Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged to write something creative in 250 words or less, using the photo below as inspiration. Here’s my story.
Covered in filth and mange, the horde of dogs and cats that survived the hurricane were crammed into military vans. Those once long-haired canines with soft billowy fur now resembled stone creatures encased in a shell of thick crust. Scrawny, flea-ridden cats no longer purred contentedly but howled in fear. Muscular pit bulls were reduced to skeletons, the outlines of ribcages clearly visible in emaciated bodies.
The relentless rain caused the levees to burst, resulting in flooding; homeowners lost everything. Many scrambled to their roofs in a desperate attempt to save themselves while others tried swimming to safety. Those lucky enough to own a rowboat floated on the flood waters, dragging people into their boats along the way.
A state of emergency was declared; first responders worked ceaselessly. Overlong, the levees were rebuilt and people relocated.
Tragically, family pets were forgotten in the frenzy or deliberately left behind. When the waters subsided weeks later, they were found chained to fences and porch railings. Some had climbed up trees or hidden themselves away in the attics of abandoned houses. They were scared, starving, sick. Innumerable were dead.
Helpless, hopeless pets were brought to makeshift hospitals. With unbelievable patience, veterinarians treated every surviving animal, gently cutting away matted crusty fur, administering antibiotics and vaccines, providing food and water, bringing those nearly dead back to life. The doctors never rested; they desperately hoped to save more than they did but the struggle was too great. Too many innocents didnβt stand a chance.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are encouraged to get creative by writing a story of no more than 100 words using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my 100 word story.
It was the summer of β59 and I was going to spend July and August with my cousins at the shore. Iβd been packing since my last day of school, finishing two days before taking off.
The following morning I awoke with fever, sore throat, bumpy tongue and a facial rash. Scarlet fever, the doctor said. The disease was highly contagious. I was prescribed antibiotics and my parents were warned to keep me home.
My summer plans were abruptly cancelled; I was dejected. All I could do was watch my friends playing, my nose pressed up against the window screen.
When I was a very small child, one of my older cousins was suffering from a case of consumption, also know as tuberculosis. She was 16 years old and literally wasting away from this disease once called the βGreat White Plagueβ due to the extremely pale complexion of those afflicted.
My cousin was always cold, requiring multiple blankets to keep warm, and time outside in the sun and fresh air, especially during the spring and summer. She was either in bed or reclining on a chaise lounge near the window in the parlor.
She looked like death. To the school age children in the house, this was a frightening time and they glanced at her with pity and wariness. They also avoided her, which was not very kind; some of them stayed away by spending extra time practicing their penmanship lessons and math sums.
At least twice each week my great-aunt Chesaria would stop by to administer her special βtonicβ, light a candle and leave her mark on my cousin. The ritual never changed: first a dose of the safe-for-human-consumption red berry juice from the sumac plant. Next, Aunt Chesaria would draw a birdcage in blue ink on both of my cousinβs earlobes. The door to the birdcage was always drawn in the open position which allowed the evil spirits in my cousinβs body to find their way out. Finally, my great-aunt would light a tea candle and place it on my cousinβs chest to draw out the congestion. She would close the curtains and leave my cousin in the darkened room to allow her potions to do their magic.
Who knows if any of this strange “medicine” worked; our parents clung to the phrase βthe whole is greater than the sum of its partsβ. My cousin eventually recovered, because of or in spite of Aunt Chesariaβs administrations. She was never a robust woman after her ailment but she married and was healthy enough to give birth to nine children in just 12 years. She welcomed more than 40 grandchildren and a batch of great-grandchildren before passing away at the age of 86 just two years ago.
As a rule, Aunt Chesaria was summoned whenever anyone in the family or immediate vicinity became ill. She drew birdcages on my own earlobes during every childhood malady. But the question that remains unanswered is βWho took care of Aunt Chesaria when she became ill?β No one is around to fill in the blanks so I can only assume there was a witch doctor of sorts living in my neighborhood β¦. perhaps a black magic woman from Sumatra residing in the unassuming borough of The Bronx!
Presumptuous? Possibly. But fascinating, nonetheless.
The idea of Father’s Day was first conceived by Sonora Smart Dodd, a loving daughter from Spokane, Washington. It was also inspired by Mother’s Day as Dodd wanted a day to honor her father as well. William Jackson Smart was a Civil War veteran and single-handedly raised Sonora and her siblings after the death of their mother.
My dad was a Sicilian immigrant who came to the US by boat in 1930 at the age of 15. He arrived with his father and two brothers β¦ one older and the other younger. His mother and sister remained in Sicily for another few years; according to my grandfather, βAmerica is no place for a womanβ.
None of them spoke a word of English.
My father was an apprentice shoemaker in Sicily who took up barbering after getting settled in Brooklyn, NY. His good looks and charm endeared him to many people and he was liked by everyone.
It was my dadβs boss at the barbershop who gave him a brilliant piece of advice. As was his habit, my father bought the Italian newspaper every day to read during his down time at work. One day the boss said to him in Italian βHey, Vito! If you ever hope to speak English, do yourself a favor and start buying the New York Times every day and read it from front to back.β My father realized the importance of that advice and started buying the NY Times the very next day. With the added help of his English-speaking customers, he became fluent in English and lost his accent with no formal schooling. One of the proudest moments in his life was completing the NY Times crossword puzzle β¦ in ink!
Dad became a US citizen and eventually landed a job with the post office. He was a US Army veteran who drove a jeep throughout Europe during WWII without ever having earned a driverβs license. He never did get his license and never drove again after his stint in the army.
My father loved music, especially opera, and I was exposed to classical music and opera at a very early age. The basics in life were Dadβs tenets β¦ family, God, country, his job, providing a roof over our heads, food on the table and a good education. He was also the fun-loving one, with Mom always busy βcleaning up his messesβ.
Dad loved people and entertaining in our home. He would often invite people for dinner without clearing it with Mom first. No wonder she was always pissed off! Dad was often in trouble for that and I found that devilish quality one of his most endearing traits. He truly meant no harm. He was a good and decent man who loved and was loved in return. And in the end can any of us want more than that?
Happy Fatherβs Day to all my guys on WordPress. I hope your day is as special as you are.
There was a boy named Danny who sat directly in front of me in 5th grade. He had a perpetual case of ringworm which fascinated and repulsed me at the same time.
His beautiful black hair had been shaved to expose the circular rash on the back of his head. I imagined microscopic critters chasing each other around that stubbly maze.
The theory was that Danny caught the fungus while hunting frogs in the boggy bullrushes; somehow that didnβt make it any less gross.
I never could understand boys and their frog fetishes. Everyone knows that’s where warts come from!
Yesterday was our anniversary, wed 52 years. No partynecessary.
None of our friends who married around the same time are still together. How sad is that?
People have asked βWhatβs the secret to a long and happy marriage?β For us itβs pretty simple: respect, communication, honesty, having a sense of humor.
When you combine those ingredients, love happens. You can manage the lows and celebrate the peaks, watch the dawns and the sunsets, walk hand-in-hand through the ordinary and make it extraordinary.
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where we are asked to start our piece with a question. Bonus points have been hinted at if we also end our piece with a question. Here is my questionable stream based on a conversation I had with my husband.
βWhat would you say if I decided to let my hair go natural? You know, go grey?β
βI’d have to ask why you would want to do that. You always take great pride in looking younger than you are. Wouldnβt grey hair make you look older?β
βWell, Iβm not sure we can toss a blanket over all women with grey hair and say they look older. There are other factors that come into play. Iβve always had great skin. Wonβt I still have great skinif I go grey? How can I just arbitrarily assume I will look older?β
βOk, Iβll give you that much. You can’t assume you will definitely look older. Youβve told me how much you like the color of your hair. Iβm surprised you’re suddenly considering changing it. Where is this coming from?β
βHonestly, Iβve been thinking about it for a while. It would be so much easier not having to color my hair and get highlights every couple of months. Besides, when we were at your sisterβs house the other day, I was the only woman who still colors her hair.β
βAnd you were the best looking one at the table!β
βYou have to say that; Iβm your wife! Your sisterβs grey hair looks gorgeous. I know women whoβd kill to have her color.β
βBut thereβs no guarantee youβll end up with the same color, is there?β
βWell, no β¦. I suppose not. But my colorist is so talented, I just know sheβd do a great job transitioning my hair.β
“Now I’m confused. If you want to stop coloring your hair, what does your colorist have to do with any of this?”
“My colorist will add some grey to my hair …. like getting highlightsonly they’d be grey instead of blonde. She’d gradually add more until my hair is completely grey, then I can naturally let my grey roots grow out.”
“Seem’s like an awful lot of work to me. Why not just stop coloring your hair and let nature take it’s course?”
“That’s a terrible idea! It’ll take forever and look awful growing out!”
βWell, if youβre convinced this is what you want, Iβm not going to stop you.β
βIβm not at all convinced this is what I want; thatβs why I asked you in the first place.β
βOk, then my answer to your question is βDonβt go gray. I love your hair color the way it is.β
βWell, Iβll have to give that more thought. What do you think about me cutting my hair?β
But β¦. letβs get real! Where did the time go and how did she get so big?
Our youngest grandchild, 4-year-old Colette, is not a wee one any longer. Of course, we’ve noticed some of the clothes we keep for her at our house have gotten snug but now she can help herself to anything in the refrigerator, open the latch on the gate leading to the front yard without any assistance and weβve had to make some adjustments to her car seat. However, nothing brings home how much sheβs grown in nine months like these two side-by-side photos.
Back in September on the first day of nursery school, she was a giddy little tyke bubbling with enthusiasm and now sheβs a beautiful little girl looking so very mature and confident, pictured on the last day of school on June 5.
Coletteβs on a steady course to independence β¦. dressing and showering by herself (with some careful supervision), using a “grown up” drinking glass instead of one with a lid and straw, calling her parents βMom & Dadβ instead of βMommy & Daddyβ, and a bunch of little changes we see on a regular basis.
Our son drops her off for us to babysit each week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and the occasional Saturday; now that sheβs able to do so much on her own, itβs a lot easier for us but sometimes we sure do miss that giggly, squirmy toddler! Time is going far too fast.
Sheβll always be our little Kukla, no matter how old she gets; thatβs something no amount of time will ever change!
Written for Six Sentence Story where Denise encourages us to get creative in just six sentences incorporating the word βengagementβ. Hereβs my six.
The idea of my parents chaperoning me to the beach that night was mortifying but I figured I had to suck it up if there was a ghost of a chance of having any fun during this vacation in Surf City, so that night my mother, father and I went for a stroll on the beach, me hanging back about ten feet or so hoping the cool bonfire kids would think I was by myself; music was playing and marshmallows were roasting on long sticks β¦. everyone was tan and blonde and beautiful β¦. and thatβs when I saw him β¦. he looked just like Edd βKookieβ Byrnes from β77 Sunset Stripβ and when he glanced up as we walked by and smiled, I fell hopelessly in love.
Thankfully, my parents quietly observed the group without their usual compulsion to make conversation and, satisfied what they saw wasnβt a remake of βReefer Madnessβ, sat for a while high on a dune delighting in the reflection of the moon on the water; when it was time to go, the three of us walked back to the beach house β¦. but not before I had a chance to look over my shoulder and giveΒ EddΒ a little wave; he grinned and waved back (I was in heaven) and I knew I had to go to the next bonfire β alone.Β
I guess being out in the sun all day must have fried my parentβs brains because, when I nonchalantly asked them the next night if I could walk down to the bonfire by myself for a little while, they actually agreed; all I could think about was seeing Edd again and how relieved I felt that my older sister considered herself βtoo mature for ateeny-bopper beach partyβ and didnβt want to tag along.
The group was friendly and waved me over so, as casually as possible, I headed straight forΒ EddΒ and sat down next to him and someone handed me a cold beer β¦. my first ever .β¦ which I liked quite a bit; the kids were intoΒ Jan and Dean andΒ The Beach Boys β¦. I was aΒ BeatlesΒ girl but I wasnβt going to let that get in the way β¦. and by the end of the night,Β EddΒ and I were holding hands and agreed to meet again the following night.Β
That was the most blissful week of my young life β¦. lots of kissing and petting β¦. professions of love β¦. an βengagement ringβ fashioned from a Bud Lite pull tab β¦. but we didnβt go beyond 2nd base; in all my 16 years, Iβd never been as happy or excited to be with someone as I was with Edd.
At the end of the week we exchanged phone numbers and promised to call each other but that didnβt happened and itβs ok β¦. I never really thought it would …. I’m content with the memory; one thing I’m sure of is none of my friends will ever be able to say they spent a week making out on the beach with Edd βKookieβ Byrnes.
Written for Glynβs Mixed Music Bag Week #23 where the theme is ‘songs by a group or solo singer beginning with the letter K or L’.Here’s my group.
Photo: GAB Archive/Redferns
Wickedly satirical, wryly observant and fiercely independent, the Kinks ran counter even to the counterculture! While other major 60s bands were on drug-fueled psychedelic jam sessions, the Kinks kept their focus close to home. They dissected England with witty, literate lyrics set to pop-rock that gained them a cult following that only grows.
While we could never be called cult-followers, Bill and I are huge Kinks fans and saw them perform in concert more times than any other group. The Kinks have left an unimpeachable legacy of classic songs, many of which formed the building blocks of popular music as we know it today.
Founded in 1964 in Muswell Hill, North London, by brothers Ray and Dave Davies, the Kinks first gained prominence on the heels of the well-received and highly influential single βYou Really Got Meβ. The group originally consisted of lead singer/guitarist Ray Davies, lead guitarist Dave Davies, bassist Pete Quaife and drummer Mick Avory. Quaife left [twice] in the late 1960s and Avory left in 1984 as the result of a long-running dispute with Dave Davies, leaving only Ray and Dave as the core of the original group.
With Rayβs songwriting skills, Daveβs impressive guitar work and Mick Avory’s tight and steady drumming, the band became one of the best and most significant groups of British pop and the βBritish Invasionβ, lasting longer than any of their peers, apart from the Rolling Stones. Their catalogue of songs has been covered by Van Halen, The Pretenders, The Black Keys, The Stranglers, Queens of the Stone Age and many more.
So, what about all those concerts we went to? Bill helped me with this list as I didnβt think I would have remembered all the dates …. and I didnβt! The 1st time we saw the Kinks was in October, 1969, at our old stomping grounds, the Fillmore East. The 2nd time was June, 1970, at the Capitol Theater in Port Chester, NY; that was a great show which also featured Grand Funk Railroad and Mott The Hoople. In November, 1971, we saw the Kinks at Carnegie Hall and then again at Stony Brook University where they shared the stage with Yes. Our 5th Kinks concert was again at Carnegie Hall in March, 1972, and later that year we saw them two more times β¦. once with the Beach Boys at the Nassau Coliseum (fun!) and again at the Felt Forum of Madison Square Garden. The 8th time seeing the Kinks was with Argent in March of β73 at St. Johnβs University. In 1974 we saw them for the 9th time, again at the Felt Forum. Our 10th and final Kinks concert took place at Hofstra University in May, 1977. I was pregnant with our first child and we decided it was time to settle down and act responsibly. Thatβs 10 performances in 8 years; not bad!
As you can imagine, itβs very difficult to choose one Kinksβ song as my all-time favorite β¦. so I wonβt. Here are three songs I really like a lot so turn up the volume and settle in.
#1 – Ray Davies claimed that he was inspired to write “Lola” after Kinks manager Robert Wace spent a night in Paris dancing with a cross-dresser. The lyrics to this one are so deliciously clever and can be interpreted a couple of different ways. “Lola” reached #1 on the UK Singles Chart and #9 on the Billboard Hot 100. The track has since become one of the Kinks’ most popular songs and was ranked #386 on Rolling Stonesβ 2021 edition of βThe 500 Greatest Songs Of All Time”. This is βLolaβ:
#2 β Thereβs not a single thing wrong with this beautiful and melancholy tribute to the stars of Hollywoodβs Silver Screen. Record World called βCelluloid Heroesβ one of Ray Daviesβ finest compositions, however it failed to chart. That doesn’t matter one bit to me; it still is a fabulous song! This is βCelluloid Heroesβ:
#3 – Released in August, 1964, βYou Really Got Me” went to #1 on the UK singles chart and later in the year to #7 on the US charts. The track is taken from the Kinksβ self-titled album The Kinks. This is βYou Really Got Meβ:
My husband is as easy going as can be, so when he makes a request, I try my best to oblige. Last night he asked for Sunday pasta with meatballs. How could I refuse?
Homemade pasta with all the trimmings is something I can do with my eyes closed but when I first started out in the kitchen as a new bride, I had no idea what I was doing. Sure, I had watched my mother cook for years but itβs a whole different ballgame when youβre on your own.
Iβll never forget the first time I tried to make Sunday pasta. Reading my motherβs recipe was no help. This is exactly what she wrote:
For your pasta dough mix flour and eggs, water when you need, pinch salt, oil maybe.
Thatβs it. No measurements, no amounts, nothing definitive. Her meatball recipe was no better:
Chopped meat, eggs, some salt & pepper, handful parmigiano, another handful breadcrumbs, dice onion, parsley, oregano, glass of water.
A GLASS OF WATER! Which glass? What size? At this point my eyes were frantically scanning the kitchen for a glass! I didnβt know if I should laugh or cry. Iβm sure my mother never referred to a recipe in her life so she had no idea how to write one!
Just then it hit me and I had a vision of my mother in her kitchen. She always used a Flintstoneβs Jelly Jar as her water glass when cooking; she said it was the perfect size. All I had to do was find an equivalent measure and Iβd be good.
I eventually mastered the art of Sunday pasta with meatballs but I sure do wish I had my momβs jelly jar .β¦ for old timesβ sake, you know?
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are given a word, in this case ‘lift’, and asked to incorporate it into a story of no more than six sentences. This is my true story of family.
βMangia il cibo sul tuo piatto, Concetta, o lo mangerai dal pavimentoβ β (βEat the food on your plate, Concetta, or you will eat it off the floor.β)
Without changing her expression or taking her huge brown eyes off her father Domenicoβs face, three year old Concetta picked up a meatball, extended her arm over the side of her highchair and very calmly let it drop to the floor.
Silence.
Everyone sat in suspended animation as Domenico deliberately put down his knife and fork and removed the napkin which was tucked into the neck of his shirt; slowly he stood up, walked behind Concettaβs chair, grabbed the back of her dress and lifted her up.
Holding her feet with his other hand, Domenico lowered Concettaβs face to the floor until her mouth touched the meatball; she tried to turn away, but Domenico pushed her face into the food, forcing her to take the meatball into her mouth, then, satisfied, he sat her back in her highchair, returned to his seat and resumed eating while Concetta languidly chewed what was in her mouth.
Hesitantly, self-consciously, everyone resumed eating and talking except Concettaβs mother Rosa who sat watching her daughter closely; at the end of the meal as the women cleared the table, Rosa placed a napkin over her defiant daughterβs mouth so she could spit out the uneaten meatball and whispered in her ear βMai piΓΉ, Concetta; obbedisci a tuo padre!β β (βNever again, Concetta; obey your father!β)
Growing up, it was just me and my sister β two girls doing girl things. And while we werenβt always best of friends, it was just the two of us. It wasnβt my fault that my mother went into labor smack in the middle of my sisterβs 4th birthday party; after making a hasty departure for the hospital, my mother arrived just in time for me to be born β¦. on my sisterβs birthday β¦. and sheβs never really forgiven me. I mean, she says she has but deep down thereβs resentment. But I digress.
Bitterness for being born on her birthday aside, we managed to get along ok. And we both had a bunch of little girlfriends whoβd come over the house to play and swim in our pool. Thereβs a definite advantage to having the only pool on the block β even if it was inflatable and barely three feet deep. We always had lots of friends over but there were never any boys around and, if an interloper did show up, he was quickly shown the way out before he had a chance to dip his you-know-what in our pool!
For the first six years of my life, I had very little contact with boys .β¦ except for my cousins and they didnβt count. In elementary school boys were just tolerated; they were looked upon as excess baggage. Of course, that all changed when I hit my teen years and realized boys had potential. I had a couple of crushes early on but nothing earth-shattering. Then, at the ripe old age of 17, I went on a blind date with a guy named Bill and together we learned all about boys and girls, how they were so wondrously different and incredibly well-made for each other. I was stunned by how much I didn’t know about boys.
So, wouldnβt you just know it! God, in his infinite humorous nature, decided to bless me with only boy babies. All those years of playing with my baby girl dolls, changing their diapers fashioned from paper napkins, powdering their petite girlie bottoms, all that didnβt come close to what these boys were packing! It didnβt matter how well I knew Billβs anatomy; he didnβt wear a diaper and I had never changed one β¦. at least not a boyβs. Talk about a rude awakening!
Let me just explain something very quickly here. When infant girls are getting their diapers changed, sometimes they pee but itβs a dainty little trickle that gently disappears into the absorbent pad under them. When infant boys are getting their diapers changed, parents put on a hazmat suit because that nozzle has a mind of its own and it is gonna spray wherever it wants.
Oh sure, parents can buy little wee-wee teepees to hold over the wee-wee while their baby boy giggles at them, but most times that thing is flying around like an errant garden hose and the pee goes everywhere. And, of course, thatβs where men first learn to pee with no hands β yawning and stretching and placing their hands behind their heads in a very satisfied βlook-what-I-can-doβ sort of way. Usually in those situations, there will be spillage. I have found, for the most part, the male species is not very discriminating and is quite happy to just βhitsomething“.
Which brings me to the heart of this story.
I love my boys and, in all humility, Bill and I did a good job raising them. BUT, nature will take its course no matter what we do. And let me tell you, there is nothing β¦. and I mean NOTHING β¦. like the overwhelming musky, barn-like odor that punches you in the face when you open the door to a boyβs bedroom. For the love of all things holy, what is going on in there? How is it possible for boys β¦. little or big β¦. to ravage so many briefs, boxers or tighty-whities in one day, not to mention the now-fossilized face cloths (and sometimes my good hand towels)?
Weβre all adults here and you know exactly what Iβm talking about.
Well, I finally reached the end of my rope. It became unbearable for me to do my teen sons’ laundry, let alone keep up with it, so I threw down the gauntlet. I led the boys to the laundry room where I proceeded to write on my washing machine with a Sharpie. In all the corresponding receptacles were the words βDETERGENT GOES HERE.β βBLEACH GOES HERE.β βSOFTENER GOES HERE.β Iβm sure they didnβt believe me when I said I was done doing their wash. After two weeks of their laundry piling up and them running out of clean clothes and their sheets desperate enough to literally walk off the bed and leap into the washing machine, they finally got the message!
As the old saying goes, boys will be boys, and I never had a problem with what was going on in my sons’ bedrooms β¦. within reason; if I thought something dangerous was happening, Iβd be in there in a flash. Iβd just had enough of cleaning up their messes. Now theyβre grown men, good men, married with children, and they get to deal with their own kids’ smells, sprays, spills and secretions.
And when I see them lugging a basketful of laundry to their washing machines, I chuckle and know I did them a huge favor.
Did you ever find yourself in a situation that was so intense, everything around you ceased to exist? Itβs an extraordinary feeling, one thatβs difficult to explain without using every adverb and adjective and superlative in the English language.
The date was October 5, 1995 β a most inauspicious day β and yet I remember every detail of the events of that evening almost 30 years ago. At the time I was quite active in my church as a choir member, leader of song, and director of the childrenβs choir. Our adult choir was one of the best in the county and we were selected by Cardinal OβConnor of New York to sing for His Holiness Pope John Paul II during his visit to St. Josephβs Seminary in Yonkers, New York. When the Cardinal requests someoneβs services, it is an honor and should be treated as such.
For those of you old enough to remember Pope John Paul II, he was universally beloved and is now Saint John Paul II after his beatification on May 1, 2011. He possessed a spirituality that is rare among men, a divine nature of love, peace, kindness and forgiveness.
On that October day in β95, in the evening after vespers, it was arranged for John Paul II to have a walkabout around the grounds of the seminary. It was then that I had the greatest honor of my life .β¦ to meet His Holiness and to receive his blessing. The moment I placed my hand in his and looked into his most serene and forgiving blue eyes, I knew I was in the presence of a divine being. There is no other way to describe how I felt other than to say it was rapturous; I had never felt that way before or since.
I have led a charmed life when it comes to meeting famous people β¦. just a matter of being in the right place at the right time β¦. but there is nothing that will ever surpass this encounter.
Time and events have a way of changing our perspective and I am no longer a member of the Catholic Church; however, my break from Catholicism has not and never will change the events of October 5, 1995 nor how I felt that day. It is something that will remain with me until my final days on earth.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #361; we are asked to get creative in exactly 57 words and include the word “classic”. This is my response.
βOh, baby, you gotta see her! Sheβs a real beauty! What curves, what style! And the color is perfect β¦. itβs called Marina Blue and the paint job is amazing! Brand new dash, broad grille, quad headlights and a tail sporting a fan-shaped alcove on both side panels. Iβm telling you, honey β¦. this oneβs a classic!β
Authorβs Note: Thatβs what my husband sounded like when he called to tell me about his ‘new’ vintage car …. a 1958 Chevy Bel Air. That was back in 1969 and he was still my boyfriend at the time. He was crazy about that car and took such good care of it. After about 8 months, someone stole it right off his driveway; that was one of a handful of times Iβve seen my husband cry.
Have you ever roller skated? As a child I had the type of roller skates that attached to my shoes and tightened with a key. I would skate in my neighborhood with my friends; since the number of cars on the road back then was much less than now, it was safe for us to take over the whole street and skate for hours. I never had a pair of professional-type skates with the beautiful wood wheels, the ones that laced up like ice skates, nor did I ever go to a roller skating rink. My experience was limited to street skating in strap-on skates with my friends … and lots of skinned knees!
2. Have you ever ridden a horse (or donkey) Yes, Iβve actually ridden both. When I was a young girl in The Bronx, I remember there was a truck that would travel around the area making stops along the way. It was not a very large truck, similar to the vehicles belonging to private landscapers you see today. The truck traveled around and played music like an ice cream truck but instead of ice cream, it carried two ponies and offered rides to children whose parents were lucky enough to have an extra 5Β’ to spend. The rides didn’t last long, just up and down our street with the truck driver/pony handler holding the rein and leading us around. For city kids such as myself, this was an exciting and memorable event! One summer my sister-in-law and I took our young children horseback riding while on vacation in Montauk. It started out nice but as the day progressed, the weather became increasingly hot and humid and we were all extremely uncomfortable. Since it was a half day tour for beginners, we werenβt exactly galloping bareback down the beach on wild horses which would have provided a cooling breeze. At the end of the day, we were all sweaty, sunburned and covered with mosquito bites … not to mention that we walked like John Wayne for the next two days! There are quite a few horse stables where I currently live and itβs not unusual to see people on horseback crossing the local streets going from one trail to another. It’s a lovely way to spend a few hours but horseback riding isnβt anything I see myself doing again. While in Sicily I rode donkeys fairly often. Many of the streets in my fatherβs home town are so narrow, the only way to go from one place to another is by foot or on a donkey. Riding a donkey is nothing like riding a horse. Donkeys are much slower than horses; they are approachable and lovable, overall non-reactive and less likely to go into a flight response. Even though I rode horses several times, I did not grow up around them so it was natural for me to feel safer being around a donkey than a horse. Youβre also much closer to the ground should you take a tumble! Our donkeys were always saddled, a much more comfortable and safer way to ride.
3. What was your favourite ride at a fun fair? The rollercoaster, without a doubt. I love rollercoasters β the good old-fashioned ones with lots of steep climbs and drops β none of this crazy upside down nonsense you see these days. Just give me an old rollercoaster and Iβm a happy camper. All the rides that spin and twist and twirl and go upside down make me terribly nauseous and I steer clear of them. Also I will never go on any ride that involves a free fall; to me that is just insanity. I also used to love water parks and riding the huge twisty-turny slides into the giant pools. They were great fun and an instant way to cool off but these days I can’t walk around theme parks for hours on end because of my arthritis. As my husband always says, “I’m too old for this crap!”
4. Choice of fun fair prizes: coconut, cuddly toy, Β£10/$10 cash prize. Well, money is always nice but Iβd say a cuddly toy to give my granddaughter (unless it’s an elephant which I’d keep for myself! π). We don’t have coconut as a prize here which is too bad because I love coconut. But we do have cotton candy and whatβs a day at the fair without the sweet fluffy clouds of pink cotton candy? The legendary Coney Island is an hourβs drive from my house and Palisades Park (made famous by the video below) is only 30 minutes away in New Jersey across the Hudson River. We went to both places often when we were younger. For my UK friends, our Coney Island in Brooklyn was inspired by your seaside resort of New Brighton. We now live about 10 minutes away from Playland Park in Rye, NY, an old and very well-known amusement park/beach. Iβm a fan of the Dragon Coaster and the arcade but we spend most of our time (at least for now) in Kiddie-Land where our little 4 year old granddaughter can have fun on the kid rides and play mini-golf, which is the only type of golfing Iβm into! And letβs not forget the Tunnel of Love for me and my mister!
Thanks for offering up a fun prompt, Di! π’ ποΈ π
A rare alternate album cover of Heep’s “Demons and Wizards”
It was the early 1970s and the four of us scored tickets to see Uriah Heep in Allentown, PA. It was the dog days of August β¦ the kind of sun that blisters your skin in minutes β¦ and the concert was outdoors. The drive was 3 hours each way in scorching temperatures but we were going to that concert come hell or high water. Allentown became our Mecca and the road trip our personal hard rock pilgrimage. The details of that day are a little sketchy but the concert was freakinβ awesome.
It doesnβt happen very often but last Sunday was a rare babysitting day for us; our usual days to watch our 4-year-old granddaughter Colette are Tuesday and Thursday but both our son and daughter-in-law (Colette’s mom & dad) had to work over the weekend. That was a rarity for them as well, but one is a librarian and the other a doctor and with both the library and the hospital open every day of the week, they sometimes pull a weekend shift but seldom do their rotations coincide as they did last Sunday.
My husband Bill has been having good and bad days this month, thinking about and missing his twin brother who died suddenly on April 2, so our son has been extra considerate, asking if watching Colette at this time is too much of an imposition; we answer without hesitation βNot at all β¦. in fact, just the opposite!β
Colette is always fun to be with but recently she has been a true blessing and a much-needed distraction …. a tonic, a balm for our sad and broken hearts, a healing magical concoction of love, joy, sunshine and humor blended with a combination of innocent wisdom and an intuitive nature that defies her tender age.
We were looking through some old photo albums with Colette β¦. snapshots of Bill and his brother as babies, as kids growing up on City Island, our wedding photos β¦. and even though Colette knew Billβs brother and saw them together many times, seeing those photos left an impression on her, especially the ones of Bill and Jim when they were babies; itβs true, you know, that when our kids and grandkids are little and they look at us, they only see us as we are and have no idea we were ever any younger than we are right now.
One particularly sweet photo of Bill and Jim brought tears to my husbandβs eyes and though he tried to hide his tears, they spilled through his fingers causing Colette to ask why he was so sad and we explained that Uncle Jim was gone, that he had left us to be with God in heaven; she thought for a second, put her little hand on Billβs and said βWell, thatβs ok, Grampy; don’t worry because God will take good care of him and itβs all going to be ok.β
Thereβs something very comforting about Montauk; itβs steeped in tradition, averse to change.
Case in point: the Montauk Shirt Shop which never changed its inventory β¦. and that was just fine. People popped in to get their mandatory summer vacation t-shirt …. not the latest fashion craze.
Things just weren’t the same after the familiar shop was renovated featuring a new step-up, almost exclusive section with high-end merchandise and souvenirs no one wanted. We looked around the new area once; it was overpriced and a bit too chi-chi for the sleepy fishing village.
This is the Stones with βMemory Motelβ, located on 27 East in Montauk, NY right across the street from the old diner and the t-shirt store. In my younger days I’d go to the bar at the Memory Motel and may or may not have caught a glimpse of Mick and Keith mingling very comfortably with the locals. It was a simpler time, no big deal, ya know?
When little Summer was just a few days old, her mother Laura started the tradition of sitting with her in the nursery to read stories before bed; in the corner of the nursery was an old floor lamp that used to belong to Lauraβs grandparents, Momma and Poppy, and it filled the nursery with a soft, soothing glow.
As a little girl, Laura spent a lot of time with Momma and Poppy and the three of them developed a deep and loving bond so when Momma and Poppy passed away, the one thing Laura asked for was the floor lamp which was in the bedroom of their house where little Laura napped; now, each night Laura would tell baby Summer all about her beloved Momma and Poppy.
This one particular night as Laura and Summer were sitting in the nursery, the glow from the floor lamp caught the babyβs attention and she was captivated by it, something Laura thought was a sweet connection, especially since the lamp originally belonged to Momma and Poppy, Summerβs great-grandparents, but then Laura noticed a pattern developing, a pattern that would repeat two or three times most nights at Summer’s bedtime where the baby would gaze calmly and quietly at the lamp, then slowly begin to coo, gurgle and giggle for a few minutes before becoming animated β smiling, eyes glowing, arms waving, laughing and babbling loudly β then back again to quietness but still very much attracted to and aware of the lamp …. even when the floor lamp was off, Summer was attracted to it.
One afternoon when Summer was around 3 years old, Laura heard her talking and laughing, just like she did when playing with her stuffed animals, and when Laura peeked into Summer’s room expecting to find her little girl on the bed, she was surprised to see her in the big over-stuffed chair where Laura read bedtime stories; the floor lamp was lit and Summer appeared to be having a happy and lively conversation β not with her stuffed animals but with the lamp.
When Laura asked Summer who she was so happily talking to, the little girl was quick to reply βMomma and Poppy, of course; canβt you see them, Mommy?β
Laura caught her breath for a moment but she was not completely shocked for she knew Momma and Poppyβs lamp was special β the very reason Laura wanted it in her own home, but she didnβt realize how special it was; Laura never tried to stop Summer from talking to the lamp for she truly believed the spirits of Momma and Poppy were presentand Summer’s conversations with them were real …. and who are we to say they werenβt. πͺ½
In the fall of 2017, Kevin Spacey’s life and his astronomical career in acting, writing, directing and production (and more) came crashing down with devastating swiftness and near Shakespearean consequences. The reason: sexual assault allegations from 30 years ago.
On October 29, 2017, actor Anthony Rapp alleged that Spacey, while appearing intoxicated, made a sexual advance toward him at a party in 1986, when Rapp was 14 and Spacey was 26. Spacey stated on Twitter that he did not remember the encounter, but that he owed Rapp “the sincerest apology for what would have been deeply inappropriate drunken behavior” if he had behaved as asserted.
Almost three years later, on September 9, 2020, Rapp sued Spacey for sexual assault, sexual battery and intentional infliction of emotional distress under the Child Victims Act.Β In the subsequent federal civil court proceeding, a jury found that Spacey did not molest Rapp and was found not liable on all counts, with Rapp subsequently ordered by the court to pay Spacey $39,089 in damages.
Fifteen other accusers emerged from the woodwork and jumped on the bandwagon alleging similar abuse. The Guardian was contacted by “a number of people” who alleged that Spacey “groped and behaved in an inappropriate way with young men” while he was artistic director of The Old Vic theatre.
On the same day as Rapp’s allegations against him, Kevin Spacey came out as gay when apologizing to Rapp. His decision to come out via his statement was criticized by gay celebrities as an attempt to change the subject and shift focus from Rapp’s accusation, for using his own drunkenness as an excuse for making a sexual advance on a minor and for implying a connection between homosexuality and child sexual abuse. Spacey expressed regret over the way he came out and said that it was “never his intention” to deflect from the allegations against him or conflate them with his sexual orientation.
Amid the allegations, filming was suspended on the sixth and final season ofΒ House of Cards starring Kevin Spacey. His livelihood, public acceptance, reputation, peace of mind and very existence was hanging by an excruciatingly slender thread.
As Rapp’s trial lawsuit against Spacey commenced in October 2022, it was revealed Rapp had given an inaccurate description of the apartment where he alleged the abuse took place.Β The judge dismissed the emotional-distress charges as a “duplicate” of the battery charges and a jury found Spacey not liable of all charges.
On May 26, 2022, Spacey was charged by the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) in the UK with four counts of sexual assault against three complainants which were said to have taken place between 2005 and 2013 in Gloucestershire and London. According to the CPS, it would be possible to formally charge Spacey only if he entered England or Wales either voluntarily or through an extradition request. In a statement to Good Morning America on May 31, 2022, Spacey said he would “voluntarily appear in the UKβ.
In his first British court appearance, on June 16, Spacey denied the allegations against him.Β On July 14, he pleaded not guilty to the charges in London.Β During the hearings, the complainant gave conflicting reports, false information regarding deleted text messages on his phone and eventually refused to answer any other questions, invoking the Fifth Amendment. On November 16, the CPS authorized an additional seven charges against Spacey, all related to a single complainant arising from incidents alleged to have occurred between 2001 and 2004.Β Three charges were dismissed before or during the trial, which began on June 28, 2023, and, on July 26, 2023, a jury found Kevin Spacey not guilty of the remaining nine charges.
Kevin Spacey has received countless accolades, including two Academy Awards, a BAFTA Award, a Golden Globe Award, a Tony Award and two Laurence Olivier Awards. He was named an honorary Commander and Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 2010 and 2015, respectively.
Kevin Spaceyβs brother, Randy Fowler, has stated that their father was sexually, physically and emotionally abusive and that young Kevin shut down emotionally and became “very sly and smart” to avoid beatings. Spacey addressed the matter in October 2022, saying that his father was a white supremacist and a neo-Nazi who beat him regularly and called him derogatory names, including ‘faggot‘. Spacey stated that the abuse at the hands of his father caused him to become extremely private about his personal life which, in turn, resulted in him choosing not to come out as gay earlier in his life.
The following video aired prior to Kevin Spaceyβs hearings in the UK where he was found not guilty of all charges. There are other videos available for viewing on YouTube if you so desire. I went with this one, choosing to avoid the sleazy and salacious nature of βentertainment newsβ.
This next video is a clip from the movie βBeyond The Seaβ with Kevin Spacey portraying Bobby Darin. Spacey did all his own singing which is rather impressive. I could have gone with songs like βMack The Knifeβ or βBeyond The Seaβ but the name of this video tickled my funny bone.
Here is Kevin Spacey as Bobby Darin singing βDream Loverβ.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge, where we are asked to write something creative in 250 words or less byusing the photo below for inspiration. This is my story.
The moment we stepped out of our car, the temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees and a cold wind whipped my black-stockinged legs. We cringed at the frigid slap in the face and huddled deeper into our jackets as we climbed the steps to the church.
We found the seats reserved for us β¦. second pew directly off the center aisle. I clutched my husbandβs hand and felt his body quiver as he raggedly exhaled, desperately trying not to cry. The tears would come, but on his terms.
The pews on both sides of the church were filled with people celebrating a life and mourning a loss. Everything leading to this moment had been a maelstrom of emotions; there are very few things that shake us to our core like a sudden death.
A man appeared at our pew; I recognized him as the manager of the funeral home. He spoke softly to my husband and together they started to walk to the back of the church. I looked up at my husbandβs face and he gave me a sad smile.
There was a heavy silence in the church, mourners sitting side-by-side lost in a fog of grief. Had someone played us the cruelest joke?
As one, the pallbearers heaved the casket onto their shoulders and the organ began to play. That’s when I saw my husband walking behind his brotherβs coffin, our widowed sister-in-law on his arm, and there were tears.
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #358 ~ Superscript
Just like something out of the evening news.
Did the attractive young woman, a former nurse and mother of one toddler, actually feed her little boy bleach or was it just a dreadful accident?
How could any jury not believe the clean-faced white woman in the proper skirt and blouse as she tearfully recounted the events of that horrific morning?
But they did believe her and only the most perceptible viewer in the courtroom or the living room caught the slightest cold-blooded superscript curl of her top left lip.
Bill stood at his open closet mumbling and cursing under his breath as he pulled out one pair of pants after the other. He was in a mood that has no definition or perhaps many definitions, none of them good. He was searching for something to wear for the funeral of his twin brother, Jim, who died suddenly on April 2. Had it been anyone elseβs funeral, Bill would have just pulled out a suitable pair of pants and a dress shirt, but this was his brother and he said he needed his black suit. He couldnβt find it in the closet and he was getting angry but, of course, the errant suit was not the cause for his consternation. I walked to the closet and spotted the suit immediately. Handing it to Bill, I hugged him and kissed his cheek. As I ironed his shirt I could hear him crying softly. βWhyβd you have to go and die, Jim?β
Written forFriday Fictioneers. Greetings, friends. Some of you know, others do not. We had a death in the family last week β¦ my husbandβs twin brother passed away on Tuesday. Iβve taken some time off from writing but now I’m ready to return. You may read about our loss hereΒ if you are so inclined. Thank you for your thoughts. This is my story today.
It wasnβt in the evening when a calm tide rolls out, nor in the early morning as the glorious sun rises but rather in the middle of the day, just after noon when he crossed the bridge and left us stunned and lost. One minute he was with us β¦. happy, strong and alive. The next he was gone, in an instant, in the blink of an eye, he crossed the bridge and slipped away. We had no time to prepare, no time to say βGoodbye and fare thee well, brotherβ. He was just gone, peacefully and silently across the bridge.
Bill & Jim at their childhood home, City Island, The Bronx, NY circa 1950
My husband encouraged me to write today; I didn’t want to …. I felt like I should sit by his side, hold his hand, cry with him but his tears and his grief have not hit home yet.
One minute he’s walking around the house in a daze, the next he’s playing LEGOs with our 4 year old granddaughter. It’s good for her to be here; she’s keeping him distracted.
You see, my darling husband Bill’s twin brother Jim died today around 12:30pm. His wife Lynne went upstairs to their bedroom and found him on the floor. She tried desperately to breathe life into him but he was gone. Just like that, alive one minute and dead the next.
Losing a sibling is so hard; losing an identical twin is unfathomable. I am Bill’s wife but his twin brother was his other half and I say that with nothing but love in my heart. They shared their mother’s womb, their crib, their playpen, their bedroom, their car. They went to school together, worked in the same marina together for many summers. Bill graduated Iona College first in his class; Jim was second. They even failed the army physical together!
They were on polar opposites of the political page and their taste in women couldn’t have been more different but in every other way, they were as one. Of course they looked the same and talked the same, they had the same laugh, the same sense of humor. They loved watching hockey and going fishing together. Now that will never happen again.
If you look at the last photo on the bottom of the page you’ll see them, two little suntanned towheads sitting side by side fishing with their older brother, dad and grandfather. Now everyone in that boat is gone except for my husband, Bill.
All I’m thinking about right now is what a great time Jim and Lynne had last week. They spent the whole week in North Carolina with their son, his wife and two teenage grandchildren. They texted photos of everyone on the boardwalk, arms around each other, looking incredibly happy.
Bill and Jim. The Twins. The Richy Twins. When people saw one, they saw the other. Now there’s only one and nothing from this moment on will ever be the same.
There was never a time when my father didnβt sport a mustache. A thin, elegant line when he was a young man, a bit more pronounced as he grew older but always neat, always refined.
Dressed in his army uniform, he was every bit the matinee idol and it was obvious why Mom fell for him.
When we visited him in Albany Medical Center the morning of his surgery for multiple aneurisms β both abdominal and aortic β his grey hair was neatly combed, mustache trimmed. He was 82 years old and the doctors gave him a bleak 6% chance of surviving the operation. Yet, survive he did.
My sisterβs daughter β my fatherβs eldest grandchild β gave serious thought to postponing her wedding until my father was stronger. He insisted she βdo nothing of the kindβ. He told us all, in no uncertain terms, that he would never miss his first grandchildβs wedding β¦. and he didnβt. Dressed to the nines in his tux and bow tie, perfectly groomed silver mustache, we all held our breath as they walked hand in hand onto the dance floor for what would be their last spin together.
When my dad died, we provided the undertaker with a photo for reference. The inexperienced mortician did a lovely job tending Dad but, looking back and forth from the photo to my father at peace his coffin, the undertaker knew something was amiss.
It was the first time any of us had ever seen Dad without his dashing mustache.
Our gracious host Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers is encouraging us to get creative in 100 words or less using this photo as our inspiration. This is my story.
In the 7th grade, ballroom dance class was a rite of passage β a Friday night event that lasted six months, culminating in a semiformal dinner-dance. The boys wore ties and jackets, the girls in party dresses and white gloves. It was not mandatory but if you didnβt sign up, you were snubbed. It was the highlight of the year β¦. not for the 12-year-old students but rather for their moms.
My son balked but signed up.
βYouβll never regret knowing how to danceβ, I told him.
Since then, Iβve seen him dance on two occasions β his wedding and his brotherβs.
The Elephant's Trunk 