Written for Violet’s Challenge where she has asked
us to include the following phrase into our writings;
“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next
great adventure”. Also for Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday
where the challenge is to write about a song that
mentions river/stream/creek/brook. This is my story.
Tag: Death
November Air
This week at Glyn Wilton’s Mixed Music Bag,
he’s asking us to write about a song in which
the title or a line mentions the current month.
Here’s my November artist and his song.
Did You Know
Who died of a ruptured appendix on Halloween?
Continue reading “Did You Know”Did You Know/RDP Sunday: organ
Today at RDP, we are asked to share a
story, poem, photo, painting, essay, etc.,
focusing on the word ‘organ’. I chose to
include today’s prompt as a feature in my
“Did You Know?” blog. Here’s my take.
First Light Of Dawn
Written for Muse on Monday where David asks us
to write a story about baking late at night.
Here’s where the prompt took me.
That Old Rockin’ Chair’s Got Me
Written for Mark’s Today’s Writing Practice #9
where we’re given photo and written prompts.
Here’s where the prompts took me.
The Archivist
Written for Only Murders In My Mind
Weekly Writing Prompt #71 and the
photo prompt shown below.
Here’s where the image took me.
Black Day In July
This week at Glyn Wilton’s Mixed Music Bag,
he’s asking us to write about a song in which
the title or a line mentions the current month.
Here’s my featured July artist and his song.
Been A Long Time
Written for Song Lyric Sunday,
where we’re writing about songs
that were released posthumously.
Here’s how the theme inspired me.
Youthful Indiscretions
Written for Song Lyric Sunday.
Here’s what I have to say.
Couldn’t Get Away
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
and also for Melissa’s Fandango
Flash Fiction Challenge #319. This
week I am inspired by two photos.
In exactly 250 words, this is my story.
That’s Entertainment – Letter O
Welcome back to “That’s Entertainment!” –
The A To Z Challenge.
I hope you enjoy my musical selections.
Let’s see what’s up today!
It Is What It Is
Written for OLWG #412.
The three prompts are shown below.
This is my take.
Whisked Away
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative in 250 words or less.
The photo below is our inspiration; this is my story.
Identical Grief Revisited: A Haibun
Written for dVerse Poets – Fancy
Meeting You At The Pub Today and
Saturday. We are asked to share any
poem of our choosing. I am sharing
a haibun I wrote almost one year ago.
Since then, our feelings remain unchanged,
except now laughter comes a bit more easily.
The Stain
Written for OLWG #407. The three prompts
are shown below. This is my story.
The Facade
Written for OLWG #406.
The three prompts are shown below.
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction;
it is not about me and my husband.
The only parallel is the death of my
husband’s identical twin on April 2, 2024.
This is a look at what might have been.
And The Band Played On
Today I have reprised a story from 2018.
Rewritten for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative in 250 words or less.
The photo below is our inspiration; this is my story.
Slow Dancing
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we
are urged to get creative in 250 words or less. The
photo below is our inspiration and this is my story.
Bones Of Steel
Introduction: More Italians have emigrated to the United States than any other people in Europe. When they first arrived, speaking no English, they learned very quickly the only jobs available to them were in sanitation and construction. They took pride in their work. The resulting cathedrals and skyscrapers dotting Manhattan are testaments to their craftsmanship and determination.
I will not lie; this is not a new piece. It’s been
whittled down from its original 746 words to
250 words for The Unicorn Challenge where
we are urged to get creative using the photo
below as our inspiration. This is my story.
Crystal-Clear & Velvet-Smooth
Today in Jim Adams’ post entitled Kicking It Off,
Jim has asked us to write about a song by
someone who was born in the month of January
Written for Song Lyric Sunday, this is my choice.
Gone Fishing
A Dangerous Profession: Conclusion
Written for OLWG, FOWC and
Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.
This is the conclusion to my story.
On The Other Side
Written for The New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild.
The three prompts this week from TN at OLWG #393 are
1) night will end; 2) look, over there, did you see that?; and
3) sittin’ on a rainbow. This is my story, based on true events
experienced by my son and his wife. Believe or not; it’s all true.
A Sudden Slip Of The Tongue
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Día de los Muertos ~ A Haibun
This week the three prompts from aooga at OLWG #389 are
1) thirsty souls, 2) police dog, and 3) Armando’s Market,
to be used as we like …. as is, as an inspiration or not at all.
Also, Gerry C & Sue W ask us to incorporate the word “eerie”
in their Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge. And finally,
I have used one of Kevin’s brilliant images from No Theme Thursday
as the inspiration for my post today. Here is my haibun.
The Confrontation
Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.
“Secrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. You’re living a secret life, Kenneth, and it’s destroying us.” June’s lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire …. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.
Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.
June wondered if he was even listening.
“You had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. “Yes, darling. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.”
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
“I’m leaving, June. I’m going back to the Congo.”
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. “And back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. “How could you, Kenneth!”
“Sunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”
“Dead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.
“The messages I’ve been getting .… they’re all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now she’s dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.”
“No! It can’t be true! I don’t understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. We’ll find the best doctors and fight this together!” June sobbed.
“Oh, darling June. If only it were that easy. There’s just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.”
NAR©2024
This is “Jungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Remembering Roberta
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim Adams has asked his
readers to choose a song that makes them think about life. Here’s mine.
To talk about my featured song, I first need to tell you about my friend, Roberta. She and I had been friends since our sons attended nursery school together, some 44 years ago. Even back then in her early 30s, Roberta had a shock of gorgeous silver-white hair that was always perfectly yet casually coiffed. Just like my grandmother, Roberta’s hair color changed when she was in her 20s and I never saw her with a different color or style.
Roberta’s laugh was one of a kind …. some might call it a cackle …. and you heard her long before you saw her! She rarely took life too seriously and was very forthcoming with her opinions, whether you wanted to hear them or not. I guess you could call her a ‘free spirit’; she lived very much in the moment, often arriving late for appointments because she ran into someone who needed a friend to talk to.
There was never any doubt where you stood with Roberta. If she was pissed off about something, you knew it. She’d speak her mind, clear the air and never mention the issue again. Done and forgotten. But not just forgotten …. forgiven as well. She didn’t hold a grudge; I always thought that was an admirable trait. And she didn’t lie. If anything, she was too honest and her ‘bluntness’ could turn people off. She really didn’t care what people thought about her; life was not a popularity contest. As I said, people always knew exactly how Roberta felt.
She was a devout Catholic, attending Mass every weekend, but she was never showy about it. Roberta and her husband Martin were in charge of the church’s food pantry …. collecting food for families in need …. and not just during the holidays or when a crisis hit but every day of the year …. however, the holidays were very important to Roberta, especially Christmas. That was when she amped up the drive for food, clothes and gifts for needy families in the area, especially the children. In all the years I knew Roberta, I don’t remember anyone else heading up the food pantry except her. She and Martin were special people, far from saints but doing God’s work in an unassuming way.
It came as a terrible blow to everyone when Roberta became dangerously ill almost overnight in August 2014 and was diagnosed with West Nile Virus (for which there is no vaccine or cure although most people recover with proper care). Roberta had an extremely virulent case and within days she lapsed into a coma and never regained consciousness. At one point, she was the only documented case of “death by West Nile Virus” in Westchester County, NY.
The day I visited Roberta at the nursing home was one I will never forget. Had it not been for her name on the door and her glorious mane of white hair, I would not have recognized my longtime friend; the virus left her body terribly swollen, facial features almost fused together. I sat by her bedside, held her hand and sang a song I had sung many times before. And as I sang to my friend, I saw her eyelid barely flutter and her finger quiver ever so slightly and no one will ever convince me that she was unaware of my presence. Four months later, during Christmas week, Roberta died. It was the perfect time for her to take her leave.
The song I sang to my friend that day in the nursing home was “What A Wonderful World”.
According to Wikipedia, “What A Wonderful World” was written by Bob Thiele and George David Weiss. It was first recorded by Louis Armstrong and released as a single in 1967. In April 1968, it topped the pop chart in the UK but performed poorly in the United States because the president of ABC Records disliked the song’s arrangement and refused to promote it. (There’s more on Wiki about that and it’s pretty interesting.) After the song was heard in the 1987 film Good Morning, Vietnam, it was reissued as a single in 1988 and rose to #32 on the Billboard Hot 100. Louis Armstrong’s recording was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999.
Every time I hear this song, I remember Roberta and our last visit together. This is “What A Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.
LYRICS
I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying
I love you
I hear babies cry
I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more
Than I’ll ever know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Ooh, yes
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: George David Weiss/Robert Thiele
What a Wonderful World lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Concord Music Publishing LLC, Kanjian Music, Tratore
Big thanks to Jim Adams for hosting another great Song Lyric Sunday this week. Be sure to follow the link and check out Jim’s site.
Thanks for stopping by. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
When Push Comes To Shove: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.
Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Push Comes To Shove” by Van Halen.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Bisnonna*
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.
The ambience in our house was different today, quietly busy as delivery men and acquaintances paying their respects came and went. My father and mother’s uncles directed the traffic of floral deliveries and positioned the many arrangements throughout the parlor. My mother and her aunts labored in the kitchen like silent worker bees preparing trays of food for the funeral dinner tomorrow.
We children sat meekly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically restrained. Occasionally we would glance toward the elevated casket in the center of the room and quickly look away. At 6:00 we were whisked off to the dining room where we wordlessly ate our evening meal, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil.
There seemed to be a never-ending flow of people, a soft parade of mourners entering our house. Veiled women dabbed their eyes and men removed their hats, heads bowed. This stream flowed seamlessly from 2:00 in the afternoon until 9:30 that evening, many people lingering to reflect while caressing their rosary beads. A priest arrived shortly after 9:30; he spoke softly in our native Sicilian dialect, offering prayers and words of consolation. When he was finished, everyone except my mother’s aunts and uncles departed. My little cousins, some no longer able to stay awake, were carried home and my sister and I were shooed off to our bedroom upstairs.
It had been a long and sorrowful day. My great-grandmother, the family matriarch, had died.
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.
Author’s Note: I was nine years old when my great-grandmother died. Much of that day is etched in my mind; in particular, I remember being unable to sleep that night knowing there was a dead body in a coffin downstairs in my parlor. Never ever will I forget the cold and waxy feel of my bisnonna’s skin on my lips as I, along with all the other children, lined up to place a kiss on her forehead … not something we did willingly.
This is “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 