βStop lollygagging, you gang of pencil neck geeks, and get a move on! We donβt 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 donβt wanna get cooked, we gotta nail that βsix geese a-layingβ 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 98ΒΊ! 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 βhere is my songβ Β 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 β¦ 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 didnβt like any of HER songs; sheβd whine that her songs werenβt as pretty and personal as mine and sheβd get annoyed every time it was played. But the thing she hated the most was the line βsorry for you, she has no sisterβ! 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 todayβs Song Lyric Sunday is βNancy (With the Laughing Face)β.
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 βBessie (With the Laughing Face)β. 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 Bessieβs birthday.
All the women at Bessie Burkeβs birthday party loved the song so much, they started requesting that it be sung at their parties as well. Apparently Frank Sinatra wasnβt 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 βNancy (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 βNancyβ 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 Itβs heaven when I embrace My Nancy with the laughinβ face
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 β¦ 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.
Thatβs the life I was expecting when I was recruited by the Enigma International Elite Investigative Organization .β¦ 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: βNegative, sir. Nothing going on at the location. Not even the car in the alley has moved.β
βAlley?β
βYes, sir. On the left.β
βYour target has no alley, Hammer; itβs attached on both sides. Youβre watching the wrong house, you idiot! Report to headquarters. Now!β
βDid you get it?β Ray asked when the door opened.
βYeah, but I had to shell out more money for itβ grumbled Joe-Bob.
βThat rat bastard! Hand it over β¦ and a flashlight.β Ray demanded.
βThis is primo, Joe-Bob! Gimme six Ds, will ya?β
Ray inserted the Ds and turned on his newly acquired battery-operated fan.
βListen, Joe-Bob. When Uncle Lester died, he left me a slew of money. Iβm gonna buy a state-of-the-art, solar-powered, non-electric RV. Iβm stocking up batteries βcos when that asshole gets elected, gas and electric prices will be insane. Iβm finally gonna beat the man!β
The other day I got some news that threw me for a loop; I felt like a headless chicken running βround the chicken coop.
You see, I met this awesome guy who made me lose my mind. A handsome man so witty and sexy can be awful hard to find.
We both had friends from childhood days who knew us very well. They figured if we two hooked up weβd get along rather swell.
My friend called me and his called him and we agreed on a date To meet at Charlieβs Ribs and Ale next Friday night at eight.
Well, I was pretty keen on the idea of meeting someone new; The last few dates I had were dull as hell and that would never do
See, Iβm the kind of girl who likes to go out and have some fun. An hour or two with some boring dude would have me on the run.
Iβm really not high maintenance, I just need some stimulation; The kind that gets my juices flowing and speeds up my circulation.
I know you know what Iβm referring to; I can see it in your eyes. I want a man who knows what’s what, the hows, the whens and whys.
So, there we were at Charlieβs, just waiting for our dates When in walked these two cool guys and I could barely wait.
They came straight to our table and I knew right off the bat This blue-eyed, bearded devil was a curious kind of cat.
He looked at me and I at him and our eyebrows began to rise When we thought perhaps we knew each other almost all our lives.
Weβd no idea that this blind date would not be so blind at all For although we thought we knew each other we couldnβt quite recall.
In fact, we never took the time to even learn each otherβs names. Our paths crossed countless times before as kids playing kiddie games.
Yes, we were nameless friends in school in days from way back when. We went to games and dances, seeing each other now and then.
We attended the same schools where we learned a thing or two But we never said βHey, whatβs your name? I think I may know you!β
Now here we were having fun, hitting it off like two peas in a pod; But the strange feeling that we knew each other was really very odd.
The night flew by, we ate and drank; this guy could talk the talk And deep inside my womanly mind I knew he could walk the walk.
So, I took a wild chance and asked him to come back to my place; He looked at me, eyes twinkling and a roguish grin upon his face.
We tried to act all nonchalant, no need to rush the night. He said he was a poet; I said βNo kidding? I like to write!β
We sat real close on my old couch and he said βTell me, whatβs your sign?β I turned to him, said βPiscesβ and he said βYeah? Thatβs the same as mine!β
He wove his fingers through my hair and slowly pulled back my head. I opened my mouth and licked my lips saying βTake me to my bed.β
We started slow, real nice and easy, just feeling each other out But it didnβt take long before both of us were doing the βTwist and Shoutβ.
This went on the whole night long; he was quite the voracious lad. I was his match and he was mine and none of it was bad.
We spent the next few days together; we got along really great. He told me his name was Kevin and I told him my name was Kate.
He said he lived in Baltimore now but was born in Kathmandu. His eyes nearly popped out his head when I said βWhat!? Me too!β
Things were really getting eerie now; we both knew this was bizarre Especially when we simultaneously said βOn March 10th in Paropakar!β
Now hold on, wait just a damn minute; how could this possibly be? We were born in the same hospital on the same day in 1993!
Our piercing eyes stared at each other as we silently sipped our tea. Who was going to ask the next question? Was it me or possibly he?
I grabbed the bull by the horns and asked him βWhatβs your momβs name?β He lowered his cup rather slowly and replied βWhy, itβs Germaine.β
I heaved an enormous sigh of relief which proved to be premature Cos he was adopted, his birth mom was Faye, of that he was quite sure.
I bolted straight upright and nearly fainted as I screamed βNo way!β For you see, I was adopted, too, and my birth momβs name was Faye!
Now this is no laughing matter, for Iβd just had me a night like no other With a guy who was to my dismay my long-lost fraternal twin brother!
βLieutenant! Weβre getting a reading from the drone!β
βGimme that, Krebbs! It shows beyond these woods is a clearing with what appears to be life forms. Round up the team; letβs check this out.β
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.
βWell, lookie here! Itβs the MIA grunge band, Rockit Gibraltar!β
βAre they dead, Lieutenant?β
βNah! Theyβre stoned. Must be that ramped-up drug β¦. Double Rubble. Call for a chopper, one equipped with a boulder holder. This ainβt no soft rock band!“
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt word is βpaperβ, which can be used as a noun, verb or adjective β¦ 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 itβs impossible to find milk in glass bottles. Thereβs every type of juice or flavored iced coffee available in bottles but milk only comes in those waxy paperedcardboard-like containers or plastic jugs. Weβre serious about producing less garbage and using less plastic products so I decided to start getting our milk home delivered. Remember that service? Well, itβs 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 theyβll be replaced by full bottles of cold, fresh milk!
My husband likes to read the daily newspaper, even though heβs 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 catβs litter box to catch any βspillageβ or litter that gets kicked out. Now that’s a proper use for the newspaper, especially the front page thatβs 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.
βOMG, Vern! People are starting to arrive. This is the most thrilling day of my life! Imagine me β¦. Hazel Heftybottoms …. a published author! I wonder how many of my friends will be here.
Oh no! Look whoβs prancing down the street like a prima donna. Itβs 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 canβt 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 closest living relative to T Rex is β¦ you guessed it … the chicken! So what does that tell us? Well, itβs obvious that neither the chicken nor the egg came first. The dinosaur came first!
Allow me to play devilβs advocate for a minute. Letβs say everything we read in the Bible is true, that God created all the animals in the sky, the sea and on the land. Since this all happened eons ago, we would then have to agree that God created the dinosaurs. The Book of Genesis doesnβt say anything about creating eggs but it certainly talks about the “beasts of the land”.
T Rex and friends stomped the earth, laying their eggs for however long they were here before an asteroid hit them. One theory is that some of those eggs survived and produced what has now evolved into the mighty chicken.
So there you have it, kids. No need to Google or go to the library or petition the Pope for his ex-cathedra decree. Thump on, you proud Bible-thumping, Chick-fil-A-eating, religious zealots. I do believe we have a winner. One might even say βWinner, winner, chicken dinner!β
Coming up next week: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Written for GlynβsΒ Mixed Music Bag week #26 where we are asked to write about a song by a group or solo singer beginning with the letter K or L.
The Lovinβ Spoonful was an American band formed in 1964 by singer John Sebastian with guitarist Zal Yanovsky, drummer Joe Butler and bassist Steve Boone, cementing the quartetβs official lineup.
While they were a band that blossomed from the Greenwich Village folk scene in the 1960s, the groupβs name was inspired by the blues song, βCoffee Bluesβ …. the classic song by Mississippi John Hurt. The song supposedly has a deeper, more suggestive meaning if listened to closely enough.
“Coffee Blues” was always a big crowd pleaser because of Mississippi John Hurt’s particularly innocent delivery and his guileless way of presenting it. His audience was frequently filled with beautiful college women …. a group for which he always had appeal.
By 1969, after only five short years together, The Lovinβ Spoonful called it quits. In those few years as a group, the band had amassed a number of hits, including βSummer in the Cityβ, βDo You Believe In Magic?β βDid You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?β and βDaydreamβ.
My first featured song today and favorite Lovinβ Spoonful song is βSummer in the Cityβ, a classic rock number that captures the excitement, energy, and heat of a bustling urban summer. The song opens with a distinctive drumbeat that immediately sets the tone for the fast-paced tempo and catchy melody. John Sebastianβs smooth, soulful voice sings about the hustle and bustle of the city streets, with the sound of car horns and sirens in the background adding to the urban ambiance. As the song progresses, Sebastian describes the heat and humidity of the city, urging listeners to βstay coolβ amidst the oppressive weather. The chorus features a memorable hook that perfectly captures the vibe of a city summer: βHot town, summer in the city/Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty.β
Overall, βSummer in the Cityβ is a quintessential summer anthem that has stood the test of time, evoking the excitement and chaos of city life during the hottest months of the year.
This is βSummer In The Cityβ by the Lovinβ Spoonful
My second-favorite song by the Lovinβ Spoonful is βDid You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?β, a catchy and lighthearted pop song that explores the dilemma of choosing between two potential love interests. The song opens with a bouncy guitar riff and John Sebastianβs playful singing, setting the tone for a fun and flirtatious track.
The lyrics describe the difficulty of making a choice between two people, with Sebastian asking: βDid you ever have to make up your mind?/Pick up on one and leave the other behind?β The song captures the excitement and confusion of young love, while offering advice on how to navigate this tricky situation: βOne of these days you know you gotta make up your mind/But you better decide before you run out of time.β
Overall, βDid You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?β is a fun and upbeat song that captures the excitement and confusion of young love. Itβs a timeless classic that continues to resonate with listeners of all ages, offering a lighthearted perspective on the challenges of navigating the complexities of romance.
This is βDid You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?β by the Lovin’ Spoonful.
Before ending I thought it might be fun to feature βCoffee Bluesβ, the song from which the Lovinβ Spoonful got their name. Thatβs all Iβm going to say about the song; let’s see if you can figure out what makes it so suggestive a song.
This is βCoffee Bluesβ by Mississippi John Hurt
ββIt wasnβt that long ago when Ethan was rarely bothered by mosquitos, but this year heβs being eaten alive by themβ.β
I wrote that in my diary just a few weeks ago.
Thank you all for joining us today as we say βfarewellβ to my beloved husband, Ethan β¦. another innocent victim struck down in the prime of life by the dastardly mosquito. Ethan was attacked last week while bringing out the trash for pick-up in the morning; it was just a quick run to the curb but he didnβt have his EpiPen on him. Who knew just a few moments later heβd be in cardiac arrest from anaphylactic shock?
Ethan was never bothered by mosquitos before and at first it was just an annoying surprise when he started developing a reaction a few months ago. The change in him was sudden and drastic and, as much as I will miss him, Iβm so thankful his time of suffering was short.
Doctors canβt say whether this is a genetic trait, if our children Evan, Ella and Emily will develop this horrible allergy. To help our children realize the seriousness of this situation and to protect them, Ethan has left them his award-winning collection of swatters, his supply of EpiPens, his boxes of citronella candles, his stash of DEET and, of course, his journal.
When the allergic reactions started, Ethan began writing down his thoughts; as a poet, he wrote some of his best work over the recent months.He was most evocativein his agony.
In closing I would like to read one of his most poignant poems. Itβs called βOde To The Mosquitoβ. And please .β¦ next time you see a mosquito, ask yourselves βWhat would Ethan do?β“
Ode To The Mosquito
How can such a little thing Be so damn annoying? Flying round my arms and legs Itβs bothersome and cloying.
Go away, you vile thing Iβll swat you with a stick. Youβre not welcome in my home You nasty little prick!
Who would think that tiny guy Could be such a bloody sucker? When he sticks his fangs in me I scream βYou Motherf*#+er!β
You get me every time Iβm out; My blood is extra sweet. Come and get me, little twit! Tonight Iβm packing DEET!
We visited the Poe Cottage this week, former home of the poet Edgar Allan Poe. Itβs about a 30 minute drive from my house and I thought my two teenage grandchildren would enjoy the walk-around since theyβre both reading the works of Poe in school.
Itβs a quaint old place with small bedrooms, a common kitchen-parlor-dining room downstairs and an upstairs loft. My 6β tall grandson questioned how a grown man could sleep in the tiny bed.
At one point I realized my grandson had gone missing. Imagine my embarrassment when he was found napping in Poeβs bed!
The idea of Father’s Day was first conceived by Sonora Smart Dodd, a loving daughter from Spokane, Washington. It was also inspired by Mother’s Day as Dodd wanted a day to honor her father as well. William Jackson Smart was a Civil War veteran and single-handedly raised Sonora and her siblings after the death of their mother.
My dad was a Sicilian immigrant who came to the US by boat in 1930 at the age of 15. He arrived with his father and two brothers β¦ one older and the other younger. His mother and sister remained in Sicily for another few years; according to my grandfather, βAmerica is no place for a womanβ.
None of them spoke a word of English.
My father was an apprentice shoemaker in Sicily who took up barbering after getting settled in Brooklyn, NY. His good looks and charm endeared him to many people and he was liked by everyone.
It was my dadβs boss at the barbershop who gave him a brilliant piece of advice. As was his habit, my father bought the Italian newspaper every day to read during his down time at work. One day the boss said to him in Italian βHey, Vito! If you ever hope to speak English, do yourself a favor and start buying the New York Times every day and read it from front to back.β My father realized the importance of that advice and started buying the NY Times the very next day. With the added help of his English-speaking customers, he became fluent in English and lost his accent with no formal schooling. One of the proudest moments in his life was completing the NY Times crossword puzzle β¦ in ink!
Dad became a US citizen and eventually landed a job with the post office. He was a US Army veteran who drove a jeep throughout Europe during WWII without ever having earned a driverβs license. He never did get his license and never drove again after his stint in the army.
My father loved music, especially opera, and I was exposed to classical music and opera at a very early age. The basics in life were Dadβs tenets β¦ family, God, country, his job, providing a roof over our heads, food on the table and a good education. He was also the fun-loving one, with Mom always busy βcleaning up his messesβ.
Dad loved people and entertaining in our home. He would often invite people for dinner without clearing it with Mom first. No wonder she was always pissed off! Dad was often in trouble for that and I found that devilish quality one of his most endearing traits. He truly meant no harm. He was a good and decent man who loved and was loved in return. And in the end can any of us want more than that?
Happy Fatherβs Day to all my guys on WordPress. I hope your day is as special as you are.
Handsome Nigel Forsythe taught history at the university where Camilla Saunders was the librarian. His penchant for crime novels brought him to Camillaβs desk every week. She was a mousy thing with dull hair and thin lips but splendid breasts for which Nigel had a hankering.
When he asked her out for coffee, she accepted. Getting to know one another was excruciating but Nigel persevered, no doubt spurred on by the thought of getting into Camillaβs blouse.
On their fourth coffee date, Nigel suggested they do βsomething differentβ; Camilla was apprehensive but went along. They drove to a secluded park with meandering pathways and steps that seemingly led to nowhere.
βArenβt the flowers lovely, Camilla?βΒ Nigel asked and was rewarded with a thunderous sneeze.
βAllergiesβ Camilla complained.
βWatch the ivy, Camilla. We wouldnβt want you getting your heels caught up in it.β
βNigel, this looks like poison ivy. Iβm allergic and donβt have my EpiPen! Why did you insist on bringing me to this horrible jungle?β
βItβs hardly a jungle, Camilla, and the view from the top is to die for.β
With each step Camillaβs breathing became more labored until she was near collapse.
Camilla turned. Nigel was stunned to see her blouse soaked with sweat and clinging to her heaving breasts. He grabbed her shoulders, planting a hungry kiss on her cadaverous lips.
Camilla broke away, slapped Nigel and ran down the steps to the car. They drove back to the university in stony silence.
There was a boy named Danny who sat directly in front of me in 5th grade. He had a perpetual case of ringworm which fascinated and repulsed me at the same time.
His beautiful black hair had been shaved to expose the circular rash on the back of his head. I imagined microscopic critters chasing each other around that stubbly maze.
The theory was that Danny caught the fungus while hunting frogs in the boggy bullrushes; somehow that didnβt make it any less gross.
I never could understand boys and their frog fetishes. Everyone knows that’s where warts come from!
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where we are asked to start our piece with a question. Bonus points have been hinted at if we also end our piece with a question. Here is my questionable stream based on a conversation I had with my husband.
βWhat would you say if I decided to let my hair go natural? You know, go grey?β
βI’d have to ask why you would want to do that. You always take great pride in looking younger than you are. Wouldnβt grey hair make you look older?β
βWell, Iβm not sure we can toss a blanket over all women with grey hair and say they look older. There are other factors that come into play. Iβve always had great skin. Wonβt I still have great skinif I go grey? How can I just arbitrarily assume I will look older?β
βOk, Iβll give you that much. You can’t assume you will definitely look older. Youβve told me how much you like the color of your hair. Iβm surprised you’re suddenly considering changing it. Where is this coming from?β
βHonestly, Iβve been thinking about it for a while. It would be so much easier not having to color my hair and get highlights every couple of months. Besides, when we were at your sisterβs house the other day, I was the only woman who still colors her hair.β
βAnd you were the best looking one at the table!β
βYou have to say that; Iβm your wife! Your sisterβs grey hair looks gorgeous. I know women whoβd kill to have her color.β
βBut thereβs no guarantee youβll end up with the same color, is there?β
βWell, no β¦. I suppose not. But my colorist is so talented, I just know sheβd do a great job transitioning my hair.β
“Now I’m confused. If you want to stop coloring your hair, what does your colorist have to do with any of this?”
“My colorist will add some grey to my hair …. like getting highlightsonly they’d be grey instead of blonde. She’d gradually add more until my hair is completely grey, then I can naturally let my grey roots grow out.”
“Seem’s like an awful lot of work to me. Why not just stop coloring your hair and let nature take it’s course?”
“That’s a terrible idea! It’ll take forever and look awful growing out!”
βWell, if youβre convinced this is what you want, Iβm not going to stop you.β
βIβm not at all convinced this is what I want; thatβs why I asked you in the first place.β
βOk, then my answer to your question is βDonβt go gray. I love your hair color the way it is.β
βWell, Iβll have to give that more thought. What do you think about me cutting my hair?β
My husband is as easy going as can be, so when he makes a request, I try my best to oblige. Last night he asked for Sunday pasta with meatballs. How could I refuse?
Homemade pasta with all the trimmings is something I can do with my eyes closed but when I first started out in the kitchen as a new bride, I had no idea what I was doing. Sure, I had watched my mother cook for years but itβs a whole different ballgame when youβre on your own.
Iβll never forget the first time I tried to make Sunday pasta. Reading my motherβs recipe was no help. This is exactly what she wrote:
For your pasta dough mix flour and eggs, water when you need, pinch salt, oil maybe.
Thatβs it. No measurements, no amounts, nothing definitive. Her meatball recipe was no better:
Chopped meat, eggs, some salt & pepper, handful parmigiano, another handful breadcrumbs, dice onion, parsley, oregano, glass of water.
A GLASS OF WATER! Which glass? What size? At this point my eyes were frantically scanning the kitchen for a glass! I didnβt know if I should laugh or cry. Iβm sure my mother never referred to a recipe in her life so she had no idea how to write one!
Just then it hit me and I had a vision of my mother in her kitchen. She always used a Flintstoneβs Jelly Jar as her water glass when cooking; she said it was the perfect size. All I had to do was find an equivalent measure and Iβd be good.
I eventually mastered the art of Sunday pasta with meatballs but I sure do wish I had my momβs jelly jar .β¦ for old timesβ sake, you know?
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to get creative in 250 words or less, using the photo prompt as inspiration. This is my 250-word story.
Fiona was late for Mass. Seeing an unfamiliar man leaning against the wall outside Sullyβs Bar, she quickened her pace. As she passed she heard him chuckle and say βWhatβs yer hurry, Irish?β She walked even faster, opening the side door to St. Brigidβs.
An hour later Fiona exited the church and noticed the same man from the bar standing at the corner. Had he been waiting for her all this time? Wary, she stepped backwards, teetering on the curb and losing her shoe in the process.
Suddenly the man was by her side. She was taken aback as he reached around her waist and stopped her fall.
βNameβs Harvey Rubin and yer one fine lookinβ dish. Ya need somebody like me to drive ya home, Irish. It can be dangerous for a good Catholic girl like yerself walkin’ alone in this neck o’ the woods.β
βKeep your thoughts …. and hands …. to yourself, buster!β Fiona snapped. βBesides, how do you know Iβm a good Catholic girl?β
βWell, I ainβt no Albert Einstein but I seen ya practically racinβ to St. Brigidβs like yer panties was on fire and Iβm guessinβ yaainβt no altar boy β not withthem gorgeousgams.β Harvey replied in an unhurried way.
Glancing down, he smiled at her missing shoe; his tough βBogieβ persona became surprisingly charming. Fiona found it difficult to resist this rough-hewn stranger and she shocked herself by allowing him to escort her home.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are encouraged to write something creative in 100 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my 100-word story.
Uncle Bobby had this irrational fear of spiders. Well, it was irrational to his family; for him it was very real.
So when the new amusement park ride Spiders From Mars opened, Uncle Bobby wouldnβt go near it.
Everyone tried convincing him the ride wasnβt jinxed or dangerous but he wasnβt buying it. All their urging and encouragement fell on deaf ears. Uncle Bobby watched from the shadows as his nieces and nephews went for a spin.
That night the ride malfunctioned; several family members were killed, unceremoniously hurled out of the park.
Guess Uncle Bobby’s fear wasn’t so irrational. π·οΈ
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story
Dear God in heaven! How the hell Iβm supposed to get through this book is beyond me!
Iβve been at it now for hours and Iβm bored stiff. I donβt know who this guy thinks he is but Iβll tell you what heβs not β¦. a good writer! Iβve read menus more interesting than this rot!
Jeez Louise! Iβve come across some real clunkers in my day but this one is totally b-o-r-i-n-g. Haul out the woodchipper!
The owner of the small publishing business behind me, Miss Willow Everwood, is my boss; I work there as a proofreader and I really like my job but reading this book is torture. Miss Everwood spotted me dozing off on the chair and demanded I sit on the hard pavement to keep from getting too comfortable and falling asleep. She even said she didnβt want me rooting around inside until I was done with my job.
Well, now my limbs are as stiff as an old hickory stick, my noggin feels like itβs full of sawdust and my buttβs as hard as a slab of redwood. I swear if I have to keep reading this, Iβm going to nod off right here in the middle of the sidewalk and start sawing wood.
If I had a rope Iβd hang myself from the nearest tree! But Iβm not about to get all sappy.
Well, good luck to this Tolkien guy if he thinks heβs going to make it with these creepy Ent people!
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are asked to be creative in no more than six sentences using the word “light”. This is my story.
Colette, typically looking away the second I snap a photo! Eyeroll!
We got a late start with spring cleaning in our yard, especially along the side of the house where our attached garage is located; even though the gardeners had cleared a lot of old shrubbery away for some new plants and bushes, it was just not meant to be after we were derailed by the sudden death of my husbandβs twin brother on April 2 and me being sidelined since the first week of May by a major sinus infection (the heavy-duty antibiotics have left me “out of commission” and able to eat only extremely light meals or, at times, nothing at all).
In mid-May, we put in a couple of small white azaleas, relocated a baby rhododendron which wasnβt doing well in the far back corner of the yard and planted a bit of Blue Bugle and Lilies of the Valley for lightground cover (along the side of the house, not visible in this pic), but thatβs as far as our broken spirits and depleted bodies would allow us go.
When Colette is here with us (Tuesdays, Thursdays and the occasional Saturday or Sunday) and the weather is good, she wants to be outside; hell, even if the weather isnβt good, she wants to be outside β a phenomenon about most children that escapes me as they (well, she definitely) seem to be impervious to heat or cold or rain or snow or wind β all the elements, times when Bill and I would prefer being inside nestled in our recliners with a lightweight blanket.
Speaking of nestled, we discovered that sparrows had made their nest in an old watering can in the corner of Coletteβs playhouse; the mama and papa birds are very resourceful, building the new home in a location almost invisible to us, one which I discovered quite by accident when I heard a faint chirping noise coming from the playhouse and β¦. with my trusty flashlight in hand β¦. I went to take a peek but was immediately dive-bombed by a wildly protective kamikaze sparrow which, when it sped just inches by my head, had me believing it was a small bat …. terrifying!
Tuesday the temps soared to a scorching 86ΒΊF β a leap from the mild low-70s of just the day before β so it was, according to Colette, the βperfect day for planting!β β¦. a concept I did not agree with thinking it was too hot and we would be in direct blazing sunlightfor the entire time β¦. but I did not object (mainly because the child could not be dissuaded and it was far less taxing than yet another round of the Disney edition of Monopoly); armed with our faithful spades, Bill with his macho shovel and pitchfork, we planted another azalea along the side of the house, then Colette and I pulled all the weeds and detritus from the two ancient cement planters on either side of the bench you see in the above photo, replacing all of what was growing in them as haphazardly as Albert Einstein’s hair with two bright pink kalanchoe plants, then stood back to proudly bask in the glory of our gardening prowess.
Of course, manual labor such as that demands a reward and certainly not a monetary one which would be looked upon with disdain and confusion by a 4-year-old whose idea of recompense consists solely of instant gratification in the form of ice cream β the I-don’t-give-a-hoot-how-messy-I-get kind β and after getting Colette situated in her pink fairy chair, pinning up her waist-length hair and snapping on the 15-year-old bib we originally used for our first grandchild, Mckenna, I disappeared into the kitchen and returned with fudge-covered vanilla ice cream pops for Colette and Bill and a lemon ice for me; judging by the look on her face and the twinkling, totally satisfied lightin her eyes (photo below), Colette was over the moon with her sweet, sloppy treat and …. you know β¦. she was right after all about it being the βperfect day for planting!”
Growing up, it was just me and my sister β two girls doing girl things. And while we werenβt always best of friends, it was just the two of us. It wasnβt my fault that my mother went into labor smack in the middle of my sisterβs 4th birthday party; after making a hasty departure for the hospital, my mother arrived just in time for me to be born β¦. on my sisterβs birthday β¦. and sheβs never really forgiven me. I mean, she says she has but deep down thereβs resentment. But I digress.
Bitterness for being born on her birthday aside, we managed to get along ok. And we both had a bunch of little girlfriends whoβd come over the house to play and swim in our pool. Thereβs a definite advantage to having the only pool on the block β even if it was inflatable and barely three feet deep. We always had lots of friends over but there were never any boys around and, if an interloper did show up, he was quickly shown the way out before he had a chance to dip his you-know-what in our pool!
For the first six years of my life, I had very little contact with boys .β¦ except for my cousins and they didnβt count. In elementary school boys were just tolerated; they were looked upon as excess baggage. Of course, that all changed when I hit my teen years and realized boys had potential. I had a couple of crushes early on but nothing earth-shattering. Then, at the ripe old age of 17, I went on a blind date with a guy named Bill and together we learned all about boys and girls, how they were so wondrously different and incredibly well-made for each other. I was stunned by how much I didn’t know about boys.
So, wouldnβt you just know it! God, in his infinite humorous nature, decided to bless me with only boy babies. All those years of playing with my baby girl dolls, changing their diapers fashioned from paper napkins, powdering their petite girlie bottoms, all that didnβt come close to what these boys were packing! It didnβt matter how well I knew Billβs anatomy; he didnβt wear a diaper and I had never changed one β¦. at least not a boyβs. Talk about a rude awakening!
Let me just explain something very quickly here. When infant girls are getting their diapers changed, sometimes they pee but itβs a dainty little trickle that gently disappears into the absorbent pad under them. When infant boys are getting their diapers changed, parents put on a hazmat suit because that nozzle has a mind of its own and it is gonna spray wherever it wants.
Oh sure, parents can buy little wee-wee teepees to hold over the wee-wee while their baby boy giggles at them, but most times that thing is flying around like an errant garden hose and the pee goes everywhere. And, of course, thatβs where men first learn to pee with no hands β yawning and stretching and placing their hands behind their heads in a very satisfied βlook-what-I-can-doβ sort of way. Usually in those situations, there will be spillage. I have found, for the most part, the male species is not very discriminating and is quite happy to just βhitsomething“.
Which brings me to the heart of this story.
I love my boys and, in all humility, Bill and I did a good job raising them. BUT, nature will take its course no matter what we do. And let me tell you, there is nothing β¦. and I mean NOTHING β¦. like the overwhelming musky, barn-like odor that punches you in the face when you open the door to a boyβs bedroom. For the love of all things holy, what is going on in there? How is it possible for boys β¦. little or big β¦. to ravage so many briefs, boxers or tighty-whities in one day, not to mention the now-fossilized face cloths (and sometimes my good hand towels)?
Weβre all adults here and you know exactly what Iβm talking about.
Well, I finally reached the end of my rope. It became unbearable for me to do my teen sons’ laundry, let alone keep up with it, so I threw down the gauntlet. I led the boys to the laundry room where I proceeded to write on my washing machine with a Sharpie. In all the corresponding receptacles were the words βDETERGENT GOES HERE.β βBLEACH GOES HERE.β βSOFTENER GOES HERE.β Iβm sure they didnβt believe me when I said I was done doing their wash. After two weeks of their laundry piling up and them running out of clean clothes and their sheets desperate enough to literally walk off the bed and leap into the washing machine, they finally got the message!
As the old saying goes, boys will be boys, and I never had a problem with what was going on in my sons’ bedrooms β¦. within reason; if I thought something dangerous was happening, Iβd be in there in a flash. Iβd just had enough of cleaning up their messes. Now theyβre grown men, good men, married with children, and they get to deal with their own kids’ smells, sprays, spills and secretions.
And when I see them lugging a basketful of laundry to their washing machines, I chuckle and know I did them a huge favor.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a fan of the great Mel Brooks. Combine that with my fascination with gladiator movies and my own sense of humor and this is the result. Originally written in 2021, I’ve donesome tweaking and now present to you one of my favorite fun stories. I hope you enjoy ‘Maximus Overdrive’!
Maximus Gluteus caught a glimpse of his reflection on a sheet of polished tin which his wife Labia used as a mirror. He had really let himself go! He was a disgrace, not just to himself but the entire world of gladiators.
Originally known as Maximus Biceptis, he was no longer the god-like hero of the arena. Where was that formidable champion of the amphitheater? Gone were the defined, well-built curves visible through his tunic, the muscles straining against the fabric at the forearms, biceps and chest. His sculpted calves, broad back and wide neck were flaccid, as were other parts of his anatomy which Labia was quick to point out.
Maximus was not only popular with the general public; he was greatly admired by the Roman emperor Sartorius for having won many battles against highly skilled adversaries. The emperor was particularly impressed by his heroics and rewarded Maximus with more palaces and riches than he could have asked for; he went so far as to honor Maximus with his prized solid gold chariot and team of Berber horses. Β
Besides gladiator matches, there was something else the Romans were famous for β partying! Those wild and crazy worshipers of Bacchus, the god of wine, knew how to have a good time. Maximus and Labia threw lavish Bacchanalia and partied like it was 999; debaucheries of every kind were practiced freely and enjoyed by all. Party-goers would spend uninhibited all-nighters dancing, watching circus performers, feasting on fattening foods and decadent desserts, engaging in unbridled sex and, of course, drinking themselves into a stupor.
Labia, a once-famous gladiatrix, was considered an exotic rarity by all who knew her. Attempting to maintain her impressively athletic yet feminine physique, she exercised frequently in the gymnasium and swam in the warm baths. Maximus, however, had become lazy and spiritless. He encamped himself in the large atria overlooking the Mediterranean, reclining for hours on end in the lavish gardens which had been planted with grape orchards, orange groves and trees bearing olives, figs, almonds, walnuts and chestnuts.
Maximus reveled in the good life, laying on his chaise lounge listening to poetry while the palace harpist played softly. Naked dancing nymphs performed for him, slaves fanned him with exquisite peacock feathers and beautiful servant girls fed him cheese, pheasant, figs dipped in honey, meaty chestnuts and wine. A life of gluttony and pleasure suited Maximus; he was a well-sated man.
Maximus became so fat, Labia refused to have sex with him. Even his concubines were repulsed by him but knew they had to do the deed or risk being executed. It got so bad, the poor girls resorted to pulling straws to see who would share their master’s bed. The ladies, however, had little to fear; most nights Maximus was so drunk he was in no condition to get it on …. even with the sensual songs of Marvin Gayeus playing in the background.
It didnβt take long before Labia began spending more and more time away from the palace. She would go for long walks along the seashore with her beloved greyhounds, Lingus and Limbus. It was during one of those walks that Labia first laid eyes on the newest and most popular gladiator who recently transferred to Rome β Maximus Erectus.
He was quite a sight to behold, especially when exercising naked on the beach. To say that he was well-built was an understatement. Erectus was perfection from head to toe. Tall, blond and powerful, sinewy muscles rippled down his arms and legs and across his Herculean back and chest. He was broad-shouldered with a flat, rock-hard abdomen. His body was bronzed from the sun and glistened with sweat. He was one ripped Roman!
Labia stared transfixed at the spectacle before her; even the dogs sat in quiet attention. Finishing up his exercise routine, Erectus ran toward the sea, jumped into the waves and swam for a long while. When he came out, he spotted Labia standing on the beach watching him. Without any hesitation or embarrassment, he walked directly to her. Smiling broadly, he reached down and patted Lingus and Limbus, laughing as they responded by happily wagging their tails. Labiaβs tail had already been wagging.
The two struck up a conversation. All the while they were speaking Labiaβs eyes kept drifting down toward Erectusβ magnificent member which seemed to take on a life of its own. When Labia mentioned she, too, enjoyed exercising and swimming, Erectus commented that she looked like she was in terrific shape and invited her to join him on the beach whenever she desired a partner.
Now, thereβs no denying Labia had a few years on Erectus, but she was still firm and supple. She decided to join him on the beach the following week; it wasnβt long before the duo became partners in every way.
Labia packed her bags and left Maximus Gluteus for her new lover. Tossing everything into the golden chariot, she clicked her tongue and the team of Berbers trotted off. Labia laughed gaily as she shouted over her shoulder, βSo long, fat ass!β
But Maximus Gluteus was too drunk to hear her.
That night Emperor Sartorius had a dream that he would be overthrown. He consulted the wisest philosophers and dream interpreters who all agreed this would indeed be his fate. Fearing torture and a slow death at the hands of his enemies, Sartorius made it known that should such an uprising occur, Maximus Gluteus was to be summoned to execute him; he trusted Maximus would end his life as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Sartorius was indeed overthrown and, per his wishes, Maximus was summoned. However, since Labia had absconded with the golden chariot, Maximus had no choice but to travel by foot to emperor’s palace. Alas, his massive weight slowed him down terribly and Maximus did not arrive in time to save Sartorius from an excruciating death.
Due to that unfortunate event, the expression “Lardum Asina” came about. Today we know it as “Lard Ass”.
From the comedic genius mind of Mel Brooks, this is a clip from the movie “History Of The World, Part I” featuring Bea Arthur and Mel Brooks who wrote, directed and produced the 1981 film.
This is βEntry Of The Gladiatorsβ by Julius Fucik
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to get creative in 250 words or less using this photo as inspiration. Here is my story. If you would like to read previous adventures of George and Martha, you may click here and here.
The Elephant's Trunk 