Author’s Note: Kidding aside, I am so grateful to be doing this well after major surgery. Both Bill and I are delighted with our new-found freedom; he’s been my chauffeur for the past six weeks. I’m really an excellent driver and in the 53 years I’ve been driving, I have never gotten a moving violation (and it’s not because the police have been unable to catch me!). 😎
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration and get creative in 100 words or less, while making every word count. Here’s my flash.
Imagine if you will a girl, her dog and three hapless friends searching for a wizard to grant their deepest wishes.
People love scrappy little pups. But what if the dog was a mangy seagull with a caw like a rusty fan belt? What if his wish was to crow like a mighty rooster, to wake the townspeople with his majestic “cock-a-doodle-doo“?
The wise and benevolent wizard could not fulfill such hopes but his reassuring message was that everyone’s wishes would come true if only they dared to dream.
I do believe that gull with lofty ambitions dared to dream..
While shopping for groceries, I was surprised to see the tomatoes were mostlyorange and looked like sickly miniature pumpkins. Oh, how you mock me, my beloved red Heirlooms!
“Hey, Daryl! Phil! Get a load of this!” neighed Ed as he stared over Bess and Elsie’s fence onto the country road. “Do they really think they’re capable of running? On two legs?? If that don’t beat all!”
“What the heck are they doing?” asked Daryl.
“They’re jogging; humans run around all bandy-legged with arms flailing, getting sweaty, going nowhere in particular and looking pretty dumb while doing it.” Ed explained.
Phil trotted over. “Yeah. I read about these idiots in ‘Horse Beautiful’. It’s some kind of craze, far as I can tell …. some sort of asinine exercise routine.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Look at what we got coming this way, gentlemen. Now that’s some fine-looking little filly!” exclaimed Ed.
“Check out those tiny shorts she’s wearing. She can ride me bareback any time she wants!” Phil declared.
“Man, now that’s one stacked number! I could watch her jog and bounce around all day!” Daryl smacked his lips.
“Hey! What are you three stud farm rejects doing all this way from the barn?” It was Barkley, the yellow lab who lived on the ranch. “Farmer Brown’s gonna have a cow if he hears you jumped the fence again! Best get yourselves back home before someone notices you’re gone. C’mon! Giddy-up, boys!”
“Buzz kill!” snorted Ed and the trio took off.
“Bunch of jackasses!” Barkley yowled indignantly. “Well, good riddance to them and woof to you, my sexy lady. You jog by here often? Have I got a bone for you!”
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Here’s my flash.
My whole life has been nothing but one big joke. I don’t know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .… literally. They are circus clowns and so am I.
Raffles and Mittens are my parents. Some of my aunts, uncles and cousins are Poodles, Flopsy, Jingles, Pogo and Skippy. Rumor has it that my great-grandparents were Bozo and Clarabell but we never know what to take seriously in this family.
We all live in a rinky-dink circus trailer and if you think walking into pantyhose drying in the bathroom is annoying, try existing with a squirting flower, a megaphone, a pop gun and a seltzer bottle every day of your life. This clowning around life ain’t that easy!
Anyway, we needed some mode of transportation to get around town for shopping and appointments so we went to the used car lot. Of course, the used car salesman tried to talk us into a clown car, which was terribly condescending. Clowns are people, too, dammit!
That’s when my boyfriend, Stumpy, had an idea. Stumpy is a coulro* and the best clown on stilts there ever was. Everybody looks up to him! With bicycle parts salvaged from the junkyard, he assembled the Clown Limo. With his long legs, Stumpy can drive us anywhere at all.
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“. It may come from the ancient Greek word kōlobathristēs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration and get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Here’s my flash.
Punch – that misogynistic bastard – was out cold, spent from guzzling booze and pounding Judy like a side of beef. She slipped him Valium to keep him zonked and shackled his wrists.
Policeman Jack, Judy’s lover, stood guard outside; Punch would never escape before the tide washed him away.
Judy’s long gone now on a slow boat to a podunk beach town called Atlantic City.
A year went by; nobody asked about Punch or Judy. How quickly they forgot.
When Policeman Jack received a letter from the States, inside was a ticket to Atlantic City. Judy was true to her word.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our gracious host, Rochelle, has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Here’s my flash.
* In times of war or siege, Italian families would vacate their homes and rent apartments in safer areas. In order to protect themselves they would hire soldiers to sleep on the floor in shifts. The meaning of the phrase “going to the mattresses” symbolizes the association in Italian folk-memory of mattresses with safety in wartime. The phrase wasn’t well known outside the US and Italy prior to the Godfather movies. It was used there, and later in The Sopranos, to mean “preparing for battle”.
When Kay met Michael, scenes from an Italian wedding (Godfather, 1972) featuring Al Martino as Johnny Fontane. This is “I Have But One Heart (O Marenariello)”
I was coming up empty today, friends … uninspired, tired, and dragging my sorry ass around the house. Then I came across this brilliant post by my friend, Bluebird of Bitterness, and all was right in my little world. What’s that you say? You don’t like cats? Oh, FFS, don’t go getting your knickers in a twist; you don’t have to love cats or the theatre to appreciate these funnies. Blue always saves what is considered the best for the last. Let’s see if you agree. And while you’re here, check our what else is on Blue’s site; you’ll be glad you did!
“Kevin! Wake up, man! You gotta see this. Wake up!”
“Quit it, Luke! I’m trying to sleep!” Kevin mumbled crossly. The disgusting smell of stale beer, Slim Jims and weed slammed Kevin in the face; gagging, he pushed his brother away.
“C’mon, Kev. Something heavy happened down at the beach, man. I swear it’s not of this world, bro!”
“The only thing ‘not of this world, bro’ is your breath. You’re stoned, Luke; go to sleep.”
“I swear on the Bible, Kevin. If you don’t see this, you’re gonna kick yourself.”
Kevin sighed deeply and swung his legs out of bed. “Alright, man. I’m up. Let’s get this over with.”
Kevin and Luke drove out to the Pacific Palisades beach where Luke had his sighting. Kevin recognized the beach right away.
“Hey, Luke … doesn’t your buddy Gonzo clean this beach?”
“Far out, man! I forgot about that. This is gonna blow his mind!”
When they reached Luke’s spot, he dropped to the sand and began to belly crawl to the top, motioning for Kevin to do the same.
“Check it out, Kev. Have you ever seen anything like this, man? They’re crop circles, like in that movie!”
“You got that right, Luke. This really is something else! Could be an alien vehicle way out on the left side. If I squint I can make out the words ‘GONZO’S LUNAR ROVER. I BRAKE FOR WEED!’ Brilliant detective work, Carl Sagan! C’mon, bro. I’m buying breakfast. I’ll explain it on the way.”
Ten days out from spinal fusion surgery and my lower back still hurts like a bitch on wheels. This is a much more difficult surgery/recovery than I expected; bearing in mind what’s involved …. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed …. I should have realized it would not be easy. And my doctor sent me home with Tylenol …. not even extra strength but regular Tylenol. Really?
Getting around the house with a walker, dressing myself and doing basic toilette is not problematic; beyond basic, it’s damn near impossible. What’s not allowed: stomach sleeping, bending or twisting at the waist, lifting anything heavier than 5 pounds. And, apparently, pain medication.
These days, I just about live in my electric recliner, getting up every hour or so to walk around, followed by icing my back. I tried eating my meals in the kitchen with Bill; it’s good to have a change of scenery and some normal time with him. The chairs, however, are not comfortable just yet so we eat together in the living room where there’s an over-large electric recliner with my name on it.
Making myself comfortable in a recliner is easier than in bed but still more difficult than I would have thought; the vertical 6″ incision is centrally located on the small of my back so I’m aware of every movement. There’s always something that hurts, that’s too big or too small, too hard or too soft, flattened out or all scrunched up, or just out of reach. Finding the perfect cushion has been a crusade; thankfully, Bill holds on to everything! Fortunately, once I fall asleep, I’m out for most of the night. Getting out of the recliner in the morning is slow-going as I’m stiffened-up from sleeping all night. It’s a process.
As far as my blogging goes, I’ll write when the mood strikes. I miss you and our camaraderie but my energy and strength are down. It took me two days just to write this! I apologize for not reading or commenting on your posts and I’m sure I’m not going to …. at least not for a while. I’m just not up to it.
Well, that’s the story, kids; taking life one day at a time.
Be good to yourselves. See you on the flip side. 😎
PS – As much as I’d love to hear from you, please try not to compare your own situation to mine or tell me about your dear Aunt Betty who was never the same after her surgery. I know you mean well but we’re all different and heal differently; downer stories don’t help. It’s human nature but a “get well soon!” would be far better and greatly appreciated. Thanks!
*Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of 22 syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 in 5 lines. Line 1: Noun; Line 2: Description of opening noun; Line 3: Action; Line 4: Feeling or effect; Line 5: Synonym of the opening noun. The cinquain, also known as a quintain or quintet, is a poem or stanza found in many European languages; the origin of the form dates back to medieval French poetry.
** Edward G. Robinson was an American actor who was popular during Hollywood’s Golden Age and is best remembered for his tough-guy roles as gangsters in such films as Little Caesar and Key Largo.
When my kids played the whole house would shake like an eight point earthquake and the coins in their piggy bank would reverberate as the crystal glasses in the dining room breakfront did the hippy hippy shake and I baked an earthquake cake
Gemelli pasta. Gemelli is the Italian word for ‘twins’
Resemblance can be a freaky thing. Supposedly everyone has a doppelgänger; someone out there is a duplicate of you with your mother’s eyes, your father’s nose and that annoying mole you’ve always wanted to have removed. We might even have several pairs of clones walking around, each totally unaware of the other’s existence.
It’s been said the longer people have a pet, the more they begin to resemble that pet. Dogs have been matched by strangers to their owners time and time again. The same is true for people; have you ever seen a long-married couple who now look like a set of bookends?
I have many relatives in Italy and Sicily; my family has always said one particular cousin and I have looked like each other since birth. We were born days apart and are called “I Gemelli” … “The Twins”. The first time my cousin Franco and I met, we just stared at each other in fascination. I think Franco and I do bear a strong resemblance however his eyes are blue while mine are green and he’s got a lot more facial hair than I do! LOL! And we have the same Sicilian nose!
My cousin Franco and me
The other day I wrote about my best friend Debby and how alike we are, not just our personalities but our physical appearance as well. One of my WP friends was quite interested in my story and left several comments and questions. I promised I’d write a little bit more about me and Debby … two unrelated women who could pass for sisters, perhaps twins at times.
I can’t explain how these things happen but events at my son’s wedding a few years ago proved the old saying true: fact is stranger than fiction.
There were a lot people at the wedding … family, friends, coworkers. My sister, Rosemarie, was there as was my friend Debby. The time arrived during the wedding reception for a family photo session. The music was playing, people were dancing and milling about. Janet, the wedding photographer, was scrambling around trying to wrangle immediate family members for photos. Craning her neck for a better look into the crowded room, Janet turned to me in surprise and said, “You’ve been holding out on me!”
I had no idea what Janet was talking about and asked her what she meant. She replied, “I know your husband has a twin brother but I had no idea you have a twin sister!”
This conversation went back and forth for a little while … me trying to convince Janet that I didn’t have a twin sister and Janet insisting I did! Of course, Janet was talking about Debby! I laughed and said to her “I really hate to burst your twin bubble but she’s not my sister; she’s my best friend.” When I spotted Rosemarie on the dance floor, I said to Janet, “See the woman in the cream-colored dress? She’s my sister.” I guess I really couldn’t blame Janet; even my new daughter-in-law’s relatives thought the same thing. To make matters more confusing, Debby and I were wearing the same dress (totally unplanned)! Mine was deep purple while hers was dark blue.
It took a lot of convincing for Janet to finally accept the fact that Debby wasn’t my sister and that Rosemarie was. I guess the idea of two sets of twins in the same room was just too exciting for Janet … a missed photo op! I wonder if the same people who matched the pet owners with their dogs would match me and Debby as sisters?
You be the judge.
Me (L) and Debby on Halloween
At the wedding.
Two brunettes with summer tans.
Twins? Maybe, maybe not, but the resemblance is strong….
It was 1965, a big year – my sister’s graduation, the Beatles concert and our trip to Sicily.
We spent a day at Mom’s cousin Concetta’s farmhouse outside Agrigento. Goats, sheep and a donkey grazed in the field among the olive trees. Chickens scurried around the barnyard like drunken spinning tops. They were extremely entertaining – our favorite.
We hung out with the animals all morning. In the afternoon we drove to Agrigento to explore the shops.
Upon returning to Concetta’s, we sat down for dinner. Pasta to start, of course. When she brought out the roast chickens, we burst into tears.
Here are three ridiculously talented Sicilian guys from Palermo playing a tune called “The Chicken”. They are Matteo Mancuso (guitar), Riccardo Oliva (bass) and Salvatore Lima (drums). Enjoy this one.
“Stop lollygagging, you gang of pencil neck geeks, and get a move on! We don’t have a gazillion hours to waste. A performance awaits us so step lively. And speaking of step, watch yours. There’s goop about.
Greta! Grab hold of those goslings!
George! Stop giving Ginger googly eyes!
Glenda and Gloria! Quit gabbing!
Listen up, guys. Christmas will be here before you know it. If you don’t wanna get cooked, we gotta nail that ‘six geese a-laying’ verse. We need two more geese in our gaggle to make three groups of six.
So, I was on the road early this morning and there was a good deal of traffic. Fortunately, the long version of “Light My Fire” came on SiriusXM followed by a Rush yawn-athon. I won’t inflict Rush on you but here are the Doors. Knock yourselves out, kids!
For the past few nights my sleep hasn’t been good but last night was the worst of all. We had a power failure! This was definitely not cool! No AC and nowhere to go to escape the heat. My apartment was dark and all the lightsoutside were off so I knew this was a widespread blackout, likely coveringmiles and involving the entire apartment complex. I aimed a flashlight at the thermometer on my balcony. Big mistake: it read 98º! Somehow knowing the temperature made it worse. And the mix of humidity and heat made everything feel gross. I desperately needed to get some rest. Winding my way into the bedroom, I heard a sound like heavy breathing coming from the bathroom. Sweeping the room with my flashlight, I located the source of the sound and I simply had to laugh; my dog Fred found somewhere to hide away from the heat and was fast asleep on the floor of the marble shower! This oppressive weather had done a number on him, too, poor guy. I was drained of all energy. I grabbed a small battery operated fan from the shelf, set it for high and collapsed onto the bed. I was asleep in seconds.
Today at Song Lyric Sunday, Jim has asked us to choose a song that begins with the same letter as our first name. For me that would be the letter N. Here is my song.
L-R Nancy Sinatra Jr, Frank Sinatra Sr, Nancy Sinatra Sr, Frank Sinatra Jr; in front Tina Sinatra, 1948
When I say “here is my song” I really mean MY song. From the time I was a baby and able to understand a few words, this song was special to me. As I got older it became even more special … particularly when my dad would sing it. There are a lot of memories attached to this song; I honestly thought it was written for me and that Frank Sinatra was singing it directly to me. You may recall from another of my posts that my dad hated Sinatra; this may be the only song by Frank that Dad liked. My sister Rosemarie really hated my song because she didn’t like any of HER songs; she’d whine that her songs weren’t as pretty and personal as mine and she’d get annoyed every time it was played. But the thing she hated the most was the line “sorry for you, she has no sister”! I guess I can’t blame her for that!
Have you figured out what my song is? Since it was made popular by Frank Sinatra most people wrongly assumed the song was composed specifically for his daughter. Well, that was a pretty big clue so you must know the answer by now! My song choice for today’s Song Lyric Sunday is “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)”.
The music for the song was composed in 1942 by Jimmy Van Heusen with lyrics written by comedian/lyricist Phil Silvers; it was originally called “Bessie (With the Laughing Face)”. Bessie? Who the hell was Bessie? Well, back in 1942 there was a famous lyricist named Johnny Burke who was married to our mysterious Bessie. Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers wrote the song for their friend Johnny Burke as a surprise for his wife Bessie’s birthday.
All the women at Bessie Burke’s birthday party loved the song so much, they started requesting that it be sung at their parties as well. Apparently Frank Sinatra wasn’t at any of those parties because when his friends Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers sang the song as “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” at little Nancy Sinatra’s birthday party, Frank broke down and cried, thinking it had been written especially for his daughter! Johnny Burke, Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers wisely didn’t correct him.
In 1944, Frank Sinatra recorded the song as “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” and it became a fan favorite. When I was born several years later, the song became a favorite in our house as well.
This is “Nancy” by Frank Sinatra
Lyrics
If I don’t see her each day, I miss her Gee, what a thrill each time I kiss her Believe me, I’ve got a case On Nancy with the laughin’ face She takes the winter and makes it summer But summer could take some lessons from her Picture a tomboy in lace That’s Nancy with the laughin’ face Did you ever hear mission bells ringin’? Well, she’ll give you the very same glow When she speaks you would think it was singin’ Just hear her say hello I swear to goodness you can’t resist her Sorry for you, she has no sister No angel could replace Nancy with the laughin’ face
Keep Betty Grable, Lamour and Turner She makes my heart a charcoal burner It’s heaven when I embrace My Nancy with the laughin’ face
The life of a special agent is a lonely one. It’s nothing like a James Bond movie or a John le Carré novel.
There were no pens that turned into parachutes. There were no Alfa Romeos, Jaguars or Aston Martins to drive along the Positano coast in a high-speed chase. Not a single suave and dangerous owner of a multi-million dollar casino. Nary a gorgeous, exotic, provocative sex bomb with a highly suggestive name. There were no martinis … neither shaken nor stirred.
In short, there was no excitement, no risk, no action. Not once did I dive behind a sofa while bullets flew across the room. Never did I slide down a roof covered with Mediterranean tiles, land smoothly in my waiting MG and speed away from the bad guys. I have never been shot in the neck with a poison dart. Never was I threatened and tossed out a window by a jealous husband.
That’s the life I was expecting when I was recruited by the Enigma International Elite Investigative Organization .… otherwise known as E.I.E.I.O. My dream profession as a super-secret special agent was nothing but one boring stakeout after another.
Time to report in: “Negative, sir. Nothing going on at the location. Not even the car in the alley has moved.”
“Alley?”
“Yes, sir. On the left.”
“Your target has no alley, Hammer; it’s attached on both sides. You’re watching the wrong house, you idiot! Report to headquarters. Now!”
“Yeah, but I had to shell out more money for it” grumbled Joe-Bob.
“That rat bastard! Hand it over … and a flashlight.” Ray demanded.
“This is primo, Joe-Bob! Gimme six Ds, will ya?”
Ray inserted the Ds and turned on his newly acquired battery-operated fan.
“Listen, Joe-Bob. When Uncle Lester died, he left me a slew of money. I’m gonna buy a state-of-the-art, solar-powered, non-electric RV. I’m stocking up batteries ‘cos when that asshole gets elected, gas and electric prices will be insane. I’m finally gonna beat the man!”
“Lieutenant! We’re getting a reading from the drone!”
“Gimme that, Krebbs! It shows beyond these woods is a clearing with what appears to be life forms. Round up the team; let’s check this out.”
Guns drawn, the squad stealthily worked its way to the clearing. Slowly they emerged; the lieutenant pushed back his fedora and whistled through his teeth.
“Well, lookie here! It’s the MIA grunge band, Rockit Gibraltar!”
“Are they dead, Lieutenant?”
“Nah! They’re stoned. Must be that ramped-up drug …. Double Rubble. Call for a chopper, one equipped with a boulder holder. This ain’t no soft rock band!“
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt word is ‘paper’, which can be used as a noun, verb or adjective … or all three which will qualify for bonus points. Here is my 3-way stream.
On my nightstand I like to keep a pen and pad of paper where I can jot down ideas for stories, things I have to get done around the house, items I need from the store, etc.
During a recent trip to the grocery store I noticed that it’s impossible to find milk in glass bottles. There’s every type of juice or flavored iced coffee available in bottles but milk only comes in those waxy paperedcardboard-like containers or plastic jugs. We’re serious about producing less garbage and using less plastic products so I decided to start getting our milk home delivered. Remember that service? Well, it’s back! All I had to do was place an order for delivery with one of the participating companies; my order was delivered in a metal milk box that is mine to keep for as long as I use the service. When it’s time to schedule my next order, all I have to do is place the empty bottles in the milk box and they’ll be replaced by full bottles of cold, fresh milk!
My husband likes to read the daily newspaper, even though he’s really only interested in the sports pages and the crossword puzzle. The headlines give him agita. That works out well because he uses the remaining sections to paper the floor under and around the cat’s litter box to catch any ‘spillage’ or litter that gets kicked out. Now that’s a proper use for the newspaper, especially the front page that’s always plastered with the arrogant face of one lying politician or another! A very fitting use indeed.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle encourages us to write creatively in 100 words or less using the photo below for inspiration. And would you look at that! Today’s photo is one of mine! Woot woot!! Here’s my story.
“OMG, Vern! People are starting to arrive. This is the most thrilling day of my life! Imagine me …. Hazel Heftybottoms …. a published author! I wonder how many of my friends will be here.
Oh no! Look who’s prancing down the street like a prima donna. It’s that cow Eloise and she’s wearing the same outfit as me! That pachyderm has really packed on the pounds! And provocative pink lipstick on her proboscis? What a slut!
I can’t believe she actually published her poetry book. What a pile of poppycock!
Yoo-hoo! Eloise D-A-R-L-I-N-G!! You look absolutely M-A-R-V-E-L-O-U-S!!
The Elephant's Trunk 