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.
Tag: Irony
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. Joe’s boss was impressed (and a bit jealous) to learn that Joe had a home theatre set up in his rec room with a 96” Samsung smart TV.
Before he could stop himself, Joe invited his boss over for dinner, a little billiards and the baseball game that night … 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 didn’t 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!): “Hey, babe! Boss coming to dinner. Big opportunity for me! Don’t care what you have to do, just make me proud. Luv ya.”
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.
“Babe!” Joe whispered breathlessly. “The place looks fabulous and dinner smells amazing. How’d you do all this?”
Amy blushed sweetly and whispered back “It wasn’t so hard, honey. I just hired Minute Maid Cleaners, a personal chef and a waiter.”
“You did what?? We couldn’t possibly afford all that!” Joe barked.
“Sure we could, honey” Amy laughed, “after I sold the pool table and the TV.”
NAR©2024
Prompt words ‘maid’, ‘waiter’ and ‘cleaner’ for Di
and ‘blushed’ for Eugi.
From the era of the caveman, this is “Wives and Lovers” by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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, he’d 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.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Crossroads” by Cream
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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. Here’s my flash.
Imagine if you will a girl, her dog and three hapless friends searching for a wizard to grant their deepest wishes.
People love scrappy little pups. But what if the dog was a mangy seagull with a caw like a rusty fan belt? What if his wish was to crow like a mighty rooster, to wake the townspeople with his majestic “cock-a-doodle-doo“?
The wise and benevolent wizard could not fulfill such hopes but his reassuring message was that everyone’s wishes would come true if only they dared to dream.
I do believe that gull with lofty ambitions dared to dream..
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “I Gotta Crow” by Mary Martin & Kathy Nolan
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
“Fresh” Tomatoes
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt 384 (groceries),
Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge (mainly orange)
and Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (mock). Here’s my 29 word flash.
While shopping for groceries, I was surprised to see the tomatoes were mostly orange and looked like sickly miniature pumpkins. Oh, how you mock me, my beloved red Heirlooms!
NAR©2024
29 Words
This is “Home Grown Tomatoes” by Jay Ungar and Molly Mason
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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.
“Hey, Daryl! Phil! Get a load of this!” neighed Ed as he stared over Bess and Elsie’s fence onto the country road. “Do they really think they’re capable of running? On two legs?? If that don’t beat all!”
“What the heck are they doing?” asked Daryl.
“They’re jogging; humans run around all bandy-legged with arms flailing, getting sweaty, going nowhere in particular and looking pretty dumb while doing it.” Ed explained.
Phil trotted over. “Yeah. I read about these idiots in ‘Horse Beautiful’. It’s some kind of craze, far as I can tell …. some sort of asinine exercise routine.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Look at what we got coming this way, gentlemen. Now that’s some fine-looking little filly!” exclaimed Ed.
“Check out those tiny shorts she’s wearing. She can ride me bareback any time she wants!” Phil declared.
“Man, now that’s one stacked number! I could watch her jog and bounce around all day!” Daryl smacked his lips.
“Hey! What are you three stud farm rejects doing all this way from the barn?” It was Barkley, the yellow lab who lived on the ranch. “Farmer Brown’s gonna have a cow if he hears you jumped the fence again! Best get yourselves back home before someone notices you’re gone. C’mon! Giddy-up, boys!”
“Buzz kill!” snorted Ed and the trio took off.
“Bunch of jackasses!” Barkley yowled indignantly. “Well, good riddance to them and woof to you, my sexy lady. You jog by here often? Have I got a bone for you!”
NAR©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 Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©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. Here’s my flash.
Just my luck! First day of my new job; things couldn’t 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; I’m wearing one brown shoe and one black.
I look like a derelict!
Nothing for breakfast; no time for even fast food.
I’m stuck behind road hogs. “Outta my way, you fools! I’m late for work!“
Some first impression. I must have a cloud over my head!
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Born Under A Bad Sign” by Albert King
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
His Jealous Mother
Written for dVerse Poets – Quadrille Monday 209 – 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 father’s 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 mother’s neck.
NAR©2024
44 Words
This is “A String of Pearls” by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Confrontation
Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.
“Secrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. You’re living a secret life, Kenneth, and it’s destroying us.” June’s lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire …. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.
Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.
June wondered if he was even listening.
“You had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. “Yes, darling. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.”
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
“I’m leaving, June. I’m going back to the Congo.”
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. “And back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. “How could you, Kenneth!”
“Sunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”
“Dead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.
“The messages I’ve been getting .… they’re all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now she’s dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.”
“No! It can’t be true! I don’t understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. We’ll find the best doctors and fight this together!” June sobbed.
“Oh, darling June. If only it were that easy. There’s just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.”
NAR©2024
This is “Jungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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 don’t know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .… literally. They are circus clowns and so am I.
Raffles and Mittens are my parents. Some of my aunts, uncles and cousins are Poodles, Flopsy, Jingles, Pogo and Skippy. Rumor has it that my great-grandparents were Bozo and Clarabell but we never know what to take seriously in this family.
We all live in a rinky-dink circus trailer and if you think walking into pantyhose drying in the bathroom is annoying, try existing with a squirting flower, a megaphone, a pop gun and a seltzer bottle every day of your life. This clowning around life ain’t that easy!
Anyway, we needed some mode of transportation to get around town for shopping and appointments so we went to the used car lot. Of course, the used car salesman tried to talk us into a clown car, which was terribly condescending. Clowns are people, too, dammit!
That’s when my boyfriend, Stumpy, had an idea. Stumpy is a coulro* and the best clown on stilts there ever was. Everybody looks up to him! With bicycle parts salvaged from the junkyard, he assembled the Clown Limo. With his long legs, Stumpy can drive us anywhere at all.
People say it’s the coolest ride in town!
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“. It may come from the ancient Greek word kōlobathristēs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.
This is “Take The Long Way Home” by Supertramp.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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 summer’s end
NAR©2024
This is “End of Summer” featuring Katie Melua and L.U.C. from The Peasants soundtrack
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
When Push Comes To Shove: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.
Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Push Comes To Shove” by Van Halen.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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, “I stopped by the Chatsworth Auction House. Look what I found.”
He handed me a small box; inside were vintage lilac gemstone and silver filigree earrings.
I started to cry … tears come easy … and he asked “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. They’re perfect” I sobbed. “Just like the ones I lost years ago.”
“I remember” he whispered and kissed my head.
NAR©2024
78 Words
This is “I Remember You” by Frank Ifield
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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.
“Hm, what’s this?” I asked myself, cycling up to an abandoned car … 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 “ding-ding-ding-ding” shattering the stillness.
Instinctively, I yanked out the key, pocketing it. I exhaled, savoring the calmness. Looking around, there wasn’t 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 – a muffled voice coming from the mound.
With renewed vigor, I ran up the rise, stopping abruptly at the sight below – a traveling circus being dismantled. It was then I noticed a silver-haired man giddily leaping toward the carny folk, waving and shouting “wait for me!”
Before I knew what was happening, I was bounding after the man, yelling for him to “take me along, too!” He motioned for me to “c’mon!”
At some point the car key fell out of my pocket, no longer needed.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Goodbye Cruel World” by James Darren
And for a bit of culture …. from the musical “Stop the World – I Want to Get Off”, this is the incomparable Anthony Newley with “What Kind of Fool Am I?”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
I Gemelli
Resemblance can be a freaky thing. Supposedly everyone has a doppelgänger; someone out there is a duplicate of you with your mother’s eyes, your father’s nose and that annoying mole you’ve always wanted to have removed. We might even have several pairs of clones walking around, each totally unaware of the other’s existence.
It’s been said the longer people have a pet, the more they begin to resemble that pet. Dogs have been matched by strangers to their owners time and time again. The same is true for people; have you ever seen a long-married couple who now look like a set of bookends?
I have many relatives in Italy and Sicily; my family has always said one particular cousin and I have looked like each other since birth. We were born days apart and are called “I Gemelli” … “The Twins”. The first time my cousin Franco and I met, we just stared at each other in fascination. I think Franco and I do bear a strong resemblance however his eyes are blue while mine are green and he’s got a lot more facial hair than I do! LOL! And we have the same Sicilian nose!
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!
NAR©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 Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©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 – my sister’s graduation, the Beatles concert and our trip to Sicily.
We spent a day at Mom’s cousin Concetta’s farmhouse outside Agrigento. Goats, sheep and a donkey grazed in the field among the olive trees. Chickens scurried around the barnyard like drunken spinning tops. They were extremely entertaining – our favorite.
We hung out with the animals all morning. In the afternoon we drove to Agrigento to explore the shops.
Upon returning to Concetta’s, we sat down for dinner. Pasta to start, of course. When she brought out the roast chickens, we burst into tears.
NAR©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 Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©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 City’s 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 “500 Miles” and children’s songs like Yarrow’s “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
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 “If I Had a Hammer” (1962) and “Blowin’ in the Wind” (1963). Their 1967 recording of John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” became a #1 hit in 1969. They also earned a Grammy for the children’s recording “Peter, Paul and Mommy” (1969). Their final studio album, In These Times, appeared in 2003.
The song I have chosen to feature today is the beloved folk song, “Blowin’ in the Wind”, 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 wasn’t Dylan who made this song a civil rights anthem …. 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 Wind”
Bob Dylan’s 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 “Blowin’ in the Wind” 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. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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 name’s Hammer …. Jack Hammer.
The life of a special agent is a lonely one. It’s nothing like a James Bond movie or a John le Carré novel.
There were no pens that turned into parachutes. There were no Alfa Romeos, Jaguars or Aston Martins to drive along the Positano coast in a high-speed chase. Not a single suave and dangerous owner of a multi-million dollar casino. Nary a gorgeous, exotic, provocative sex bomb with a highly suggestive name. There were no martinis … neither shaken nor stirred.
In short, there was no excitement, no risk, no action. Not once did I dive behind a sofa while bullets flew across the room. Never did I slide down a roof covered with Mediterranean tiles, land smoothly in my waiting MG and speed away from the bad guys. I have never been shot in the neck with a poison dart. Never was I threatened and tossed out a window by a jealous husband.
That’s the life I was expecting when I was recruited by the Enigma International Elite Investigative Organization .… otherwise known as E.I.E.I.O. My dream profession as a super-secret special agent was nothing but one boring stakeout after another.
Time to report in: “Negative, sir. Nothing going on at the location. Not even the car in the alley has moved.”
“Alley?”
“Yes, sir. On the left.”
“Your target has no alley, Hammer; it’s attached on both sides. You’re watching the wrong house, you idiot! Report to headquarters. Now!”
Shit.
NAR©2024
This is the theme song for the “Pink Panther”, 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 Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
A Perfect Couple
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #159
where the first sentence is the prompt and
for Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt,
using the phrase ‘one day’. This is my story.
The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.
It’s 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 friends’ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.
Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage – dinner at Gallagher’s, 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 .… 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.
Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers.
It couldn’t have happened to a more perfect couple.
NAR©2024
This is “The Dance” by Garth Brooks
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Kathmandu Déjà Vu
The other day I got some news that threw me for a loop;
I felt like a headless chicken running ‘round 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 we’d get along rather swell.
My friend called me and his called him and we agreed on a date
To meet at Charlie’s 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, I’m 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.
I’m 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 I’m 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 Charlie’s, 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.
We’d no idea that this blind date would not be so blind at all
For although we thought we knew each other we couldn’t quite recall.
In fact, we never took the time to even learn each other’s 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 “Hey, what’s your name? I think I may know you!”
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 “No kidding? I like to write!”
We sat real close on my old couch and he said “Tell me, what’s your sign?”
I turned to him, said “Pisces” and he said “Yeah? That’s the same as mine!”
He wove his fingers through my hair and slowly pulled back my head.
I opened my mouth and licked my lips saying “Take me to my bed.”
We started slow, real nice and easy, just feeling each other out
But it didn’t take long before both of us were doing the ‘Twist and Shout’.
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 “What!? Me too!”
Things were really getting eerie now; we both knew this was bizarre
Especially when we simultaneously said “On March 10th in Paropakar!”
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 “What’s your mom’s name?”
He lowered his cup rather slowly and replied “Why, it’s Germaine.”
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 “No way!“
For you see, I was adopted, too, and my birth mom’s name was Faye!
Now this is no laughing matter, for I’d just had me a night like no other
With a guy who was to my dismay my long-lost fraternal twin brother!
NAR © 2024
Orig. written 2021
This is “Ain’t That A Kick In The Head” by Dean Martin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The 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 … good, bad, happy or sad … 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 man’s bag and ran back to his father waiting nearby. There was something about the older man that made the boy’s 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 boy’s 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.
NAR©250
250 Words
This is “Georgia On My Mind” by Charlie McCoy
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
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.
“OMG, Vern! People are starting to arrive. This is the most thrilling day of my life! Imagine me …. Hazel Heftybottoms …. a published author! I wonder how many of my friends will be here.
Oh no! Look who’s prancing down the street like a prima donna. It’s that cow Eloise and she’s wearing the same outfit as me! That pachyderm has really packed on the pounds! And provocative pink lipstick on her proboscis? What a slut!
I can’t believe she actually published her poetry book. What a pile of poppycock!
Yoo-hoo! Eloise D-A-R-L-I-N-G!! You look absolutely M-A-R-V-E-L-O-U-S!!
Mwah! Kissy, kissy!”
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “One Hippopotami” by Allan Sherman
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Eunice Blackthorne
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word “frequency”
into a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s 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 she’s 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 …. plus, he couldn’t get Camilla’s 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 “Ms. Saunders had left the building and gave no indication when or if she would be returning that day”; this new intel pissed Nigel off royally since he was not prepared to have Camilla pull a disappearing act on him .… 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 Camilla’s companion lived in the same apartment building as he did …. or perhaps it was Camilla who lived there …. and just as the convertible entered the garage, Camilla glanced over her shoulder and, spotting Nigel’s 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 Camilla’s oldest and dearest friend from college, Eunice Blackthorne, who was also Camilla’s 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 …. shoot the breeze …. buy him a coffee …. 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 …. in fact, every man she had ever known in her life …. 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.
NAR©2024
This is “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The 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.
“What would you say if I decided to let my hair go natural? You know, go grey?”
“I’d have to ask why you would want to do that. You always take great pride in looking younger than you are. Wouldn’t grey hair make you look older?”
“Well, I’m 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. I’ve always had great skin. Won’t I still have great skin if I go grey? How can I just arbitrarily assume I will look older?”
“Ok, I’ll give you that much. You can’t assume you will definitely look older. You’ve told me how much you like the color of your hair. I’m surprised you’re suddenly considering changing it. Where is this coming from?”
“Honestly, I’ve 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 sister’s house the other day, I was the only woman who still colors her hair.”
“And you were the best looking one at the table!”
“You have to say that; I’m your wife! Your sister’s grey hair looks gorgeous. I know women who’d kill to have her color.”
“But there’s no guarantee you’ll end up with the same color, is there?”
“Well, no …. I suppose not. But my colorist is so talented, I just know she’d do a great job transitioning my hair.”
“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!”
“Well, if you’re convinced this is what you want, I’m not going to stop you.”
“I’m not at all convinced this is what I want; that’s why I asked you in the first place.”
“Ok, then my answer to your question is ‘Don’t go gray. I love your hair color the way it is.”
“Well, I’ll have to give that more thought. What do you think about me cutting my hair?”
“Seriously?”
NAR©2024
#SoCS
This is “The Girl I Love She Got Long Black Wavy Hair” by Led Zeppelin
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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 wouldn’t go near it.
Everyone tried convincing him the ride wasn’t jinxed or dangerous but he wasn’t 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. 🕷️
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Ziggy Stardust” by David Bowie
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
John and Cynthia and Yoko and May: Strained Affairs
Written for Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday where the theme
this week is all about songs that incorporate whistling
“I didn’t mean to hurt you; I’m just a jealous guy.”
For all his jokes, frenetic antics and mugging for the camera, John Lennon was a quiet and insecure man, an ardent peace-lover whose young life was filled with much sadness, great depth and many demons. He was brilliant, an extraordinary talent and, all too often, he demonstrated a sharp-tongued mean spirit and jealous streak.
According to George Harrison, his friend John could be a “saint or a total bastard”.
With a sea-faring, mostly AWOL father and a free-spirited mother whose accidental death traumatized him for years, John was raised by his Aunt Mimi and Uncle George. His mother’s memory would later serve as a major creative inspiration.
John Lennon met Cynthia Powell in 1957, when they were students at the Liverpool College of Art. Although Powell was intimidated by Lennon’s attitude and appearance, she heard that he was obsessed with the French actress Brigitte Bardot, so she dyed her hair blonde. Lennon asked her out, but when she said that she was engaged, he shouted, “I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ marry me, did I?” She often accompanied him to Quarrymen gigs and travelled to Hamburg with Paul McCartney’s girlfriend to visit him. Recalling his reaction when he learned that Cynthia was pregnant, Lennon said, “There’s only one thing for it Cyn. We’ll have to get married.” And they did; their son Julian was born a few months later.
Cynthia attributed the start of the marriage breakdown to John’s use of LSD and she felt that he slowly lost interest in her. When the group travelled by train to Wales in 1967, a policeman did not recognize Cynthia and stopped her from boarding. I guess no one .… including John …. bothered to ID her! She later recalled how the incident seemed to symbolize the end of their marriage. After spending a holiday in Greece, Cynthia arrived home to find John sitting on the floor with Yoko Ono in bathrobes; she left the house to stay with friends, feeling shocked and humiliated. A few weeks later, she received notice that Lennon was seeking a divorce on the grounds of adultery while she was away in Greece and he wanted custody of Julian. After negotiations, Lennon capitulated and agreed to let Cynthia divorce him.
John and Yoko were married and they became even more inseparable; to the surprise and consternation of everyone within the Beatles’ organization, Yoko accompanied John to the recording studio …. an undeniable first. She was a quiet but constant presence and John only had eyes for her.
After a couple of years, May Pang entered their lives as their personal assistant. About three years later, Ono confided in Pang that her marriage to Lennon had become strained and she suggested Pang reach out to John as a “sexual distraction” for him. Pang agreed; she and John soon left for Los Angeles, beginning an 18-month period John later called his “lost weekend”. ” Pang encouraged Lennon to develop regular contact with Julian, whom he had not seen for two years, as well as his former bandmates and friends.
Much to Yoko Ono’s chagrin, the “diversion” turned into a relationship. John and May Pang considered buying a house together and he refused to accept Yoko’s telephone calls. He finally agreed to meet Yoko, who claimed she had found a cure for smoking. After the meeting with Yoko, John failed to return home or call Pang. When Pang telephoned the next day, Ono told her that Lennon was unavailable because he was exhausted after a hypnotherapy session. Two days later, Lennon told Pang that his separation from Ono was now over, causing Pang to speculate that Lennon had been brainwashed (!) as a result of his hypnotherapy.
What a convoluted mess among such allegedly forward-thinking people! John and Yoko remained married until his death in 1980; they are the parents of musician Sean Lennon. Yoko Ono never remarried.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m just a jealous guy.”
Those haunting lyrics from John Lennon’s timeless song, “Jealous Guy”, uncover the darker side of his iconic relationship with Yoko Ono. They are words that have rung true to anybody with insecurities and obsessions …. likely why it’s one of Lennon’s most enduring tracks. It’s also my favorite Lennon solo piece.
John Lennon began writing the song in 1968 as “Child of Nature” while with the Beatles during their spiritual retreat in India. The demo of “Child of Nature” featured Lennon’s double-tracked vocal and an acoustic guitar. Early the following year, he revisited the song as “On the Road to Rishikesh” during the Get Back sessions. Eventually, the lyrics were scrapped and replaced by the now well-known “Jealous Guy” lyrics for Imagine.
In “Jealous Guy”, John sings of his envious streak that would often result in tumult between him and Yoko; he admitted that jealousy would regularly dictate how irrational he’d behave either around her or without her. The song was never released as a single during John’s lifetime. It became an international hit in a version by Roxy Music in early 1981, the year after John’s death.
“Jealous Guy” is one of the most commonly recorded Lennon songs, with at least 92 cover versions. In November 1988, the single peaked in the United States at #22 on the Hot Adult Christian chart and reached #80 on the Billboard Hot 100 in conjunction with the release of the documentary film “Imagine: John Lennon”.
This is “Jealous Guy” by John Lennon
Lyrics
… I was dreaming of the past
And my heart was beating fast
I began to lose control
I began to lose control
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I was feeling insecure
… You might not love me anymore
… I was shivering inside
I was shivering inside
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I was trying to catch your eyes
Thought that you was trying to hide
… I was swallowing my pain
I was swallowing my pain
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
I’m just a jealous guy
I’m just a jealous guy
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriter: John Winston Lennon
Jealous Guy lyrics © Lenono Music
Bonus track. This is “Child of Nature” (Esher Demo) by The Beatles. (Esher is the town in England where George Harrison’s home Kinfauns was located and where the demos were recorded.)
Released November 22, 1968
Composer/Lyricist: John Lennon
Producer(s): George Harrison, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr
Studio Personnel: Giles Martin, Mixer
Very big thanks to Jim Adams for hosting another great weekly Song Lyric Sunday.
Thanks for stopping by. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Proofreader
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 I’m supposed to get through this book is beyond me!
I’ve been at it now for hours and I’m bored stiff. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is but I’ll tell you what he’s not …. a good writer! I’ve read menus more interesting than this rot!
Jeez Louise! I’ve 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 didn’t 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 it’s full of sawdust and my butt’s as hard as a slab of redwood. I swear if I have to keep reading this, I’m going to nod off right here in the middle of the sidewalk and start sawing wood.
If I had a rope I’d hang myself from the nearest tree! But I’m not about to get all sappy.
Well, good luck to this Tolkien guy if he thinks he’s going to make it with these creepy Ent people!
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is Rob Inglis with “Ents and Entwives”
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Carla’s Big Night
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we’re given a photo
and asked to let it inspire us to create something magical
in 100 words or less. This is my 100-word inspired creation.
“Ungrateful … bastard … son-of-a-bitch … always telling me what to do … when to do it … waiting on him like a motherless child … picking up after him … cooking three meals a day … seven days a week … cleaning … cleaning … cleaning … and what’s my reward … an unwelcome fuck at 3 AM … pig … I … have … had … enough!”
Carla’s thoughts raced through her head like a locomotive engulfed in flames.
“You gonna cook that pizza or beat it to death?’ he snarled.
He died instantly. Death by rolling pin.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is a live acoustic cover of The Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post” performed by Matie Cummings and Jeremy Edge
making an attempt at humor. Circa 1965.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Perfect Day For Planting
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.
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 husband’s 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 wasn’t doing well in the far back corner of the yard and planted a bit of Blue Bugle and Lilies of the Valley for light ground cover (along the side of the house, not visible in this pic), but that’s 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 isn’t good, she wants to be outside – 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 – 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 Colette’s 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 …. with my trusty flashlight in hand …. 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 86ºF – a leap from the mild low-70s of just the day before – so it was, according to Colette, the “perfect day for planting!” …. a concept I did not agree with thinking it was too hot and we would be in direct blazing sunlight for the entire time …. 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 – the I-don’t-give-a-hoot-how-messy-I-get kind – 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 light in her eyes (photo below), Colette was over the moon with her sweet, sloppy treat and …. you know …. she was right after all about it being the “perfect day for planting!”
NAR©2024
This is “Let It Grow” by Eric Clapton
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Boys Will Be Boys
Written for Stream of Consciousness – “What’s that smell?”,
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – “humility” and
Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – “departure”.
Growing up, it was just me and my sister – two girls doing girl things. And while we weren’t always best of friends, it was just the two of us. It wasn’t my fault that my mother went into labor smack in the middle of my sister’s 4th birthday party; after making a hasty departure for the hospital, my mother arrived just in time for me to be born …. on my sister’s birthday …. and she’s never really forgiven me. I mean, she says she has but deep down there’s 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 who’d come over the house to play and swim in our pool. There’s a definite advantage to having the only pool on the block – 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 .… except for my cousins and they didn’t 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, wouldn’t 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 didn’t come close to what these boys were packing! It didn’t matter how well I knew Bill’s anatomy; he didn’t wear a diaper and I had never changed one …. at least not a boy’s. 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 it’s 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, that’s where men first learn to pee with no hands – yawning and stretching and placing their hands behind their heads in a very satisfied “look-what-I-can-do” 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 “hit something“.
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 …. and I mean NOTHING …. like the overwhelming musky, barn-like odor that punches you in the face when you open the door to a boy’s bedroom. For the love of all things holy, what is going on in there? How is it possible for boys …. little or big …. 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)?
We’re all adults here and you know exactly what I’m 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 “DETERGENT GOES HERE.” “BLEACH GOES HERE.” “SOFTENER GOES HERE.” I’m sure they didn’t 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 …. within reason; if I thought something dangerous was happening, I’d be in there in a flash. I’d just had enough of cleaning up their messes. Now they’re 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.
NAR©2024
One of my readers once commented that I have a song for every story. Well, who am I to argue?
From the Broadway show/movie Hair, this is “Sodomy”.
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