Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.31.24.
Weβre offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
Tag: Irony
The Day the Music Died
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
has asked us to use the image below as inspiration
to get creative in 100 words or less, making
every word count. Hereβs my flash.
The Letter
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.24.24,
Fandangoβs Story Starter #172 (#FSS), Eugiβs
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt (pretend), and
Gerry C & Sue Wβs Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge (fascination). This is my story.
Bar Kathmandu
Written for No Theme Thursday where Kevin
has offered us some incredible images to
inspire and get our creative juices flowing.
Revamping of a 2020 tale, this is my story.
Heads Up
Written for Kevinβs No Theme Thursday 10.24.24.
Weβre offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
The Prayer
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Dinner With The Boss
Written for Di’s Three Things Challenge #M849 and
Eugi’s Moonwashed Weekly Prompt; this is my story.

Joe did it again.
This morning he found himself in the elevator with his boss; they were chatting amiably about the baseball post-season games. Joeβs boss was impressed (and a bit jealous) to learn that Joe had a home theatre set up in his rec room with a 96β Samsung smart TV.
Before he could stop himself, Joe invited his boss over for dinner, a little billiards and the baseball game that night β¦ without first checking in with his wife, Amy. This was not the first time Joe invited someone over without asking Amy; true, they were his friends and Amy didnβt mind because they just ordered pizza and played pool. But this was his boss and Joe was expecting Amy to cook a nice meal. And it was already 3:30 PM!
Joe sent Amy a text (because he was too chicken to call her in person!): βHey, babe! Boss coming to dinner. Big opportunity for me! Donβt care what you have to do, just make me proud. Luv ya.β
Amy stared at her phone in disbelief. A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Wishing to avoid an unpleasant conversation, she answered Joe’s text with a simple “OK” but her blood was boiling.
Two hours later when Joe and his boss opened the front door, they were greeted with the most mouthwatering aromas coming from the kitchen. Joe looked around in awe at his sparkling house and the beautifully set dining room table. Amy greeted them, all smiles and looking lovely.
βBabe!β Joe whispered breathlessly. βThe place looks fabulous and dinner smells amazing. Howβd you do all this?β
Amy blushed sweetly and whispered backΒ βIt wasnβt so hard, honey. I just hired Minute Maid Cleaners, a personal chef and a waiter.β
βYou did what?? We couldn’t possibly afford all that!β Joe barked.
βSure we could, honeyβ Amy laughed, βafter I sold the pool table and the TV.β
NARΒ©2024
Prompt words βmaidβ, βwaiterβ and βcleanerβ for Di
and βblushedβ for Eugi.
From the era of the caveman, this is βWives and Loversβ by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Crossroads
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.

There he stood at the crossroads of his life. He was 72 years old and made more poor choices than he cared to remember. He was purposeless, never knowing which direction to take.
He was an indecisive man. The only true and clear decision he made was marrying his wife. She was his anchor when he began to drift, his lifeboat when he was drowning in the sea of life.
On this crisp autumn day, he was suddenly consumed with the urge to take a walk, clear his head. His wife offered to go with him, but he declined saying thanks, but he needed this time by himself to think.
His wife suggested he wear his new chartreuse windbreaker; if he lost his bearings, as he was often wont to do, heβd be easily visible. And so he donned his yellow-green jacket and took off to find himself.
Now here he stood at the crossroads of his life, literally. He had no idea where he was. As he looked around, he realized he was truly screwed for he blended in perfectly with his surroundings.
At that moment he cursed his wife. He wanted to wear his beloved red jacket but no, she suggested he wear the chartreuse one. Because he could never make up his mind, he did as he was told. Now he was lost without a clue which way to go.
And to think he went off to find himself. Now he wondered if anyone would find him.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is βCrossroadsβ by Cream
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Lofty Ambitions
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. Hereβs 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..
NARΒ©2024
100 Words
This is βI Gotta Crowβ by Mary Martin & Kathy Nolan
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
“Fresh” Tomatoes
Written for Sammiβs Weekend Writing Prompt 384 (groceries),
Sue & Gerryβs Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge (mainly orange)
and Fandangoβs One-Word Challenge (mock). Hereβs 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!
NARΒ©2024
29 Words

This is βHome Grown Tomatoesβ by Jay Ungar and Molly Mason
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Rubbernecking
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.

βHey, Daryl! Phil! Get a load of this!β neighed Ed as he stared over Bess and Elsie’s fence onto the country road. βDo they really think theyβre capable of running? On two legs?? If that don’t beat all!β
βWhat the heck are they doing?β asked Daryl.
βTheyβre jogging; humans run around all bandy-legged with arms flailing, getting sweaty, going nowhere in particular and looking pretty dumb while doing it.β Ed explained.
Phil trotted over. βYeah. I read about these idiots in βHorse Beautifulβ. Itβs some kind of craze, far as I can tell …. some sort of asinine exercise routine.β
βWhoa, whoa, whoa! Look at what we got coming this way, gentlemen. Now thatβs some fine-looking little filly!β exclaimed Ed.
βCheck out those tiny shorts sheβs wearing. She can ride me bareback any time she wants!β Phil declared.
βMan, now thatβs one stacked number! I could watch her jog and bounce around all day!β Daryl smacked his lips.
βHey! What are you three stud farm rejects doing all this way from the barn?β It was Barkley, the yellow lab who lived on the ranch. βFarmer Brownβs gonna have a cow if he hears you jumped the fence again! Best get yourselves back home before someone notices youβre gone. Cβmon! Giddy-up, boys!β
βBuzz kill!β snorted Ed and the trio took off.
βBunch of jackasses!β Barkley yowled indignantly. βWell, good riddance to them and woof to you, my sexy lady. You jog by here often? Have I got a bone for you!β
NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is “Who’s That Lady” by the Isley Brothers
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
A Bad Sign
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. Hereβs my flash.

Just my luck! First day of my new job; things couldnβt have gotten off to a worse start!
Overnight blackout during a heatwave.
No electricity.
No AC; I sweat like crazy all night and smell like an ox.
No alarm clock; I overslept.
No time for a shower and shave.
No closet light; Iβm wearing one brown shoe and one black.
I look like a derelict!
Nothing for breakfast; no time for even fast food.
Iβm stuck behind road hogs. “Outta my way, you fools! Iβm late for work!“
Some first impression. I must have a cloud over my head!
NARΒ©2024
100 Words
This is βBorn Under A Bad Signβ by Albert King
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
His Jealous Mother
Written for dVerse Poets β Quadrille Monday 209 β Plucking Strings
Our host Lisa asks us to include the word “string(s)” in our piece.
This is my free verse poem based on a true story as told by my mother.

My fatherβs mother hated my mother for marrying her son.
Returning from their honeymoon, my parents visited her mother, then his mother.
When his mother opened the door, she pushed my mother down the stairs, breaking the string of pearls around my motherβs neck.
NARΒ©2024
44 Words
This is βA String of Pearlsβ by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
The Confrontation
Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.

βSecrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. Youβre living a secret life, Kenneth, and itβs destroying us.β Juneβs lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire β¦. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.
Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.
June wondered if he was even listening.
βYou had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Donβt you think I have a right to know?β
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. βYes, darling. Itβs time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.β
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
βIβm leaving, June. Iβm going back to the Congo.β
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. βAnd back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubtβ she spat out bitterly. βHow could you, Kenneth!β
βSundaβs dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didnβt make it.β
βDead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?β June asked, bewildered.
βThe messages Iβve been getting .β¦ theyβre all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now sheβs dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.β
βNo! It can’t be true! I donβt understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. Weβll find the best doctors and fight this together!β June sobbed.
βOh, darling June. If only it were that easy. Thereβs just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.β
NARΒ©2024

This is βJungle Feverβ by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Coulro Saves The Day
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 word or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.

My whole life has been nothing but one big joke. I donβt know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, donβt get me wrong; Iβm not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .β¦ 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!
Thatβs 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.
People say it’s the coolest ride in town!
NARΒ©2024
250 Words
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“.Β It may come from the ancient Greek word kΕlobathristΔs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.

This is βTake The Long Way Homeβ by Supertramp.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Crop Invaders: A Haibun
Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge and
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge where the
required words are “wrong” and “hoarding”. This is my haibun.

The exact year escapes me but it was a long time ago, to be sure. It was the summer we returned from vacation to find our tomatoes had ripened into gorgeous red orbs ready for eating. I could practically smell that grassy-green, spicy-sweet summery aroma. But something seemed wrong, off somehow. I felt like I was not alone in my garden, like I was being watched. Taking a closer look, I discovered disturbingly large caterpillars feasting on our lovely harvest. The bloated green creatures blended in so well with the underside of the leaves, it took a few seconds to register why our crop was full of gaping holes. Probing, boring, ravaging, gorging, hoarding. No tomato was salvaged that summer. Not one. That was the year I stopped planting tomatoes.
garden interlopers
devastation
signaling summerβs end
NARΒ©2024
This is βEnd of Summerβ featuring Katie Melua and L.U.C. from The Peasants soundtrack
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
When Push Comes To Shove: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.

Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is βPush Comes To Shoveβ by Van Halen.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Tears Come Easy
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #380 and
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge where the required words
are ‘auction’ and ‘lilac’. In exactly 78 words, here is my story.

My husband came home from grocery shopping and after putting away the ice cream said to me, βI stopped by the Chatsworth Auction House. Look what I found.β
He handed me a small box; inside were vintage lilac gemstone and silver filigree earrings.
I started to cry β¦ tears come easy β¦ and he asked βWhatβs wrong?β
βNothing. Theyβre perfectβ I sobbed. βJust like the ones I lost years ago.β
βI rememberβ he whispered and kissed my head.
NARΒ©2024
78 Words
This is βI Remember Youβ by Frank Ifield
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
When I Grow Up
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.

βHm, whatβs this?β I asked myself, cycling up to an abandoned car β¦ a bit of excitement in my otherwise dull existence.
It struck me as odd that the car appeared to have been deliberately driven to the side of the road, the engine turned off while, in sharp contrast, the door had been hastily left open. The key was in the ignition, the constant reminder of βding-ding-ding-dingβ shattering the stillness.
Instinctively, I yanked out the key, pocketing it. I exhaled, savoring the calmness. Looking around, there wasnβt a living thing in sight, but two trash bins implied the presence of civilization.
I stood at the silent intersection, the roads reaching out to the horizon. The only change in landscape was a mound strewn with tree cuttings. I decided to scope out the area to see what was about, but my exploration yielded nothing. The car and I stood idle.
Shrugging my shoulders, I began walking back to my bicycle when an indistinct sound penetrated the air β a muffled voice coming from the mound.
With renewed vigor, I ran up the rise, stopping abruptly at the sight below β a traveling circus being dismantled. It was then I noticed a silver-haired man giddily leaping toward the carny folk, waving and shouting βwait for me!β
Before I knew what was happening, I was bounding after the man, yelling for him to βtake me along, too!β He motioned for me to “c’mon!”
At some point the car key fell out of my pocket, no longer needed.
NARΒ©2024
250 Words

This is “Goodbye Cruel World” by James Darren
And for a bit of culture …. from the musical βStop the World – I Want to Get Offβ, this is the incomparable Anthony Newley with βWhat Kind of Fool Am I?β
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
I Gemelli

Resemblance can be a freaky thing. Supposedly everyone has a doppelgΓ€nger; 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!

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.



Twins? Maybe, maybe not, but the resemblance is strong….

….except for my actual sister! Go figure!
NARΒ©2024
Remember this? Here’s the theme song from The Patty Duke Show called “Identical Cousins”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Don’t Cry For Me Agrigento
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are asked
to get creative in 100 words or less using the
photo below for inspiration. Here is my story.

It was 1965, a big year β my sisterβs graduation, the Beatles concert and our trip to Sicily.
We spent a day at Momβs cousin Concettaβs 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 β our favorite.
We hung out with the animals all morning. In the afternoon we drove to Agrigento to explore the shops.
Upon returning to Concettaβs, we sat down for dinner. Pasta to start, of course. When she brought out the roast chickens, we burst into tears.
NARΒ©2024
100 Words
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.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Where Is The Answer?
This is Week 33 of Glyn’s Mixed Music Bag and we are
being asked to choose a song by a group or solo artist
whose name begins with the letters O or P. This is my choice.

After meeting in New York Cityβs Greenwich Village in 1961, folksingers Peter Yarrow, Paul Stookey and Mary Travers decided to form a group and they kept it very simple by calling their trio Peter, Paul and Mary. Playing in folk clubs and on college campuses, they built a youthful following with their lyricism, tight harmonies and spare sound, usually accompanied only by Yarrow and Stookey on acoustic guitars.
With Peter, Paul and Mary’s records and television appearances, they popularized both new and traditional folk songs by such songwriters as Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, the Weavers, and Laura Nyro. At the forefront of the folk music revival, the trio created a bridge between folk music and later folk rock.
Prominent in the civil rights movement and the struggle against the Vietnam War, Peter, Paul and Mary included protest songs in a repertoire that also featured plaintive ballads such as β500 Milesβ and childrenβs songs like Yarrowβs βPuff the Magic Dragon.β
After splitting up in 1970 to pursue solo careers, the trio re-formed in 1978 to release the album Reunion. In 1986 they celebrated their 25th anniversary with a series of concerts and released the album No Easy Walk to Freedom.
During the course of their career, Peter, Paul and Mary received five Grammy Awards with multiple wins for βIf I Had a Hammerβ (1962) and βBlowinβ in the Windβ (1963). Their 1967 recording of John Denverβs βLeaving on a Jet Planeβ became a #1 hit in 1969. They also earned a Grammy for the childrenβs recording βPeter, Paul and Mommyβ (1969). Their final studio album, In These Times, appeared in 2003.
The song I have chosen to feature today is the beloved folk song, βBlowinβ in the Windβ, written in 1962 and originally recorded by Bob Dylan.
In the song, the speaker poses a series of huge questions about the persistence of war and oppression, and then responds with one repeated, cryptic reply: “The answer, my friends, is blowin’ in the wind.” Finding an end to human cruelty, the song suggests, is a matter of understanding a truth that’s all around but seemingly impossible to grasp.
Contrary to what many people think, it wasnβt Dylan who made this song a civil rights anthem β¦. it was Peter, Paul and Mary whose version sold 300,000 copies in its first two weeks of release. The trio’s version, which was the title track of their third album, peaked at #2 on the Billboard charts. The group’s version also went to #1 on the Middle Road charts for five weeks.
It was at the 6th Annual Grammy Awards in 1964 where Peter, Paul & Mary won the two previously mentioned Grammy’s for “Blowin’ in the Wind” …. for Best Folk Recording and Best Performance By A Vocal Group. In 2003, Peter, Paul & Mary’s version of “Blowin’ in the Wind” was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.
Here are Peter, Paul and Mary with Blowin in the Windβ
Bob Dylanβs entire catalogue of songs, which spans 60+ years and is among the most prized next to that of the Beatles, was acquired by Universal Music Publishing Group in December, 2020. The deal covered 600 song copyrights and is estimated to be worth $400 million.
From 1963, this is βBlowinβ in the Windβ by 22 year old Bob Dylan
Big thanks to Glyn for hosting Mixed Music Bag each week; be sure to check out his site.
Thanks for stopping by and spinning some tunes. See you on the flip side. π
NARΒ©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
No Martinis
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
to get creative in 250 words or less using the
photo prompt as inspiration. This is my story.

The nameβs Hammer β¦. Jack Hammer.
The life of a special agent is a lonely one. Itβs nothing like a James Bond movie or a John le CarrΓ© 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 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
Shit.
NARΒ©2024

This is the theme song for the βPink Pantherβ, written by Henry Mancini and performed by the WDR Funkhausorchester under the baton of Nic Raine.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
A Perfect Couple
Written for Fandangoβs Story Starter #159
where the first sentence is the prompt and
for Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt,
using the phrase βone dayβ. This is my story.

The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.
Itβs hard to imagine life without her. When the hell did everything start to unravel?
Now he sat alone in the shell of their apartment, baseball game on the tv playing for no one, nursing his second scotch. This place used to be alive with people enjoying one of their famous parties. When he closed his eyes he could hear their friendsβ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.
Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage β dinner at Gallagherβs, cycling along Riverside Drive, steamy showers after Saturday morning sex. They were in sync in their choices of movies, paint colors and the biggest decision of all .β¦ neither one wanted kids.
He sat there, head in hands while a thousand thoughts went through his mind. When did he begin having second thoughts? Was it when her sister asked them to be godparents for her first baby? Was it watching the kids in the playground across the street? All he could remember was the night he whispered in her ear that he wanted to have a baby.
She was blindsided. What? No! He was just named partner at Central Casting. She was food editor for Country Living magazine. Life was perfect. They had an agreement, dammit!
Would she just consider thinking about it? No! How could he spring this on her now?
Days, weeks went by. She remained adamant, distant. Then one day he came home after work and she was gone.Β
Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers.
It couldnβt have happened to a more perfect couple.
NARΒ©2024
This is βThe Danceβ by Garth Brooks
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Kathmandu DΓ©jΓ Vu

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!
NAR Β© 2024
Orig. written 2021
This is βAinβt That A Kick In The Headβ by Dean Martin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
The Harmonica
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.

He was neither old nor young and if he had memories β¦ good, bad, happy or sad β¦ they were long forgotten, washed away like tears in rain.
His hand reached for his breast pocket, fingers touching the familiar object resting inside. A harmonica. He had no idea where it came from nor did he know why it was in his pocket yet somehow with an intrinsic knowledge he knew it was his.
Removing the instrument from his pocket, he stared at it as he reverently caressed the wood, reading the faded inscription. Raising it to his mouth, he began to play an old tune he forgot he even knew.
People passing by dropped coins into the white cloth shopping bag at his feet. He might not remember much but he’d never forget the delicious aroma of the crusty baguette in his bag.
A little boy of perhaps eight years of age shyly approached, dropped a coin in the manβs bag and ran back to his father waiting nearby. There was something about the older man that made the boyβs father pause for just a moment.
This ritual continued for several days and the two men pensively acknowledged each other with a nod.
One day before the boy ran back to his father, the man slipped the harmonica into his hand. When the boyβs father read the inscription, he knew. He looked up but the older man was gone.
He closed his eyes as a teardrop landed on the harmonica.
NARΒ©250
250 Words

This is βGeorgia On My Mindβ by Charlie McCoy
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Hippocrisy
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!!
Mwah! Kissy, kissy!β
NARΒ©2024
100 Words
This is “One Hippopotami” by Allan Sherman
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Eunice Blackthorne
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word βfrequencyβ
into a story of exactly six sentences. Hereβs my six.

Immediately upon arriving at their destination, Camilla bolted from the car, slammed the door and stormed off, leaving a bewildered Nigel alone to weigh his options: go after her, call her after sheβs had a chance to cool down or declare this date a complete failure and forget about Camilla all together, something he was not keen on as he was not the quitting type β¦. plus, he couldnβt get Camillaβs amazing breasts out of his head; after some thought, Nigel decided to go after her but first he needed to find a parking spot and then purchase two cappuccinos, one for him and one for her, in lieu of an awkward verbal apology.
Camilla was at her desk, obviously engrossed in a conversation of great importance as she was speaking rapidly in an animated manner to a tall, thin woman with blonde hair when she noticed Nigel coming her way and quicky ushered the woman into a back room, closing the door behind them; however, Nigel was determined to wait it out when just then an unidentified man approached and informed him that βMs. Saunders had left the building and gave no indication when or if she would be returning that dayβ; this new intel pissed Nigel off royally since he was not prepared to have Camilla pull a disappearing act on him .β¦ a position he found alien, embarrassing and profoundly uncomfortable.
In a huff, Nigel stormed out of the library and quickly walked to his car, arriving just in time to see Camilla and the blonde woman sliding into a white convertible which, of course, he followed, managing to stay far enough away without losing sight of the car which travelled a route which was extremely familiar to Nigel; the more they drove the more convinced Nigel became that he knew were the white car was headed but when the convertible abruptly turned off the road into a parking garage, Nigel was none-the-less astounded when he realized that Camillaβs companion lived in the same apartment building as he did β¦. or perhaps it was Camilla who lived there β¦. and just as the convertible entered the garage, Camilla glanced over her shoulder and, spotting Nigelβs car, was filled with consternation.
Nigel kicked himself for not having learned more about Ms. Camilla Saunders while on their coffee dates for if he had he would have known this mystery woman was Camillaβs oldest and dearest friend from college, Eunice Blackthorne, who was also Camillaβs roommate right here in his apartment building; the agenda now was for Nigel to increase the frequency of his visits to his buddy, Vince, the doorman β¦. shoot the breeze β¦. buy him a coffee β¦. give him a few hot tips on the ponies and get him to spill the beans about Camilla, her blonde friend and which apartment was theirs.
Meanwhile, Camilla was pacing the floor of the apartment she shared with Eunice; men like Nigel enervated her, demoralized, frightened and reminded her entirely too much of her overbearing, demanding, unprincipled father, brothers, classmates, boyfriends, bosses β¦. in fact, every man she had ever known in her life β¦. and knowing Camilla had had it with men was exactly what Eunice wanted to hear.
Little did any of them know they were headed for rocky times.
NARΒ©2024
This is βBefore He Cheatsβ by Carrie Underwood
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
The Root Of The Problem
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 skin if 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 highlights only 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
βSeriously?β
NARΒ©2024
#SoCS

This is βThe Girl I Love She Got Long Black Wavy Hairβ by Led Zeppelin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
Uncle Bobby And The Spiders From Mars
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
NARΒ©2024
100 Words
This is βZiggy Stardustβ by David Bowie
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.