doctor?
βWhat was the cause of this emergency?β youβre wondering. I shall tell you: intense stabbing pain in my lower back causing my legs to tingle and radiating down to my knee and up to my neck. The slightest move caused unbearable pain. This was not the first time something like this has happened but it definitely was one of the worst and it threw me for a loop; I had been recovering nicely after a recent flare up.
I have advanced arthritis from my neck down to my knees, spinal stenosis and sciatica. With the incredible work of my physical therapist, I had gotten to a point where I was feeling great and no longer needed to take any pain meds. Now Iβm back on the meds and I hate their side effects but I must weigh my options.
This has been with me in various degrees since 2003 when I had a botched meniscus repair. In 2008 I fell three feet off a deck and landed full force on my left hip, badly fracturing it. The impact was so tremendous that I must have been stunned because I felt no pain β¦ until I tried to move. I had no idea my hip joint was totally severed. I needed emergency surgery and a hip replacement. The operation went very well and rehab was a breeze, but the broken hip and the meniscus repair were likely the beginning of my other ailments. It was all downhill from there.
The pain from the meniscus repair was ever-present and arthritis had set it. It was determined I needed a total knee replacement which was done in 2011. I went into that surgery expecting a full recovery; after all, Iβd seen advertisements in health magazines and posters in doctorβs offices showing people playing golf, tennis and going skiing after a TKR. I was not one of those people who sprang right back into action. After months of rehab I was still feeling pain. I had to take the stairs one at a time and every so often my knee would buckle. It was no cake walk. In fact it was a complete failure and a few years later I was back in the hospital for a total knee revision. If you never heard of a knee revision and decide to Google it, I suggest you watch the video on an empty stomach.
Have the surgeries improved my life? Yes, but not to the degree Iβd hoped. I know Iβm better off having had the operations but one would think my leg would be bionic after four procedures.
To add insult to injury I developed spinal stenosis; sometimes the pain in my back was so intense I could barely walk or sit up straight. It worked its way up to my neck and made itself at home. I underwent multiple epidurals and nerve blocks, to no avail. How the hell could all these medical procedures not help? Itβs frustrating and despairing; I fell into a depression and started having anxiety attacks. I lost weight, lost hope and lost the will to live. I didnβt want to do anything or see anyone, not even my precious grandchildren.
My husband was by my side constantly; he became my support system, my coach, my shoulder to cry on and my shadow. He drove me to every session with my psychologist, took me to physical therapy and prepared my meals. He did all the shopping and laundry. He was there to sooth me during a crying jag or a panic attack. The man was a saint. If it wasnβt for him and my physical therapist I donβt know where I’d be today or what condition Iβd be in. Going for deep tissue massage twice a week for months was the only thing that brought me relief and I still go to physical therapy once every week. Fortunately I am no longer depressed nor do I have anxiety attacks.
So what was the cause of todayβs day from hell? I saw my pain management doctor on Tuesday, October 4; she gave me a series of trigger point injections in my lower back β something Iβve had many, many times before. The next day I noticed a slight pain in the left side of my lower back. By Thursday that pain had intensified; it wormed its way up to my neck and wrapped itself around my hip, down to my knee. By the weekend I was absolutely good for nothing. I wrote this post today to take my mind off the pain; it was horrible and memories of when I was at my lowest came flooding back.
Usually I have very little pain and feel good. Iβll have a flare up when a procedure goes wrong or the weather is bad or I trip on the rug or I lift my granddaughter onto the toilet or I just do something stupid which I know I shouldnβt do. I am like a broken glass thatβs been glued back together. Every time someone tries to use the glass it crumbles and breaks into pieces.
Well-meaning friends tell me to rest up, take it easy and Iβll be fine. Give yourself time to heal, they say. What they donβt understand is this is not a broken toe that will mend itself and be healed forever. What I have will never fully go away and I will never be completely healed. What they donβt know is how difficult it is for me to get into and out of the bathtub, to stand under the shower to wash my hair, to dance with my husband or to find a comfortable sleeping position.
Today was a bad day but the pain will slowly fade and I will feel better again. No one has to tell me how much worse my situation could be; I know there are multitudes of people who have it far worse than I do and there are times when I am ashamed for feeling sorry for myself. Everyoneβs pain is their own and everything is relative.
We all have our crosses; this is mine. I take nothing for granted. There are days when Iβm walking on sunshine and then there are those days when I feel like Iβm walking on broken glass.
I wish you all good health. May you never have to endure the pain of broken glass.
NAR Β© 2022
TOPPERMOST OF THE POPPERMOST

Happy rocking birthday in heaven to New York’s adopted son. You never should have left us, Johnny Boy. π πΆ
NAR Β© 2022
A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

She was one of those high society girls, confident and accomplished in many things. Her mother made sure the hired help taught her how to provide for herself and maintain a proper house should she ever find herself in a position where she needed to do so.
βYou must never totally rely on a man to do things for youβ the girlβs mother admonished. βYour father was a weak man and a drunk. If I hadnβt found a publisher for my memoirs, weβd be destitute. I managed to write and tend to everything around the house while your father was off chasing daydreams. Because of that I learned to become a strong woman and you shall be one also.β
She remembered her father; how she adored him. If he was ineffectual, she never saw that side of him. All she saw was the fun-loving man who loved her beyond the moon, sang silly songs, made her laugh and bought her penny candy. He took her to the carnival and picnicking by the lake, tilting at windmills and searching the sky for clouds in the shape of dinosaurs or butterflies or whatever his imagination created.
If he was drunk, she didnβt realize. Once or twice she asked why he wasnβt at work and he would laugh saying heβd rather spend his time with her; work would always be there tomorrow. But work was not there the next day and he drank himself into oblivion.
When he became sick from too much liquor, she knew something was terribly wrong. The house was quiet except for the sound of his wet cough. Then one day he was gone and it was as though he never existed. It was just her, her mother and the hired help in the large house. Her mother was busy with her publisher and it was the kindly household staff who taught her to be resourceful.
And so she grew into a self-assured, self-sufficient woman. She was the perfect combination of a woman of substance able to fend for herself but one who also delighted in the company of a gentleman who could well and ably provide for her. Her mother said she must learn to tell the difference between an honorable, well-respected man and a foolish dreamer with no goals in life. She must be vigilant not to become attracted to a man like her father who was full of empty promises.
She was wooed by many young men β those belonging to the polo club who knew how to sail and play croquet and turn heads at garden parties. There were others who caught her eye as well β the ones who labored on the docks or skillfully shoed horses and dabbled in boxing in the back rooms of the local pubs where people shouted out their names and placed bets on who would win.
The dandies from the yacht club were pale and thin; they wore foppish clothes and were sparkling clean and looked down their long pointy noses at anyone who did not meet their standards. Their lives were empty and shallow and they didnβt even know it.
The hirsute boxers and dockworkers with tanned faces and rough hands wore patched pants and frayed shirts and had perpetually dirty fingernails. They worked hard and played harder; they drank beer in the pubs, sang songs and told bawdy jokes. They were happy with a lust for life and love despite having just a few coins to rub together.
One group of men was strong with twinkling eyes and roguish smiles while the other group was flaccid, dull-eyed and mealy-mouthed. And when time came for her to choose between one or the other, she chose one from her station, her peer, a seemingly substantial gentleman β the peacock who lived next door who gave the appearance of being his own man but was simply another empty vessel with nothing to offer. She soon learned he was a callow, selfish fellow with an overbearing mother and a useless father.
The girl’s mother did not approve of the lowly blacksmiths and boxers but she knew the insipid gent who claimed to adore her daughter would amount to nothing and she warned the girl: βI see your father in him β an inflated, aggrandized neβer-do-well.β But the daughter would not listen. She was accustomed to men treating her with kid gloves. The thought of rough hands with dirty nails against her pearly white skin made her cringe.
How ironic could it be that the domineering mother of this man-child did not approve of her, the one he fawned over? βShe may play the role of a woman of substance but she is only a pretender after your wealth. Her father was a nothing, a drunk, and she was tutored by the blacks who worked in the kitchen. You, my son, can do much better.β
But he couldnβt do better for he was a fool and he could not hold on to her. He cried into his pillow every night and cursed when he saw the one he cherished about town with a boxing dockworker who was ten times the man he was.
The pugilist treated her like a queen at all times β in the presence of others as well as in the privacy of their own home β and the woman of substance found she quite liked the feel of calloused hands on her spotless breasts.
NAR Β© 2022
GUEST POST: LOST IN A SWIRL
One of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever read,
this deeply touched my heart.
By my friend Paul Griffiths, The Birkenhead Poet β
I’m sharing for all to enjoy and
so I’ll always have it no matter what may come my way.

She is lost in a swirl of emotions, yet she dances as tears fall from her eyes.
Lost in the moment, as the world takes little notice and passes her by.
Spinning slowly in circles lost completely, she is engrossed in the dance.
Caught up in the silence of the moment, totally entranced.
Staring straight ahead into the nothing she sees what is and isn’t there.
As the world goes spinning around her, she is lost in her feelings too numb to care.
A vortex of mixed up emotions tumble around, in the spin cycle of her mixed up mind.
Cutting loose from the reality of her day to day existence and the ties that do bind.
Wrapped in a soft black silken sheet of the night she dances away.
The times getting late but she chooses to stay.
She has danced herself into tomorrow, she’s danced til her poor feet are sore.
Passing the point of exhaustion, she can’t dance anymore
Like the little ballerina atop a music box she starts winding down.
As she looks out for someone to come to her rescue but there’s no one around.
She screams a scream so loud her lungs almost burst; it’s a cry full of pain.
Because she knows the dance is over and it’s back to the reality of her life once again.
PTG Β© copyright.
PRECISION

John Black always kept his implements in the finest condition, each one hanging on the rack with incredible precision like soldiers standing at attention.
His tools were always lined up by size, depending on his needs. They were clean and sharp at all times, at the ready whenever he needed them.
There were saws that could cut down the largest tree and mallets meant for pounding huge spikes into posts. He had screwdrivers and files of every shape and size, pliers to yank out the largest of nails and wrenches to loosen pipes rusted together for years. His planes could shave off the thinnest slice of wood and his blades could cut through the toughest leather.
John Black scrubbed his tools clean after each use; they were gleaming, just waiting for his next job. Whenever the call came, he was ready.
The calls came every day and into the night; John Black was a busy man. No one ever called him; he found his own clientele.
John Black was not a carpenter or a plumber; no, his job was of a different nature and his instruments were weapons meant to inflict the most pain a human could endure. For you see, John Black was a psychopath, a stalker of the innocent, a torturer and a murderer.
Oh, yes, his tools served him well, sated his sadistic needs. His victims were so easy to find for John Black was an unassuming man.
John Black lives everywhere so keep your doors locked and never go out alone, even to check your mailbox for he could be living right next door. And October is his favorite month, his time to spill as much blood as possible.
Scary business, isnβt it?
NAR Β© 2022
Written for Sadjeβs What do you see #154
WHAT A HAM!

P.S. 78.
For those of you who may not be familiar with the abbreviation, P.S. stands for βPublic Schoolβ, a tax-supported US school providing free education. Thatβs where I attended kindergarten. I was there for only one year but some things about that year I will never forget.
My mother would walk me to the red brick building every morning and greet me every afternoon when school was over. Mom was the no nonsense type and it took us less than 15 minutes to walk to school. It wasnβt much fun during the cold or nasty days but then Mom got her new Ford Fairlane 500 and going to school got a whole lot better.
Sometimes weβd stop at the Post Arrow β a mini amusement park/restaurant right on the corner that catered to regular folk by offering simple items such as hot dogs, burgers, sandwiches and ice cream. Iβd get ice cream and go on a couple of rides; it was a magical place. My family always ate our meals at home but once in a while Dad would get a craving for a hot pastrami sandwich on rye bread and weβd zip up to the Post Arrow.
Being just a small kid, a place like P.S. 78 could be intimidating with so many other older and bigger kids but after a while, just like everything else, I got used to it. My classroom was on the first floor and I can still picture it. Low bookcases just tall enough for a bunch of munchkins hugged the walls all around the room. Short round tables which seated 4-6 kids were strewn about and there was a giant chalk board on the right side of the brightly painted room. Old metal casement windows took up one full wall while the other walls were covered with drawings, the alphabet and numbers. But the pièce de resistance was a vintage upright piano diagonally opposite the classroom doorway positioned catty-corner as opposed to being flush up against a wall. Today we would say the room had a very feng shui feel about it and the angled look of the piano was extremely appealing. Back then we just thought it was a happy room to be in.
We kids loved that classroom and felt comfortable from the very first day. Our teacherβs name was Mrs. Merchant; to this day I have no idea what her first name was. Mrs. Merchant was tiny in both height and weight; she always wore dresses with sweaters, had short wavy salt and pepper hair and wore glasses. It was impossible to tell her age; in the eyes of a small child she could have been anywhere between 35 and 65. She was a very sweet, patient woman who clearly enjoyed teaching kindergarten. She would play the piano during song time and sheβd often read a book and play the piano simultaneously, making the stories pop to life. Weβd all sit on the floor near the piano, our eyes glued to Mrs. Merchant as she dramatically read to us while she played.
There were so many wonderful times in kindergarten. Mrs. Merchant focused a lot on music and singing; Iβm sure that was where my love of music first began. We would have musical parades around the classroom every day, each child playing a different instrument, and once each week one of the kids would perform for the class.
I remember every detail about one of my performances β my song, my little dance and most of all my costume. I was a little pig. π·
My mother, ever the creative seamstress, bought a childβs pair of pink one-piece Dr. Denton footed pajamas with a rear flap for βeasy potty timeβ (if you donβt remember Dr. Denton pjs, youβre really missing out on something!). Mom brought home some pink felt from the shop where she worked and used it to make little pig ears and a curlicue tail. She covered one of my plastic headbands with felt and attached the ears to it. My piggie nose was made from stiffly starched fabric covered with felt; Mom cut two little holes on each side for the string which she tied around the back of my head keeping my piggie nose in place like a mask. For the tail she curled a length of a wire clothes hanger, covered it with felt and sewed it to the little rear end flap on my pjs. I was told I looked absolutely adorable but sadly, no photos were taken of that momentous occasion β at least none that I’m aware of.
I was always a βhamβ when it came to performing and never shied away from the opportunity to entertain. Even as an adult at our fabulous choir Mardi Gras parties I would be front and center serenading everyone with one standard after the other. Gimme a mike and Iβll sing you a song!
A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to record and upload a few of my stories for a prominent UK broadcasting corporation. I even had the chance to sing during one segment but I’m pretty sure that didn’t make the headlines. Let’s check theΒ News. Nope, nothing there.
My dream was to be a professional singer; I think Iβd look pretty good sprawled on a piano a la Michelle Pfeiffer! Instead, here I am happily entertaining you with my stories. Who knows? Maybe one day Iβll surprise you with a song.
Once a ham, always a ham! Stay tuned. π€
NAR Β© 2022
THE PINGBACK SYNDROME

How many of you know what a pingback is and how to create one? Letβs see a show of hands.
Wow! Looks like quite a few of you are in on the pingback secret β¦ except for me.
Now, I am not a stupid woman and Iβve learned a lot about computers since I started my site in 2017. Iβve also wiggled my way out of some tough jams and solved problems the Happiness Engineers at WordPress were unable to do. Hell, I even found the solution to an issue that an Apple technician couldnβt help me with. I also taught myself to record and upload some of my stories for a prominent UK radio station β something Iβm very proud of. I can figure out most things on my computer or learn something by seeing it done once or twice but this ornery pingback mosquito keeps evading me.
Some of my fellow septuagenarian friends on WordPress who still split logs and milk cows know how to create a pingback. I cannot. Whatβs the secret? And while weβre on the subject, what purpose does a pingback serve? Why is everyone pingbacking all over the damn place?
So, to recap, the questions on the table are 1) what is a pingback; 2) how is a pingback created; 3) what purpose does a pingback serve?
Just for fun, letβs see how the dictionary defines pingback: βan automatic notification sent when a link has been created to a person’s blog post from an external website, allowing a reciprocal link to that website to be createdβ.
Hmm. Ok, what does Google say about pingbacks on WordPress? βA pingback is a notification WordPress sends to other blog owners when linking to their content. It will appear in a comment and only bloggers who activate the pingback feature will receive the notificationβ.
Confused yet? Me too. Try this on for size:


What??
When I told one of my friends I thought I didnβt do a pingback correctly, he asked me if I remembered to βlock it inβ. No, of course I didnβt! I wasnβt even sure what I was supposed to βlock inβ. Another friend explained creating a pingback like this: βTo do a pingback: Copy the URL (the https:// address of my post) and paste it onto your post.β Yet another friend posted a similar message: βTo execute a pingback, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post.β
Now, those explanations sound pretty clear and easy and in my head I know exactly what theyβre saying; however, when it comes to actually copying the URL, I canβt find it and when I think Iβve got the right URL, it turns out to be the wrong one! So far I donβt think I have successfully completed one single pingback. Pretty dismal, isnβt it?
I need someone to explain to me in easy-to-understand language how to do a pingback and show me where to find the elusive URL address Iβm supposed to copy and paste. Speak to me in one syllable words if necessary. Observe the KISS Principle: Keep It Simple, Stupid. I promise you; I will not be offended.
Somebody help. Iβm terribly confused!
NAR Β© 2022
BALL AND CHAIN
Jim at Song Lyric Sunday has asked us to share our thoughts
about musicians who are members of legendary β27 Clubβ.
My contribution today is the one and only Janis Joplin.

Janis Joplin, one of the most successful and widely-known female rock stars of her era, was born on January 19, 1943. On the evening of Sunday, October 4, 1970 Janis was found dead on the floor at the Landmark Motor Hotel by her road manager. The cause of death was a heroin overdose; she was only 27 years old. Janis was cremated and her ashes were scattered from a plane into the Pacific Ocean. Hard to believe in two days we will observe the 52nd anniversary of her death.
The passing of Janis Joplin stunned her fans and shocked the music world, especially when coupled with the death just 16 days earlier of another rock icon, Jimi Hendrix, also at the age of 27. Music historian Tom Moon wrote that βJoplin had a devastatingly original voiceβ and music columnist Jon Pareles of The New York Times wrote that Janis as an artist was βoverpowering and deeply vulnerableβ.
I think you will all agree that is true as we listen to one of her most famous songs β Ball and Chain.
Lyrics
Sittin’ down by my window
Honey, lookin’ out at the rain
Lord, Lord, Lord, sittin’ down by my window
Baby, lookin’ out at the rain
Somethin’ came along, grabbed a hold of me
And it felt just like a ball and chain
Honey, that’s exactly what it felt like
Honey, just dragging me down
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now hon’, tell me why
Why does every single little tiny thing I hold on goes wrong?
Yeah it all goes wrong, yeah
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now babe, tell me why
Why does everything, everything
Hey, here you gone today, I wanted to love you
Honey, I just wanted to hold you, I said, for so long
Yeah! Alright! Hey!
Love’s got a hold on me, baby
Feels just like a ball and chain
Now, love’s just draggin’ me down, baby, yeah
Feels like a ball and chain
I hope there’s someone out there who could tell me
Why the man I love wanna leave me in so much pain
Yeah, maybe, maybe you could help me, come on, help me!
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now hon’, tell me why
Now tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me why, yeah
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, when I ask you
When I need to know why, c’mon tell me why, hey hey hey
Here you’ve gone today
I wanted to love you and hold you
Till the day I die
I said whoa, whoa, whoa!
And I say oh, whoa, whoa, no honey
It ain’t fair, daddy it ain’t fair what you do
I see what you’re doin’ to me and you know it ain’t fair
And I say oh, whoa whoa now baby
It ain’t fair, now, now, now, what you do
I said hon’ it ain’t fair what, hon’ it ain’t fair what you do
Oh, here you gone today and all I ever wanted to do
Was to love you
Honey an’ I think there can be nothing wrong with that
Only it ain’t wrong, no, no, no, no, no
Sittin’ down by my window
Lookin’ at the rain
Lord, Lord, Lord, sittin’ down by my window
Lookin’ at the rain, see the rain
Somethin’ came along, grabbed a hold of me
And it felt like a ball and chain
Oh this can’t be in vain
And I’m gonna tell you one just more time, yeah, yeah!
And I say oh, whoa whoa, now baby
This can’t be, no this can’t be in vain
And I say no no no no no no no no, whoa!
And I say whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Now now now now now now now now now no no not in vain
Hey, hope there is someone that could tell me
Hon’, tell me why
Hon’, tell me why love is like
Just like a ball
Just like a ball
Baaaaaaalllll
Oh daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy
And a chain
Yeah!
Songwriters: Willie Mae Thornton
Ball and Chain lyrics Β© Kenwon Music, Cristeval Music
Song Lyric Sunday: Ball and Chain β The Elephants Trunk
YOUR MAJESTY

It was Labor Day weekend, 1978, in Las Vegas. The temperature was 103ΒΊ but we didnβt care. We didnβt have any plans for outside activities. We were there for one thing and one thing only.
Frank Sinatra.
Along with a few other couples from Goldman Sachs, weβd been invited by my husbandβs boss for a weekend in Vegas. It was our first time seeing Sinatra in Vegas β or anywhere else, for that matter. He was scheduled to do the 9:00PM show at Caesarβs Palace Circus Maximus. Dinner would be served at 6:30PM, then Rich Little was scheduled for 8:00PM.
I had no idea what the ambiance would be like, but I was savvy enough to realize that the 9:00PM show would be an elegant affair which called for a very special outfit. I had packed four different dresses and Iβd make up my mind which one to wear the night of the show. All eyes would be on Old Blue Eyes but I still wanted to look nice β for myself and to make Bill proud. This was the first time Iβd be meeting his colleagues and their wives and I wanted to make a good impression.
After trying on all my dresses, I decided on a sapphire blue velvet little number with spaghetti straps dotted here and there with tiny crystals. It was form-fitting and about three inches above the knee but I had great legs and looked really good in that dress. I paired it with a silver purse, strappy sandals and a diamond and sapphire choker which Bill had given me for our fifth anniversary.
The group had already gone downstairs and by the time we arrived there were only three chairs left at the long rectangular table; they were surprisingly close to the stage. We noticed that the end seat was marked ‘RESERVED’. For whatever reason, everyone else seemed intimidated by that chair. Bill and I sat, the vacant seat to my right. No one came by to tell us we couldn’t sit there so we made ourselves comfortable.
Shortly before dinner was served, the noise level in the room suddenly dropped and people all around us began whispering as a beautiful woman was escorted to the empty chair next to me. She had perfectly coiffed blonde hair and was wearing a shimmering white brocade gown with a mink collar. I couldnβt help noticing all her jewelry was diamonds and sapphires. We smiled politely at each other and her eyes landed on the delicate but elegant choker around my neck. She sweetly remarked, βWhat a lovely necklace, my dearβ and asked me my name.
βThank you. I’m Nancyβ I replied, touching my choker lightly and motioning to Bill on my left. βThe necklace was a gift from my husband. I thought the sapphires would be appropriate for an evening with Blue Eyes.β
She laughed softly. βWell, you’re quite right and I see we have much in common. Nancy is Frankβs daughterβs name, you know. And I agree with you about the sapphires; Frank adores them.β She extended her jewel-bedecked hand. βIβm Barbara β Frankβs wife β and itβs a pleasure to meet you, Nancy.β
Well, if I had false teeth they would have fallen out! Here I was, a girl from The Bronx, chatting away with Mrs. Frank Sinatra! We had a nice little talk; she complimented Bill on his taste in gifts and I told her how excited I was to be there. Frank Sinatra music was always playing in my parentβs house when I was a kid. Barbara was a lovely woman, very attentive and easy to talk to, and I felt like I made a friend that night.
Dinner was fabulous and Rich Little’s impressions were amazing and hilarious. Finally at 9:00PM on the dot the curtain opened to thunderous applause. Frank Sinatra sat on a stool by the piano, smoking a cigarette and looking incredibly cool. The room became silent and on Frank’s cue, the band started playing βFly Me to the Moonβ; Frank started singing and the audience went wild.
Each song was perfection and Frank had an amazing rapport with the audience, cracking jokes and giving little background information about each song. At one point he said βI donβt usually take requests but when it comes from my wife you know damn well Iβm gonna do it or else Iβll be sleeping in the guest room tonight.βΒ Everyone laughed and Barbara whispered in my ear βI think youβre going to enjoy this.β
I sat there mesmerized, squeezing Billβs arm as Frank sang my song β Nancy (With the Laughing Face). I felt like he was singing to me and, because it was Barbaraβs request, he was doing exactly that.
After the show and a couple of encores, Barbara said to me and Bill βCome with me; thereβs someone I want you to meet.β Out of nowhere two burly men came up beside us and escorted us backstage and into a large dressing room. There, sitting on the couch was Frank Sinatra; his tie was undone and he had a drink in his hand. He was so relaxed he looked like he could have been home watching the ballgame.
Barbara introduced me and Bill as her ‘dinner companions‘ and I thought I would faint when Frank raised my hand to his lips and said βHow ya doinβ, doll?β
I never liked it when any man called me βdollβ. I still donβt. But when I looked in Frank Sinatraβs sapphire blue eyes as he called me βdollβ, all I heard was him saying βYour Majesty.β
NAR Β© 2022

Wind-down Wednesday, September 28th, 2022

Hi Everyone,
Last week we went upbeat, this week weβre going over the top, thanks to The Duck in β¦ side who pointed me in the direction of Bad Lip Readingβs Seagulls! (Stop It Now)
This is a must watch folks, it is absolutely hysterical.
Toodles
MACKINTOSH’S GOOD NEWS
Iβm writing this for Song Lyric Sunday and just wanted to say that
Savoy Truffle is delicious but addicting!Β π

George Harrison wrote βSavoy Truffleβ in September 1968, by which point the Beatles had been working on the White Album for over three months. This period was one of disharmony within the band, following their mixed experiences while attending a course in Transcendental Meditation in India early in the year.
Away from his work with the Beatles in 1968, Harrison increasingly spent time with Eric Clapton, leading to occasional musical collaborations between the two guitarists and a lifelong friendship. Having contributed to Harrisonβs solo album Wonderwall Music, Clapton was invited to play on his White Album track βWhile My Guitar Gently Weepsβ marking a rare appearance by another rock musician on a Beatles recording as Harrison sought to defuse tensions within the band.
George Harrison wrote βSavoy Truffleβ as a tribute to Claptonβs sweet tooth. He derived the title and much of the lyrics from a box of Mackintoshβs Good News chocolates, which Clapton began eating during one of his visits to Harrisonβs home. Itβs been reported that Clapton devoured an entire box of the chocolates in one evening so George made a point of having a fresh box in his house whenever Eric was there. It was commonplace for Eric to eat a whole box of candy every time he visited George. Many of the confectionery names used in the song are authentic; others, such as cherry cream, coconut fudge and pineapple heart, were Harrisonβs invention, based on the flavors listed inside the lid of the box.
I have chosen Dhani Harrisonβs live video tribute concert for this post for one reason: it never ceases to amaze me how much Dhani looks and sounds like his father. I hope you enjoy this terrific video of George Harrisonβs βSavoy Truffleβ performed by his son, Dhani.
NAR Β© 2022
Creme tangerine and Montelimar
A ginger sling with a pineapple heart
Coffee dessert, yes, you know itβs good news
But youβll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle
Cool cherry cream and a nice apple tart
I feel your taste all the time weβre apart
Coconut fudge really blows down those blues
But youβll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle
You might not feel it now
But when the pain cuts through
Youβre going to know and how
The sweat is going to fill your head
When it becomes too much
Youβre going to shout aloud
But youβll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle
You know that what you eat you are
But what is sweet now, turns so sour
We all know Ob-La-Di-Bla-Da
But can you show me, where you are?
Creme tangerine and Montelimar
A ginger sling with a pineapple heart
Coffee dessert, yes, you know itβs good news
But youβll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle
Yes, youβll have to have them all pulled out
After the Savoy truffle
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: George Harrison
Savoy Truffle lyrics Β© Westminster Music, Harrisongs Ltd
https://jimadamsauthordotcom.wordpress.com/2022/09/24/-a-craving-for-sweets/
AN AUNT’S LAMENT
Our picture challenge – what do you see when you look at this photo.
This one was very difficult and painful for me to write.

Oh, my precious niece. Welcome to the family! I’ve waited so long to meet you and now you’re here.
I’ve longed to hold a little girl in my arms, to breath in that sweet baby smell.
You have two little cousins β my boys. They’re a bit older than you and they’ll protect you always, just as they would have protected their own sisters.
Yes, little one, I almost had baby girls, three in fact; it just wasn’t meant to be. The daughters I desperately wanted but never had. My body just couldn’t hold on to them.
They’re safe in heaven so don’t cry, my love; I cried enough to last a lifetime.
Now it’s time to say good night. Have no fear, sweet girl. I’ll always hold on to you.
NAR Β© 2022
Written for Sadjeβs What Do You See prompt. Photo credit: Kelly Sikkema @ Unsplash.
GUEST POST: A BOTTLE FULL OF BOTTLED UP EMOTIONS
It’s been too long since we heard from my friend Paul Griffiths,
The Birkenhead Poet. It’s about time.
Please take a moment to bask in the sublime words of The Poet.

I’ve bottled up all my feelings of inadequacy.
Then I cast the bottle adrift down by Moreton shore.
Setting my feelings adrift in the great blue yonder.
I’m not in need of such emotions any more.
Sitting by a lighthouse bathed in the darkness.
With not another soul about.
The sound of sound waves breaking comes crashing in.
As all my angst starts pouring out.
Standing at the water’s edge.
With a bottle of bottled up emotions in my hand.
As the sea gently erodes away my fading footprints.
In life’s ever shifting sands.
Encased in glass, trapped like a genie in a bottle.
I cast away the best and worst of me.
As I stand here drowning on dry land.
Yet feeling all at sea.
A bottle crammed full of mixed emotions.
Goes bobbing off to who knows where.
I watch as the bottle drifts off to the far horizon.
But I’m too numb inside to care.
There’s no message in the bottle.
Just a bottled up primal scream.
Full of anger, confusion and resentment.
And every mixed up emotion in between.
A primal scream trapped in a bottle.
With the lid sealed nice and tight.
I sit in silence and watch my bottled up emotions.
Disappearing into the silence of the night.
A primal scream encased in glass.
Full of sorrow, woe and pain.
Cast adrift into the Sea of despair.
To be never seen again.
Will the bottle be swallowed by an ocean of tears.
Or will it reach some far off distant sandy shore.
Either way or neither way.
I’m passed caring anymore.
No tears shall I weep for I’m emotionless.
Nor words of regret shall be spoken.
As long as the glass bottle remains intact.
Then my new found resolve shall remain unbroken.
Time and tide wait for no man.
As I watch the turning of the tides ebb and flow.
I’ve bottled up my feelings for so long.
The time has come for letting go.
As the darkness of such lost feelings fade,
Today seems to be a brighter day.
As my bottle of bottled up mixed emotions.
Drifts silently further and further away.
PTG Β© copyright
OH MOTHER! WHERE ART THOU?
Here we have a pic of a rather disgruntled baby. Our challenge is to take 6 minutes and write a story inspired by this pic. Sounds like child’s play? Let’s see!

Ok, she said she was coming right back to read me a story. That was at least 10 minutes ago. I can hear her voice so she must be on the phone again cos I don’t hear anybody else. I’ve been laying here with Teddydeer waiting for that story and it better be the one about the snail crossing the road. If she tries to cheap it off with Goodnight Moon, I’m really gonna have a fit. I mean, it’s not fair. I can’t TELL her what story I want and when I cry she thinks something’s wrong and the whole story reading thing gets delayed. I don’t ask for much: milk, a clean diaper, cuddles and tickles, my blankie and Teddydeer. Is that unreasonable? I don’t think so. Ooh, I think I hear her coming up the stairs; and speaking of clean diapers, now I have a poopy diaper which she’s gonna want to change before we read. And boy is it stinky. Must be the kale nuggets she tried passing off as sweet potatoes for lunch. Well, serves her right for taking so long. Parents!
NAR Β© 2022
187 words
OBLIVION

Liz sat on the edge of her bed in the darkness of her room. It was August yet her body shook with chills as though it was the dead of winter. She wrapped her heavy sweater tightly around her shivering body but the cold she felt was bone deep and she could not get warm. Her bottom lip began to quiver and her teeth clicked noisily. She rocked back and forth as overwhelming pain consumed every inch of her body. She ran her fingers through her scraggly hair, then grabbed her head and covered her ears to block out the voices screaming at her. Every time another wave of pain washed over her, it was worse than the one before. Her brain screamed in agony and she squeezed her head tighter to strangle the voices that were mocking her. Liz rolled onto her bed and pulled the blanket over her but it did nothing to block the cold and the increasing agony she was in. It wasnβt enough that every bone in her body hurt; her skin felt like a million razor blades were cutting into her flesh. She beat her fists against her head and opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. In an instant she went from freezing cold to burning up. She threw the blanket off and clawed at her clothes, tearing at everything she wore until she sat there naked in the darkness of her room, sweat dripping off her. Now her head felt like it was going to burst and her eyes burned like hot pokers. Her body felt like scorpions were scrambling over every inch of her, their pincers digging deep into her skin. She felt them crawling into her ears and she crushed them hard against the side of her head. Her breathing was shallow and ragged and she knew this time she would surely die. She always wanted to die, to end this hell she was in. Through her excruciating pain she slowly stretched her arm out and reached for the crude nightstand by her bed. Scratching at the drawer she finally managed to open it. She reached in and blindly searched until her fingers came in contact with what she was searching for. Clutching the plastic bag, she dragged it from the drawer and pulled herself into a sitting position. Totally devoid of any emotion, Liz emptied the contents of the bag onto her bed. Her right hand barely had any feeling but she managed to tightly wrap the tourniquet around her arm and pull it with her teeth. She found the pre-filled syringe she scored from some stranger in the building. She slapped the inside of her arm hard until her veins popped and plunged the needle into her arm. The lovely liquid flowed through her body and she immediately began to relax. She slowly fell back onto the bed, the rubber band freeing itself from her teeth. She closed her eyes and melted into oblivion.
NAR Β© 2022
HANKY PANKY

This weekβs challenge asks us to share a period in our lives
when we seized the opportunity to try to get away with something.
βOh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.β That phrase by the famous author Sir Walter Scott is so very true, especially in this scenario.
It all began when my boyfriend Bill (now husband) and I along with his brother Jim and girlfriend Lynne (now wife) came up with the idea of going away for a little weekend of hanky panky. Why we felt the need to get away is a mystery; I suppose being away from home made it exciting and naughty. We were doing just fine in the hanky panky department at home but we were rebellious teenagers who acted first and thought later.
We told our parents we were going skiing in Kingston, New York β about a 2-hour drive from where we lived in The Bronx. The first blazing red flag for my parents should have been the fact that I did not ski. If they had any doubts at that time about the validity of our story, they said nothing; I probably told them I was going to take ski lessons since Bill, Jim and Lynne all knew how to ski.
The brilliant plan we came up with was to tell our parents that Lynne and I would share one room while Bill and Jim stayed in another. In hindsight I canβt help but wonder why my parents would believe such a flimsy story. Whatβs even more incredible is they let me go! Maybe they just relaxed a bit after already raising one daughter who was a saint compared to me.
When the day of our get-away finally arrived, we drove up to Kingston and checked into our hotel. After a bit of alone time in our rooms to unwind from the drive, we all went out to dinner. I remember ordering a sloe gin fizz cocktail and a ridiculously rich steak dish smothered in a creamy mushroom gravy.
*At this point it’s only fair that I inform you, dear readers, that rich and creamy gravy goes through me like a freight train. TMI, I know, but it’s necessary info for this story. I can feel my stomach churning as I write this.*

After dinner we returned to the hotel and all hung out together in Jim and Lynne’s room for a while before heading off to our own room. A couple of hours later I woke Bill up complaining of intense stomach pains. I was in a bad way and he decided to take me right to the hospital. Not wanting to disturb Jim and Lynne, Bill and I went alone. If only we had stayed in our room and let nature take its course. These things have a way of resolving themselves but at the time it seemed more serious than it was and our impulsive nature took over.
After arriving at the hospital and explaining the situation, I was politely but sternly refused treatment because I was underage and there was no adult present to sign any necessary forms. Sick as I was, I was cognizant enough to realize this could be problematic. In other words, we were up the creek without a paddle. There was even talk of notifying my parents. This meant trouble.
DUM DA DUM DUM!! The tangled web was becoming a knotted mess.
Well, this is something hospital personnel see all the time β kids out for some fun without their parentβs consent β and they cut me a little slack. Determining I had nothing more serious than a bad stomachache, they still refused to treat me but they gave me access to a private bathroom. Bill managed to get his hands on some Pepto Bismol at the drugstore across the street and after a while I started feeling better. We returned to the hotel a little while after Jim and Lynne had woken up; they were very surprised to find out I had gotten sick.
Even though I was feeling better, I wasnβt up to our weekend get-away and we all reluctantly agreed to return home. There was no need to come up with an excuse; we would simply tell our parents the truth β that I wasnβt feeling well and we came home early; however, we left out the little bit about the hospital.
Our parents were surprised to see us but agreed we did the right thing by coming home. Everything was going smoothly until later that night as we sat in Bill and Jimβs kitchen talking about our abbreviated weekend trip. Lynne inadvertently said βYeah, Jim and I were surprised to find out Nancy had gotten sick; she looked fine when we left Bill’s room last night.β
Liar, liar! Pants on fire! The knotted web now had us in a stranglehold.
Of course, Lynne immediately realized her gaffe but it was too late. She sat in horrified silence, a nauseous feeling coming over her. Bill and Jimβs mother realized we had not been in separate rooms and the disappointed look on her face was too much for Lynne to bear; she quickly got up and went into another room. Bill managed to come up with an explanation to cover what Lynne said but weβre sure his mother only pretended to believe it.
I donβt know for sure if my parents ever found out about that night in Kingston; I have to believe they didnβt because I never would have heard the end of it if they knew. But was it just a coincidence that I was forbidden to attend Woodstock a few months later? That was never, under any circumstances, ever going to happen. There was no getting around that one.
I learned a lesson that weekend how quickly things can go wrong and how easily someoneβs trust can be lost, even if temporarily.
It took me a hell of a lot longer to realize there are certain foods I couldnβt eat and drinks I couldnβt drink. After too many years of ‘discomfort in the lower tract’, I finally wised up and changed my crazy eating habits but I never lost my rebellious and daring spirit. I just learned to temper it.
NAR Β© 2022
#FBTF
SPREAD ‘EM
Thanks to an similar story by my friend John Holton (see below), Iβm submitting this post to Fandangoβs One Word Challenge.
The prompt word is βchopβ.
Iβm also feeling mixed emotions for I see our recently departed friend Hobbo commented on my story when I originally wrote it last year.
RIP Hobbo.

When I became pregnant with my first baby in 1977, my husband Bill and I were over the moon! We were thrilled and dove headfirst into the whole pregnancy phenomenon β buying furniture and clothes and setting up a nursery. At the time I was 26 years old, weighed 105 pounds and stood 5β4β tall.
Throughout my pregnancy I craved barbecued hamburgers, fresh tomatoes and hot fudge ice cream sundaes every day. After nine months, I gained a whopping 72 pounds and at some point had to remove my weddingβ¦
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LEND ME A HAND!

Greetings to all my wondrous WordPressing friends! It’s incredible how many friends I have made here; your challenges and word prompts etc., are amazingly creative.
When I first started my site in 2017, I figured I’d write a couple of little stories now and then. Well, five years later and one look at my site will show you how that turned out! It took on a life of its own and morphed into Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors.

Not that I’m complaining ….. far from it. My site blossomed and I’m very grateful for all my followers and all the ‘likes’ you give me. Your complimentary and encouraging comments spur me on to be as creative and original as possible.
I’ve been following a lot of you, too, and trying to keep up with all the prompts you post; as much as I’d like to, it’s impossible to participate in and contribute to all of them. If I did, I’d never have time to write my own stories and let’s face it β that is my first love. I’m a storyteller and I think I’ve been neglecting my site just a bit by trying to keep up with all your sites.
Don’t look at me like that; you haven’t even read what I’m going to say!
I have no intention of bailing out on you, my WordPress friends. I just need to cut back a little and try to not spread myself so thin. If something really cool pops out at me on one of your posts (and I’m 100% sure that will happen) then I’ll plunge in and I’ll give it my best shot just like I do with all the stories I write.
This is not goodbye; you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll still be stopping by every day checking up on you, reading your poems and stories and taking up a challenge whenever I can.
Keep on keeping on, everyone. You’re the best group of people ever!
NAR Β© 2022
HIGHWAY STAR
Sadje at Sunday Poser # 97 asks the question of the week: “What’s your driving style?’

Based on my driving record β only one moving violation in 45 years β Iβd say Iβm a very good driver. I love to drive and do all the driving. I hate the way Bill drives and he knows it; too heavy on the brake and the choppy ride makes me car sick. Iβm a much better driver than I am a passenger. π₯΄
There isnβt much on the road that scares me but I donβt like those huge car carriers. Iβm sure the cars are securely locked into place but Iβm always thinking βWhat if one slides off right into traffic or the carrier topples over?β Some of those transport drivers are really hauling ass and you can see them swaying back and forth. One jerk of the steering wheel and WATCH OUT!! What a horror show that would be! π³ The best thing for me to do is pass them as safely and quickly as I can and put them behind me. There are a lot of people who are hesitant to pass trucks and buses but Iβm not. Iβd rather be in front of them and as far away as possible. I like seeing where Iβm going when Iβm driving, not staring at the back of some big rig not knowing when it may suddenly STOP! π
There’s another thing Iβm not crazy about and that’s night driving. Bright headlights coming in the opposite direction cause me to squint and tense up, giving me a headache and making for an unpleasant ride. On the other hand driving on a dark country road with no streetlights β just my headlights β can be stress-inducing; encountering a deer in the road is no joke. Itβs kind of freaky when itβs so hard to see, youβre not even sure if your own lights are on! π¦
As long as I’m talking about pet peeves, let’s discuss another thing that gets on my nerves. Where we live we’re allowed to turn right at a red light unless there’s a sign forbidding it.π¦ It’s convenient and saves time; you just stop, make sure it’s safe to turn and go. There’s no law that says you have to turn right on red but it’s awfully rude for the people waiting to turn if the driver in front refuses to do so. What are these non-turners so afraid of? I don’t understand why they insist on waiting for the light to change to green before turning but I don’t honk them; I just sit and stew, quietly cursing them out. π€¬
When Iβm driving around town running errands etc., Iβm very cautious, especially if the grandkids are in the car with me. There are a lot of cars out and about these days and sometimes it feels like Iβm driving in an obstacle course. Besides, you never know when a little kid will dart out into the street. Thereβs a great sign Iβve been seeing around lately; it says βDrive like your kids live hereβ. Now that drives the message home, doesnβt it? π« (no pun intended). It’s important to drive carefully in town but there’s such a thing as driving too slow and Iβm not very patient with the slowpokes. π Sometimes being too slow is as dangerous as being too fast.
When Iβm driving on the highway I admit I tend to drive fast but Iβm not reckless and Iβm in total control at all times. I don’t fiddle with the radio πΆ or eat π or talk on the phone π² when I’m driving. I just mind my own business and keep up with the flow of traffic. Frequently youβll see some big-shot highway stars changing lanes, speeding and weaving in and out of traffic. π Where are they going thatβs so important anyway? However, if someone is going too slow, Iβve been known to tailgate and that makes Bill jittery. π΅βπ« He always says, βIf I see brake lights up ahead and I donβt feel like weβre slowing down, I get nervous.” I can see his foot automatically reaching for the invisible brake by his left foot while his right hand is clutching the door, white knuckles showing. I know what I’m doing but if anyone is nervous while I’m driving, it’s time to slow down and take their feelings into account. I want my passengers to be comfortable, not on edge.
Bill is absolutely right, of course, and I will never fault him for reminding me to back off or slow down. Ever since our major accident more than 20 years ago, I canβt blame him. That was a freak accident and a harrowing experience. If youβd care to read about it, hereβs the link: https://theelephantstrunk.org/2021/12/21/a-roll-of-the-dice/.
Aside from that major accident, I’ve been involved in two minor incidents: on two separate occasions I was rear-ended by school buses on the first day of school in the rain at the exact same location! π What are the odds of that happening? It’s rather mind- boggling! π€― There are few things scarier than looking up at your rearview mirror and seeing a large vehicle barreling down on you. Oh, I forgot to mention the time I was rear ended by some asshole who hit me while I was stopped at a red light. It was a quiet street with no one around, no witnesses. After this idiot hit me, I pulled off to the right to check for damages and he pulled a U-turn and took off! Nice, right? π‘ What’s with all the rear-ending? That’s why Bill warns me about tailgating.
Cars these days come equipped with some amazing features and I make full use of them. I would be lost (literally) without my GPS π€·πΌββοΈ; when I have no idea where I’m going, it’s very reassuring to have a kind voice giving me step by step directions. There’s also the backup camera which is invaluable; I don’t know how I drove for so long without one. The lights on the sideview mirrors which flash and beep when it’s unsafe to change lanes are very helpful, too, especially to warn you about those drivers who love to hide in your blindspot.
Iβm not a risk-taker when Iβm driving but at the same time if Iβm stuck in a jam and I see a way I can safely get myself out of it, I’ll go for it. Getting behind the wheel of a car is a huge leap of faith; we never know what the other guy is gonna do β intentionally or not. There are so many things that can go wrong. Iβve heard itβs safer to fly in a plane than it is to drive a car; I guess I believe that but I feel a whole lot better on solid ground than up in the sky. βοΈ
Drive safely, my friends, and watch out for those rear-enders! They’re a real pain in the ass! π³
NAR Β© 2022
REBIRTH

The writing challenge from Fandango #FFFC #183: In what way does this image inspire?
Unseen, unwanted and alone
Iβve stood here a thousand years
Until you came, a man forlorn
And I felt your salty wet tears
Whatever caused this pain in you
And made you feel this way
Whatever broke your heart in two
Now makes my branches sway
Please come back again to me
Lay your head upon my bough
Cry your tears so tenderly
And smooth your furrowed brow
Tis life I feel again in me
Love locked in by this earth
Come back to this abandoned tree
And instill in me rebirth
NAR Β© 2022
NANCY HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

Hey! I know that a chick. You know her, too. It’s ME, the artist formerly known as Nancy Richy. Knew I couldn’t fool ya!
Well, it’s never too late to make some changes in life, teach an old dog new tricks, give the house a fresh coat of paint, etc etc.
So, may I introduce to you the scribe you’ve known for all these years β The Sicilian Storyteller! I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse AND tell you a story at the same time! LOL!!
My website hasn’t changed; only my penname has been altered. It’s your same old friend with a new handle; don’t be afraid to turn that handle and come inside. I don’t bite β well, only those I like. π
Let’s get real: I’m proud of my heritage and the fact that I’m a writer; it’s who I am and what I do so why not go with it?!
Hello, all my friends! See you later! Ciau, tutti amichi! Ni sintemu doppo! ππΌββοΈ
NAR Β© 2022

DOMINICK & PEPPINO

For this weekβs challenge on Song Lyric Sunday weβve been asked to go with novelty songs. I wanted to select two songs that I think some of us more mature bloggers may know, especially those of us of Italian descent.
The first song is βDominick the Donkeyβ sung by Lou Monte, a funny sing-along Christmas record first recorded in 1960. It was brought to modern audiences in 2011, especially in the UK where Chris Moyles gave it regular play on his BBC Radio 1 breakfast show. In the run-up to Christmas of that year, the song reached #3 in the Christmas 2011 UK singles chart. Though βDominic the Donkeyβ reached #3 in the UK, it never charted in the US.
Three years later, Lou Monte saw success with βPeppino, the Italian Mouseβ another novelty song which peaked at #5 in the US. It had entered the Billboard Hot Top 100 Chart on December 2, 1962 and spent 10 weeks on the Top 100.
Here for your enjoyment are both songs.
Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It’s Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)
Santa’s got a little friend,
His name is Dominick.
The cutest little donkey,
You never see him kick.
When Santa visits his paisons,
With Dominick he’ll be.
Because the reindeer cannot,
Climb the hills of Italy.
Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It’s Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)
Jingle bells around his feet,
And presents on the sled.
Hey! Look at the mayor’s derby,
On top of Dominick’s head.
A pair of shoes for Louie,
And a dress for Josephine.
The labels on the inside says,
They’re made in Brooklyn.
Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It’s Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)
Children sing, and clap their hands,
And Dominick starts to dance.
They talk Italian to him,
And he even understands.
Cumpare sing,
Cumpare su,
And dance ‘sta tarantel.
When jusamagora comes to town,
And brings do ciuccianello.
Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It’s Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)
Hey! Dominick
Writer/s: Ray Allen, Sam Saltzberg, Wandra Merrell
Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
Pepino, oh, you little mouse, oh, won’t you go away
Find yourself another house to run around and play
You scare my girl, you eat my cheese, you even drink my wine
I try so hard to catch you but you trick me all the time
Cesta no surecillo a basoccella dinda mur
Ogna sere quella esce quanda casa scura
Endo dindo la cucina balla sulasu
A parrano malandrino pura un gabo sapaur
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
The other night, I called my girl
I asked her could we meet
I said, “Let’s go to my house
We could have a bite to eat”
And as we walked in through the door
She screamed at what she saw
There was little Pepino
Doin’ the cha, cha on the floor
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
Quella non ci piace u formaggio American
Quella va trova no poca Parmesan
La fatto ghiata ghiat gusto ena cor
Quando cella camina para probino caladur
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Ray Allen / Wandra Merrell
Pepino The Italian Mouse lyrics Β© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
NAR Β© 2022