Written for Muse on Monday where David
asks us to write a story about cold winter
as the antagonist. Also for FOWC With
Fandango and the word “shivering”.
Here’s where the prompts took me.
Tag: FOWC with Fandango
Bacon Bean Burrito
Written for Muse on Monday where David
asks us to write a story where the main
character finds something in his food.
Also for FOWC With Fandango where
the prompt word is “clerk”. Here’s
where the prompts took me.
Swingers
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#452 where we’re asked to be creative in
exactly 72 words using the word ‘letter’.
Also for FOWC With Fandango, using the
word “jive”. Here’s where the prompts took me.
Entirely Inappropriate
Written for FOWC with Fandango.
The prompt word is “scandalous”;
this is my take.
Aw, Shucks!
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#434 where we’re asked to be creative in exactly
77 words using the word ‘woebegone’. Also for
Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge
where the prompt word is ‘imagine’’ and Fandango’s FOWC
using the word ‘weed’. Here’s where the three prompts took me.
Shadows In The Rearview
Written for Gerry & Sue’s Weekly
Prompts Weekend Challenge,
incorporating the word ‘melancholy’
and Fandango’s FOWC – ‘worry’.
This is my story.
The Pursuit Of Perfection
Written for Esther’s “Can You Tell A Story In…..?
#290” – exactly 45 words using the five required
prompts: ‘doodle’, ‘temper’, ‘gin’, ‘wart’, and ‘ruby’;
also for Fandango’s FOWC – ‘quest’ and Fandango’s
FOWC – ‘ young’. In exactly 45 words, this is my flash.
There Be Beasties
Written for Esther’s “Can You Tell A Story In…..?
#289” – exactly 15 words using the three required
prompts: ‘exercise’, ‘neighbor’, and ‘troll’,
and Fandango’s FOWC prompt word ‘still’.
In exactly 15 words, this is my flash.
“Fresh” Tomatoes
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt 384 (groceries),
Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge (mainly orange)
and Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (mock). Here’s my 29 word flash.
While shopping for groceries, I was surprised to see the tomatoes were mostly orange and looked like sickly miniature pumpkins. Oh, how you mock me, my beloved red Heirlooms!
NAR©2024
29 Words
This is “Home Grown Tomatoes” by Jay Ungar and Molly Mason
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 Playground
Written for Six Sentence Story, incorporating the word “slide”,
Fandango’s Story Starter #141 and four additional word prompts
Allison arrived home to discover, propped up against her front door, a mysterious package addressed to her but with no return address; in these dangerous times, opening a strange package with no identification is a reckless thing to do and Allison isn’t the type to take chances, no matter how curious she was about this unexpected delivery.
Unlocking the front door, Allison gave the package one last glance and went inside but she couldn’t think of anything other than the box on her porch and eventually gave up, heading back out; the more she looked at the box, the more one sticking point nagged at her: the print on the hand-written shipping label looked extremely familiar.
Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, Allison realized the handwriting was her father’s; a thousand thoughts flew through her mind as she tried to figure out what he could have sent her, finally coming to the conclusion that her dad must have packed away a few items for her which belonged to her late mother .… items of sentimental value …. before he sold the old family house and settled into a senior living facility.
No longer wary, Allison excitedly picked up the package and brought it into the kitchen where she placed it on the counter and with a knife carefully followed the taped-up folds until she was able to open the box; resting atop the packing material was a small envelope with her name on it written in the same handwriting as the shipping label and inside the envelope was a note which read, “Dear Ali, I remember how much you loved these and I wanted you to have them, maybe one day for your own little girl” ~ Love, Dad.
Puzzlement creased Allison’s forehead as she gently pushed away the bubble wrap to discover one of her favorite toys – a miniature playground set complete with working swings, a seesaw, monkey bars, a slide and sandbox; there was even the little family with their pet dog which she had named Tess.
Now all smiles, Allison carried the pieces into the sunroom and placed them on the side table next to her chair near the window; they looked so happy and gay with the sun shining on them and Allison sighed, not at all surprised to feel a tear running down her cheek.
NAR©2024
This is “Lazy Day” by Spanky and Our Gang
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.
Just An Average Junkie
Alright, alright, alright!
It’s time once again for a Six Sentence Story,
this time incorporating the word ‘remote’.
Here’s mine, with a few other prompts just for fun.
The reflection of my timeworn face in the bathroom mirror is harrowing, one I still can’t accept is me .… someone who was always strikingly attractive, impeccably dressed with my designer labels neatly tucked away and out of sight; these days I see only one person on a regular basis and he doesn’t give a shit what I look like as long as I have the money to pay him.
There’s that old twitch in my left eye, an unwelcome reminder that a killer headache and nausea are about to overtake me if I don’t eat some Skittles, a much more socially acceptable term than that hushed-up, dirty little name that makes all the so-called ‘well-adjusted’ people cringe as though in the presence of a leper; fucking hypocrites who gleefully suck up their gummies and hemp oil and legalized medical marijuana while sipping on their “superb organic Pouilly-Fiussé”.
My hands are shaking in equal amounts of excitement and desperation as I check out what my guy has delivered today – reds, blues and yellows – a difficult choice, to be sure, but the numerous voices in my head have made a unanimous decision: mellow yellow to match my jaundiced skintone and disposition; yes, I’ve read the headlines and the fine print warnings – I’m not an idiot, you know, and that makes me laugh out loud!
Let’s see what’s in the magician’s box to fix this sallow complexion …. spackle-like primer to fill in the yawning crevices around my mouth, foundation with a bit of a dewy finish (or so the advertisements promise), creamy rosy blush for my cheeks, glossy brush-on plumper for luscious lips, pencil to fill in my threadbare brows, glittery highlighter to lessen the deep-set appearance of my eyes and layer upon layer of mascara on my straggly lashes.
Looking at my reflection once again, I see that I’m now back .… returned from the dead, if you will …. and I look sensational, provocative and sensual with just the right touch of promiscuousness, yet there are two burned-out, remote eyes blankly staring back at me.
I slip into my work clothes, ready for another night hitting the pavement, when I feel that familiar sensation and I’m faced with the recurring stalemate – whether I should just take all the pretty candy, lie down and pray I never wake up or put myself back on the meat market to earn enough money for another bag of Skittles; “Fuck it, I’m already dressed” I think as I pop a red and slam the door behind me.
NAR©2024
This is “The Pusher” by Steppenwolf
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.
A Little Alone Time
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt
has challenged us to write something clever
in exactly 91 words, using the word “intent”.
This is my response in exactly 91 words.
Angie eased into the bathtub.
Her once lithe and graceful body had been rebelling for a while; now it had declared mutiny.
She didn’t expect to have free time today so this moment of solitude was bliss.
Angie barely had time to relax when she heard the persistent nudging on the door; a black paw soon found its way into the narrow opening.
Sidney, the cat.
He was intent on getting into the bathroom to see what Angie was up to without him.
“Sid!” Angie scolded playfully. “A little privacy, please!”
NAR©2024
91 Words
This is Rufus Wainwright with “Alone Time”
All text, graphics and videos) is 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.
Driving Lessons
“Danielle wants to learn how to drive, Bob”
“Don’t look at me, Helen. Last year’s lessons with Vanessa nearly put me over the edge.”
“Well, I can’t do it! Ever since Marcia Morelli snatched that promotion for Real Estate Agent of the Year away from me, I’m spending all my time at work playing catch up.”
“That’s not my problem, Helen. Anyway, I signed on to coach Brandon’s baseball team this season, remember?”
“Oh, cry me a river, Bob! You’re the one who took an early retirement; your schedule is much more flexible than mine.”
“That’s right, I retired so I could do things I enjoy like playing golf and going fishing. It’s important to stay mobile after retirement so we don’t become dust in the wind.”
“Well, if you can’t do it and I can’t do it, why don’t we get Vanessa to teach Danielle how to drive?”
“Are you out of your mind, woman! Vanessa’s been driving less than a year. She can’t take Danielle out driving! Can you imagine the mayhem when those two hit the streets?”
“At least I’m making suggestions, Bob. All you’re doing is justifying why you can’t do it.”
“Oh, Helen, save your breath and don’t look at me with such contempt. I’m right and you know it. I won’t idly sit by and watch both our daughters driving without an adult in the car. It’s out of the question.”
“You won’t? Oh, that’s wonderful, Bob! I knew you’d come around!”
“Now hold on there, Helen. I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Why, sure you did, Bob. You said you wouldn’t sit idly by while the girls are driving around without an adult in the car.”
“But I didn’t mean…..”
“Look at it this way, Bob. Danielle is used to being driven everywhere she goes. If you don’t teach her how to drive, you’ll just have to drive here wherever she wants to go. I’d say this is a win/win situation.”
“And how do you figure that, Helen?”
“Simple! By giving Danielle driving lessons, you’ll be doing your part to keep our insurance rates down, you’ll be able to coach Brandon’s baseball team and still have time to do the things you enjoy and you won’t turn into dust in the wind. And all it takes is just one daily one-hour driving lesson! You’re a genius, Bob!”
“I am? Yeah, I guess I am. Hey! Wait just a gosh darn minute, Helen!”
NAR©2024
This is Kansas with “Dust In The Wind”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
In Denial
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt has challenged us to write
creatively in exactly 60 words, incorporating the word ‘vapid’.
Using a few other prompt words, here is my 60-word response
in the form of a Dectina Refrain and a Haiku Duet.
Old
man with
vapid thoughts
and empty eyes
lives in denial;
puppeteers pulling strings
feeding hypnotic untruths
into flaccid, desolate brain
on the outskirts of insanity.
Old man with vapid thoughts and empty eyes
Gray, grayer smoke
above the clouds in the sky
no light shining brightly
Brown dying trees
dried leaves lay at the roots
no buds tacitly emerging
NAR©2024
60 words
This is “Fool On The Hill” by the Beatles
Dectina Refrain:
This refrain is written as follows:
1st line – 1 syllable, 2nd line – 2 syllables
3rd line – 3 syllables, and so on for 9 lines;
the 10th line is comprised of the first four lines
as one stand-alone line.
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
From Eden
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt has challenged us to write
a poem or prose of exactly 97 words, including the word ‘anfractuous’.
I’ve added a few other prompts I had laying around, namely from
FOWC with Fandango, Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge and
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge. This is my 97-word story.
They lived in lush green perfection of ripe fruit and pristine water. When their misadventures and disobedience angered the Maker, they and their sons were cast out.
One son, a farmer, made an offering of paltry wheat; the Maker was displeased.
The other, a shepherd, offered his firstborn lamb, which pleased the Maker.
In a panic, the jealous farmer killed his brother.
Enraged and saddened, the Maker banished the murderer, condemning him to a life of endless wandering.
Anfractuous paths covered the land. The farmer roamed for years, until blindly falling from a cliff to his death.
NAR©2024
97 Words
This is Hozier with “From Eden”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
Supper’s Ready
An oldie from 2017, revamped to
include several word prompts from
FOWC with Fandango,
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt and
Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge.
Hard boiled egg whites, cottage cheese, skim milk. Day 1. Brian sighed.
Boiled rice, a mozzarella slice, lactose-free milk. Day 2. Brian cried.
Yogurt, tofu, almond milk. Day 3. Brian died …. just a little.
What a drag.
After receiving the diagnosis “ULCER”, Brian’s wife Ali had been lovingly, carefully packing his lunches. He checked the contents of his bento box: plain broiled cod, boiled cauliflower and coconut milk. “This must be her White Period”, he thought, wistfully.
Sensitive and embarrassed coworkers averted their eyes as they passed Brian’s cubicle on their way to lunch. Gone were the cheerful calls “C’mon, Brian! We’re going to Smokin’ Joe’s Hot Wings for lunch!” or “Salsa and nachos in the hospitality room, guys!” Oh, the humanity!
Brian’s computer pinged. It was an email from Ali: “Hi, hon. Hope you’re having a great day. Did you find the Maalox I put in your backpack? We’re having something special for dinner tonight …. poached chicken, brown rice and garbanzo beans …. hope you’re hungry! Love ya, babe! xo”
“Ah, Ali’s Beige Period.” Brian stared blankly at the computer screen. “I wonder how many beige foods there are …. oatmeal, boiled potatoes, matzoh….”
How long could he continue at this rate?
Depressed, fatigued and hungry, Brian put his head in his hands; a solitary tear fell through his fingers onto his khakis. Slowly the wet spot morphed into the shape of a slice of pizza. “What the …. ?!” Incredulous, Brian blinked and wiped his eyes. “What’s happening to me?!” Images of devilish, cramp-inducing, bowel-seizing delicacies danced ‘round his head …. jalapeño poppers, tacos, barbecued ribs.
The dreaded hunger hallucinations! Sweating, Brian texted Ali. “Babe. Last minute meeting with the deputy mayor. Sorry, I’m gonna miss dinner. Love ya!”
Brian lied.
Grabbing the bottle of Maalox and a Smokin‘ Joe’s menu from his desk drawer, Brian bolted from his cubicle, giddy as a school girl at her first dance.
“Outta my way, boys, outta my way!!”
Brian knew he was taking a big chance but he just didn’t care. He was starving, dammit! And out he ran, laughing and joyfully shouting, “Jalapeño-effing-poppers, baby!!”
NAR © 2024
Doing a great parody of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”, this is “Weird Al” Yankovic with “Eat It”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
Big Whoop
It’s a fiver today,
including prompt words from
FOWC with Fandango
and Weekly Prompts Wednesday.
“Debonair, sophisticated and charming” sighed Alice Carter. “I just love that movie. Cary Grant is so good-looking and classy. They don’t make movies like that anymore, you know?”
“And that Ingrid Bergman is some beauty, too” replied Alice’s husband Ralph. “Those smoldering eyes, high cheekbones, graceful neck – a real looker, that one.”
“And so chic, too, Ralph. You always knew a real lady when you saw one. Well, I better start dinner. I’m making your favorite – sausage and potato casserole.”
“I hope you made a lemon meringue pie for dessert.”
“Of course! Have we ever celebrated your birthday without your favorite pie? I know what you like, Ralph.”
“No, we have not, Alice. The kitchen is your milieu and no one makes a lemon meringue pie like you, my little chickadee!” Alice blushed with delight; Ralph’s compliments were rare these days.
Returning to the den after starting dinner, Alice found Ralph was watching the weather channel. “My goodness! That weather girl’s pants are awfully tight! They’re a bit unseemly for TV, I think. Don’t you agree, Ralph?“
“Oh, I don’t think so at all, Alice. She’s got a lovely figure; she probably works out every day. I’m sure her parents instilled in her an excellent work ethic. You know, I remember reading in some countries the TV weather girls are topless.”
“Topless? Why, I never” Alice declared indignantly; Ralph switched the channel to the news.
Alice clucked her tongue. “Why aren’t there more delightful men on the news, men like that handsome Peter Jennings?”
“Because he’s dead” replied Ralph.
“How about Mike Wallace? He’s so dapper.”
“Also dead” Ralph reminded Alice.
“Look at that clown, Glenn Beck, wearing jeans and sneakers on a TV news show! Give him a beanie and he’d look just like one of those little rascal kids. What ever happened to that nice Matt Lauer?”
“Fired for overt misconduct and sexual harassment” replied Ralph.
“Good Lord! I don’t believe it! Well, what about Bill O’Reilly, Eric Bolling and Charlie Rose?”
“Fired, fired and, oh yeah .… fired. Alice, can I please have a moment of peace and quiet to watch the news?”
“Well, pardon me for living! No need to be rude, Ralph” she sniffed. “I’m going to check on the sausage casserole.”
When she returned Alice stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my God, Ralph! What on earth are you watching now?”
“It’s still the news, Alice. In fact, it’s called ‘The News Channel’. News all day, every day.”
“The ‘X Rated News Channel’, you mean! No wonder those poor men got fired. What red-blooded guy could resist floozies like that showing off their goods on national TV? They look like hookers! And look at you sitting there in your underwear all bug-eyed. Disgusting!” Alice harrumphed.
“Put a lid on it, Alice! You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. These women are professionals. They’re lawyers, professors and judges, not some bimbos with sketchy qualifications who just walked in off the street.”
“Yeah, they’re highly qualified alright …. as adult entertainers!” Alice snapped. “Take that one on the end with the dyed blonde hair and skirt so short I can practically see Niagara Falls! What happened …. did they run out of fabric? And the other one with the dark hair. Who is she …. one of the Kardashians? With those spike heels and implants, I’m sure she can get a job as a pole dancer!”
“Woah, woah, woah! That’s enough, Alice! Look, this here is Megyn Kelly. She has a law degree, is a journalist, an author and a world-famous political commentator as well as a news anchor. The dark-haired one is Kimberly Guilfoyle. She’s a political analyst, an attorney and former First Lady of San Francisco. Now she’s engaged to Donald Trump, Jr.”
“Well, big whoop!! If you think I’m impressed, Ralph, you’ve got another thing comin’. You’re delusional!”
“I don’t care what you think, Alice. I’m sure their families are very proud of them. Besides being absolutely stunning, they are brilliant. Now why don’t you just run back into the kitchen and let me enjoy my one indulgence.”
“Indulgence??” Alice countered. “So you admit it’s all about cheap thrills and nothing to do with the news. You’re such a pig, Ralph!”
“Alice, your ignorance is showing. Can we please stop talking about this? How’s that sausage coming, anyway? I’m starving!”
Alice saw red. “Here’s an idea for you, Ralph. Get Kimberly what’s-her-name to see to your sausage. I’m sure she’s highly qualified! And one more thing …. Happy Effin’ Birthday!”
NAR © 2024
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge -Weather
This is Judas Priest with “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming”.
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
Dem Bones
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge
is challenging us to write a
Six Sentence Story using
the word “kick”. I threw in 8 other
prompts I had in my back pocket;
this is my response.
Last week I had my bi-weekly (every two weeks) session with my pain management doctor; I always get a perverse kick out of the term ‘pain management’ and feel like I need to say something witty and clever (sarcastic) about it to the insentient people who work there, hereafter referred to as ‘the staff’.
“You know, the term ‘pain management‘ is all well and good however I’m really here in search of ‘pain termination‘”, I mention to the front desk receptionist who is characteristically unresponsive; my darling, unceasingly patient husband stands to the side with a sheepish yet accepting half-smile on his face (sometimes accompanied by a masterful eye-roll) knowing all to well there are times I cannot or simply will not control my Sicilian forked tongue, being the perspicacious and savvy sort that I am.
My doctor’s office is in a building with other doctors so there’s always a soft parade of wheelchairs and people with canes, crutches, walkers or other means of physical assistance going into the various offices; many have spouses/friends/caregivers accompanying them with dogeared paperbacks, sudoku puzzles or endlessly-beeping cell phones except for my husband and me who both have appointments with the same doctor for ‘management’ of our pain, he at 11:00 and me at 11:20, and so we accompany and entertain each other.
A key is needed to unlock the door to the ‘Guest Restrooms’ which are located near the elevators; this is a major inconvenience and I have issues with this arrangement since there’s not one but two ‘Staff Only’ restrooms in the doctor’s office which screams HYPOCRISY considering the patients are the ones who would benefit from having a restroom nearby and because the ‘staff’ sometimes uses the ‘guest’ restroom when they have their own damn restrooms (but we can’t use theirs), and since no one is actually resting in the ‘restroom’, let’s drop the euphemism and call it what it is – a toilet, FFS!
I persevere and consider the walk to the ‘Guest Restroom’ part of my daily exercise but rest assured – I am seething inside and secretly hope there’s a member of the ‘staff’ in the ‘Guest Restroom’ who might accidentally trip over someone’s cane; there are a lot of canes at ‘pain management’.
Speaking of canes, I bring along my bold new walking stick; I don’t always need it but I think it makes me look erudite, sophisticated and elegant in a nonchalant sort of way, even though my knees are barking like angry junkyard dogs; looking good is half the battle.
NAR©2024
From 1940, this is Fats Waller with “Dem Dry Bones”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
As He’d Hoped
Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers
has challenged us to write a 100-word
story prompted by the photo below.
Incorporating prompts from
Weekly Prompts Wednesday and
FOWC with Fandango,
this is my response to Rochelle’s challenge.
How many years does someone need to spend in a loveless marriage before the word divorce is mentioned?
That was Barbara’s regrettable life. When her husband finally approached her, she didn’t hesitate; she knew she couldn’t love him as he’d hoped.
Their split was swift and formal.
Now Barbara walked out of the Prada shop in Salamanca and, with thrilling expectation, waved when she saw Evelyn across the street.
Their pace quickened and they embraced passionately, unafraid and unashamed to show their love for each other.
They walked off, hand in hand, toward a romantic outdoor café.
Happy at last.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is Elbow with “Grounds For Divorce”
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.
Dizzy Miss Lizzy
It’s a hat trick!
Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge,
Fandango’s One Word Challenge and
Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt.
🎄 👓 😉
In my tree
winking at me.
Can you see?
No?
You need glasses!
NAR © 2024
13 Words
This is “Dizzy Miss Lizzy” by the incredible Colt Clark and the Quarantine Kids. Of course it is!!
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
FATHER, FORGIVE ME
It’s six for A Six today,
all coming together to form one story:
One prompt for GirlieOnTheEdge’s Six Sentence Story,
four Fandango’s One Word Challenge prompts and
one photo prompt from Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.
Yes Siree Bob, that makes six!
🎄 🦌 🎅🏼 🦌 🎄
It was a long time ago, probably 30 years now, but I remember that night like it was yesterday, as if someone had taken a permanent marker and etched the whole event on my brain for all eternity; at the time I was quite active in my church, so much so that I somehow managed to get myself elected president of the parish council, a situation I found myself in because it’s a tremendous challenge for me to say “no” and, as a result, I end up getting involved in projects I’d rather not be doing.
My committee and I were decorating the rectory meeting room and setting the tables for the parish council’s Christmas dinner when I realized the wine I bought for the function had gone missing; now, I am a very organized person, certainly no scatterbrain, and when I found there was no room whatsoever in the refrigerator or freezer for the bottles of wine, I placed them in a covered box in the garage attached to the rectory knowing they would stay safe and cold, so how they could have disappeared was a total mystery.
Faced with the inability of turning water into wine and with no time to go to the store, I decided to check the rectory storage room hoping to find wine left over from a previous dinner and I was rewarded with an entire case of red wine sitting on a shelf in the corner just waiting for me; well, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I saw this new-found wine as divine intervention and placed two bottles on each table, quite pleased with myself for having saved the night at the last minute.
When the priests arrived for the party, they looked around the room in approval, nodding and smiling, but that was short lived when I suddenly saw one priest, Fr. Bob, heading my way and he didn’t look happy which made me wonder what was causing his consternation; now, in my defense, I am not a member of the clergy and have no way of knowing these things but the wine I found in the storage room was not just any ordinary, run-of-the-mill wine – no siree – it was blessed communion wine, meant solely for the purpose of Holy Communion and definitely not for a party, albeit a church Christmas party!
When Fr. Bob asked me (rather belligerently, I might add) how I could have made such a careless mistake, my mind went blank and everything I tried to say ended up sounding like a lame excuse; what was supposed to be a great accomplishment for me as parish council president turned into the most mortifying experience of my life and just when I thought the evening could not get any worse, it did.
The man I hired (from a so-called “reputable” agency) to play Santa Claus went AWOL, leaving his sleigh and a slightly inebriated-looking reindeer abandoned in the snow-covered backyard of the rectory; after a search of the grounds, Santa was found in the monsignor’s car in the garage, drunk as a skunk, passed out in the back seat and clutching my missing bottles of wine …. and if you give me a Bible, I will place my right hand on it and swear that everything you just read is entirely true (except the part about the tipsy reindeer; I added that because I simply couldn’t ignore the adorable graphic accompanying this story).
NAR © 2023
This is “The Ballad of Uncle Drank – Santa’s Hammered”
WINDOW SHOPPING
Waves of glorious flaxen hair rippled over her shoulders, swaying and bouncing with every high-heeled, leggy stride she took.
Never one to shy away from attention, especially that of the male population, she confidently waltzed down Fifth Avenue toward Saks, stunning in red Jimmy Choo thigh-high boots, a snow-white fur coat, and a single strand of pearls.
Admiring looks didn’t intimidate her; they titillated her, challenged her to be more daring and quite a bit risqué. It was all a game and she loved to play.
As she strolled the avenue, stopping to look at the exceptional Christmas displays in the store windows, she noticed the reflection of a man leaning drowsily against a parked car. Accustomed to men looking her way, she thought nothing of it at first but found herself glancing at his image more often than usual. Sliding her Ray Bans a little down her nose, she gave this mystery man’s reflection a furtive peek. Intriguing.
Repositioning her glasses, she continued window shopping, collecting all the longing glances cast her way and storing them in her bag like so many colorful Christmas lights. Every so often she’d linger at a quaint little shop or gallery, acutely aware of her mystery man shadowing her along the way. Now this was starting to get interesting. Slowly she removed her shades and gave his reflection a long look.
Why not? Slipping her sunglasses on, she turned around to a vision that caught her breath …. from head to toe the epitome of elegance and charm. Raven hair, tanned skin, black cashmere coat draped over his arm, charcoal grey pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, black and silver Art Deco tie and Italian shoes …. not black but the exact color of his suit. Nice touch; the paragon of haute couture.
She smiled. He smiled. She turned slowly, giving him ample time to fall into place beside her.
She continued walking, no longer followed by a mysterious shadow but side-by-side with an intriguing companion. Together they would take the road wherever it led them.
NAR © 2023
This is “All I Want For Christmas” by Robyn Adele Anderson, featuring Von Smith
Join me today for a brand new
Christmas edition of
Name That Tune.
Let’s see who gets it right!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
KUKLA HUGS
Today Sadje is asking us
“What do you see?“
Using her image along with
Eugi’s word prompt “boundless”
and Fandango’s word prompt “back”,
this is my response.
I stand at the doorway and watch
as she stretches her legs from her car seat
in the back of her daddy’s car,
grunting with that Little Engine That Could determination
until her fur-trimmed black ankle boots finally reach the curb.
With the boundless spirit of a 3 year old,
she runs up the path to our front door,
stops for a second to wave at our North Pole decorations,
and gaily calls out “Grammy! Grampy! It’s your Kukla! I’m here!” ….
my nickname for our youngest granddaughter, Colette.
She flings herself into my arms
and we share a big warm Kukla Hug.
Her hugs are the best and I don’t want to let go.
Eyes smiling, she excitedly tells me
she saw Santa and the elves outside
and asks if we can bake Christmas cookies today.
Every day with her really is
the most wonderful time of the year.
NAR © 2023
This is Pentatonix with “The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year”
Please join us today
for a very special
holiday edition of
“Be Our Guest”.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
CHRISTMAS TREE COUP DE GRÂCE
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge
is asking us to write a
Six Sentence Story
and to include the word “farm”.
This is my story.
Early in our marriage, Bill and I inherited my parent’s ginormous artificial Christmas tree which we used for about ten years until it died; at that point our boys were very young and we thought it would be a nice family outing to go to one of the local nurseries to pick out a live tree, which was something we did for about four years until one Thanksgiving, while celebrating at my sister’s house in Rhinebeck NY, my brother-in-law mentioned they were going to Wonderland Farm the next day to get their Christmas tree (and you can bet my ears perked up at hearing a delightful fantasy name like that …. Wonderland Farm …. an utterly irresistible place if ever there was one and I definitely had to go!).
Well, it turned out that Wonderland Farm was a wholesale grower of Christmas trees, meaning people like you and I could go there, walk around the grounds until we found the perfect tree for our house, chop it down, drag it to the baling machine where it got bound and gagged and tied to the top of the car, then we had to drive the 90 miles home (the whole time checking to see if the tree was still on top of the car), drag the tree into the garage, saw off an inch or two from the bottom and let the tree sit in a bucket of water for a couple of days before bringing it inside to decorate; being totally unfamiliar with this activity and having young boys who thought it would be “awesome” to act like Paul Bunyan for a couple of hours, we decided to join in the tree chopping fad – a new family tradition that lasted for about three years until the back-breaking, ass-freezing novelty wore off.
Once we stopped cutting down our home-grown trees, we weren’t quite ready to bite the bullet and go cold turkey by putting up a fake tree, so back to the local nurseries we went for a few more years until that fateful day when I was un-decorating by myself and, while struggling to get the tree out the front door to the curb, I lost my balance and fell backwards into our partially frozen juniper bush; my hands and clothes were sticky from pine sap, I was a disheveled and scratched mess from wrestling my way out of the juniper, there was a trail of pine needles from my living room to the front curb, I was exhausted and achy and I’d had quite enough …. the perfect storm, the live Christmas tree coup de grâce.
The following weekend the family hopped into the car and drove to the Christmas Tree Shop where we bought a nice big artificial tree which we lugged home and immediately tossed into the attic where it remained until the following December which turned out to be a huge mistake because when we finally opened the box, we discovered it was not the gorgeous fake evergreen we saw on display but a namby pamby shade of pink aluminum which was never going to fly in my house, so we packed it all up and returned to the Christmas Tree Shop where we were told “No refunds after 90 days of purchase”; logically, I knew that but it was still a bit of a blow because the store was to blame for the mislabeled box, so once again we found ourselves wandering around looking for a Christmas tree and we found something I’d never seen before – a skinny tree, fully decorated and lit, with its own storage bag, meant to fit neatly in the corner of a room – and we scooped that baby up and brought it home.
That skinny tree served us well but (you knew there was a ‘but’ coming, didn’t you?) for a skinny tree, that damn thing weighed a ton and lugging it up from its storage spot in the basement really took its toll on Bill’s rotator cuff [we still have that skinny tree neatly packed away in its storage bag and stashed in a corner of the basement and every time I go into that back room, it scares the hell out of me because I forget it’s there and it looks like a body bag up against the wall!]; now I was asking myself what we would do for our next tree and the answer came to me while at the dentist one day and I spotted his lovely 3-foot tall fiber optic tree with twinkling lights which seemed to speak to me in Morse Code saying “Buy me and put me right by the fireplace and surround me with nutcrackers”, so that’s exactly what I did and there it served us very well for a couple of Christmases …. until I saw something while searching for stocking stuffers on Amazon that turned out to be a veritable game changer.
There on Amazon was a gorgeous tree the likes of which I had never seen before and I read all about it (not once but twice) and ordered it yet I was still surprised when a package was delivered that resembled an extremely large pizza box which contained something that looked like a wreath that melted like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz …. it sure didn’t look like a Christmas tree and I was beginning to wonder if I’d made a mistake or if Amazon had sent the wrong item …. but after laying out all the parts on the floor (which consisted of the melty-looking tree, a base and a pole), it all began to make sense and it was incredible to see it all come together; there’s no way I can adequately describe how wondrous this tree was in person or how amazingly easy it was to assemble so if anyone is interested in seeing for themselves just how easy it really is, go to Amazon.com and search for “Prextex Premium 6 ft Pre-Decorated Christmas Prelit Pop Up Tree” – but I must caution you …. you may very well want a Christmas tree or two just like this for your very own home .… and I absolutely couldn’t blame you!
NAR © 2023
This is Brenda Lee and “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”
DADDY GOES TO THE MALL
Denise @ GirlieOnTheEdge
has once again challenged us
to write a Six Sentence Story,
incorporating the word “limit”.
This is my response.
🎅🏼
“Now listen up, kids, because Daddy’s had just about enough of this nonsense; I’m at the end of my rope and very close to losing it right here in front of Cinnabon, you hear me?
Every year it’s the same thing with you kids; Timmy, Sally .… I need you guys to get a grip because people are starting to stare, mall security is checking me out and the big guy in the red suit is becoming impatient.
Try to remember what we talked about last night when I read you a bedtime story, how you gotta behave because Santa is watching all the time and he knows when you’re being naughty (like now) or when you’re being nice; if you want Santa Claus to come to our house this year and bring you Christmas presents, you better shape up this minute and stop crying or else you’re gonna get a big fat lump of coal in your stocking!
Sally, I know you want Mommy right now but the last time I saw her she was ducking into Ye Olde Candle Shoppe and she hasn’t come out yet …. as if we really need more goddamn candles that smell like fruit cake and reindeer balls …. it ain’t normal, I’m telling you; look, we’re next in line to see Santa so everybody settle down, stop crying and when we’re all done we’ll go down to the food court and get ice cream at Baskin Robbins, ok?
Hold on a second, kids, cos one of the elves is putting up a sign and I wanna see what it says; whoa, whoa, whoa …. wait up there, pal …. what’s with the sign?
Ok, change of plans, kids …. Santa’s taking a lunch break and won’t be back till 3:00 so we’re gonna go hunt down Mommy in the friggin’ candle store and then we’re gonna go home where Daddy can watch Sunday football and have a couple of cold ones and Mommy can bring you back to the mall tomorrow while I’m at the office; Timmy, Sally …. for fuck’s sake …. that’s enough now cos Daddy’s good and pissed and has reached his limit …. so stop with the damn crying or I’ll really give you something to cry about!”
NAR © 2023
This is Bob Rivers & Twisted Christmas with “I Am Santa Claus”
It’s Birthday Thursday today
at The Rhythm Section.
Stop by and see who’s
celebrating a birthday!
No fuss, no muss;
just wall-to-wall-music!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
PILLOW TALK
It’s Six Sentence Story time with Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge. Yeah, it is.
“Other” is a word that rhymes with mother, which also happens to rhyme with smother, which begs the question: “Am I a dreadful person for wanting to smother my mother ?”
Mother wasn’t a bad person; there was no physical abuse – just a major lack of tenderness which can leave greater, more permanent scars …. a perfectionist who found it very difficult to show warmth or affection, even to her children; I don’t remember her saying “I love you”, tickling me till I squealed or reading bedtime stories; what I do remember is proudly showing her a drawing I made in school with the inscription “Skyscrapers scrape the sky while butterflies flutter by”…. something my teacher called “highly imaginative and showing great vision” but mother said it was foolishness because butterflies can’t fly that high.
As a teenager I was forbidden to shave my legs but did anyway and not wanting my secret revealed, I wore jeans all the time, even to the beach in the middle of summer which also covered-up the fact that I used a self-tanner which turned my skin orange; mother watched as I scrubbed myself raw in the tub using a mixture of water and bleach – a humiliating experience – but it was at that time she discovered my shaved legs, causing her to explode like a slow gas leak and, of course, I was grounded but it was worth it.
Many days after arriving home from school I would find the contents of my dresser drawers dumped on my bed, simply because mother didn’t approve of how my clothes were folded; if I wanted to sleep that night, I’d have to put all my things away (or push them to the floor, which I often did) and I’d get hell the next day but it was a trip seeing her bulging veins and bugged-out eyes.
Years later when I had kids, mother would pop in unannounced and examine my house like the “White-Glove Lady” checking for dust; if my oven didn’t meet her standards, she would clean it (which, now that I have 20/20 hindsight, was a blessing in disguise because I ended up with a clean oven) and then she would depart as quickly as she arrived, leaving me with a spotless house but never once sitting down for coffee and a piece of pie or stopping to play with my children.
Lately I’ve been having a recurring dream about smothering mother with a pillow and when I wake up, I’m smiling; I guess my earlier question bears repeating: “Does that make me a dreadful person?”
NAR © 2023
This is John Lennon & Yoko Ono with The Plastic Ono Band singing “Mother”:
THE MESSAGE
General Agricola was restless; for three nights he did not sleep. The Caledonians were plotting, of this he was certain. They were a pompous lot, thinking they could defeat his legions.
There was fire in his belly and he was determined to prove himself irreplaceable to the emperor, Vespasian.
Agricola summoned his first officer, Acilius. “I require the services of the scribe, Tertius. Depart immediately and bring him to me.”
Acilius did as commanded. The wizened scribe, Tertius, sat at the foot of Agricola, his calamus at the ready. He began the most crucial message of his life.
NAR © 2023
98 Words
This is Civil War doing “Rome Is Falling”
I LOVE IT WHEN YOU SCREAM
“Are you coming or not?” Carl demanded as he took a few steps further into the haunted house at the Springwood Halloween Fair.
Sharon stood there fiddling with the drawstring of her hoodie. She chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.
“I’m really scared of these places, Carl. I mean, they terrify me. I don’t want to do this.” And the tears came.
This was nothing new to Carl; Sharon hid behind her hands when she tried to watch “The Walking Dead” with him in the comfort of their own living room. He rolled his eyes, tired of Sharon’s childish fears of creatures that don’t exist.
“Look, babe, as I told you a dozen times already, everybody knows this is the best haunted house in the county” Carl replied in his usual condescending tone. “My friends at work said it was awesome and even Hal brought is girlfriend Darleen who’s afraid of her own shadow and she thought it was fabulous. I promise, it’s gonna be a blast.”
Sharon could hear screams coming from inside the haunted house but everyone came out laughing and quickly lined up to go in again.
“OK, I’ll do it but you have to promise to take me to see the Taylor Swift concert on the big IMAX screen next week.”
Carl happily agreed knowing there was no way in hell he was going to sit through a Taylor Swift concert. Laughing, he grabbed Sharon’s hand and pulled her into the haunted house.
“Don’t let go of my hand, Carl!” Sharon cried out.
“Sharon, just chill out. Why can’t you get it through your head that it’s all fake, it’s just for show and none of these characters are real? I promise I won’t let go of your hand. Now stop being a drama queen and try to have some harmless fun, ok?” Carl could really be a nasty SOB.
The inside of the haunted house was complete sensory overload; there was constant screaming as zombies, vampires, witches, skeletons, ghosts and hideous slasher movie characters jumped out of doorways, flew into windows, dropped down from the ceiling and popped up through the floor.
The place was madness and Sharon was getting claustrophobic. The only thing that kept her from running out in a panic was the familiar feel of Carl’s hand in hers. She couldn’t see an inch in front of her and there was something popping out at every turn. It was horrifying for Sharon.
Before Sharon knew what was happening, the grotesque image of Freddy Krueger suddenly appeared from behind a wall of smoke and menacingly brandished his deadly bladed glove; Sharon couldn’t take it any longer. She screamed out for Carl and pushed her way through the crowd, grateful that he was still with her.
Once outside, Sharon gulped in the fresh air and blasted Carl. “That was the worst experience of my life! It was terrifying and you tricked me. How could you?? I’m not kidding, Carl. I’m really pissed! Carl!! Are you even listening to me, dammit?”
And when Sharon turned to face Carl, she discovered she had been holding on to his severed arm. The next morning Carl’s body was found in the woods behind the haunted house. He had been sliced to pieces. They say karma’s a bitch.
At least Carl was true to Sharon about one thing that night; he never let go of her hand.
NAR © 2023
This is “Freddy Krueger Sings A Song” (Scary Horror Halloween Parody)
AN ENIGMA
Did you ever get the feeling you were being watched?
The forecast for snow turned out to be highly exaggerated as there was barely a coating; much had already melted away.
I’d hiked these woods many times; I was comfortable here and felt safe among the deer and wild birds. Today was different; I couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched.
I scanned the area and that’s when I saw him. You’ll see him, too. Look in the upper left section of the photo. There, hiding behind the grey rock is the face of Edgar Allan Poe.
He’s watching you.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
Here are The Police performing “Every Breath You Take”
The Elephant's Trunk 