Six Sentence Stories – The Elephant's Trunk

Capadoste

February 6, 2024February 7, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnThe Edge has challenged us
to write a Six Sentence Story using the word ‘game’.
In six sentences, this is my response to that challenge

If you’re wondering what “capadoste” means, it’s Italian slang for thickheaded” and all will be revealed as I continue with my store which goes like this: A while back …. and by “a while” I’m guessing close to 56 years now …. my husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) and I would get together most Friday nights with our friends at somebody or other’s house where we’d do a whole bunch of nothing, like sitting around watching TV, playing cards, shooting the breeze, listening to music, smoking and drinking.

Now, before we go any further, I need to emphasize the fact that I’m a lousy drinker and it doesn’t take more than one drink to get me tipsy, something I was well aware of but joined in the fun anyway because I didn’t want to be a ‘party pooper’; it was guaranteed that any night out that involved drinking always ended with me puking my guts out on the way home, Bill walking me to the front door where my father would be waiting up for me, saying goodnight then collapsing in my bed while my room whirled around like a spinning wheel.

Well, as you can imaging, these get-togethers with friends started getting old pretty fast until somebody mentioned a new game he played recently and asked if we wanted to hear about it, which, of course, we did; some of you out there in “Reader Land” may already be familiar with this pastime with playing pieces consisting of nothing more than a glass, paper napkins, a rubber band and a dime …. “The Dime Game”!

The game was really easy, anyone could play it, we all did and the rules went like this: drape a paper napkin over an empty glass, securing it in place with a rubber band, then place the dime in the very center of the napkin (couldn’t be simpler, really, but that’s just the set up) …. playing the game was significantly more difficult.

Since everyone smoked something or other back then, the idea was to take your lit whatever, burn a hole on the top surface of the napkin (praying it would stay small and not ignite the entire napkin), then the next player does the same thing; the goal of the game was to keep the napkin as intact as possible without the dime falling into the glass which resulted in the person who made the dime fall having to chug a shot glass of whatever libation was being served that night (and it wasn’t alcohol-free) so you know what that meant for me!

As a lover of board games, card games and party games, I was a total sucker for “The Dime Game” and like the idiot I was, I played every time, got sloshed after two shots and was done for while everyone else was having fun; you’d think a lesson like that would have been learned rather quickly and to that I have only one thing to say …. “Capadoste!”

This is Toby Keith with “I Love This Bar”. RIP, Toby 2/5/24

This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is 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.

Uncategorized

La Cucina Di Mia Madre

January 25, 2024January 24, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us once again
to create an amazing Six Sentence Story,
this time using the word “access”;
this is my response.

Due, no doubt, to the cold weather, I have been doing a lot more cooking indoors, eschewing the barbecue grill for simmering pots of tomato sauce, bubbling trays of lasagna and stews roiling in slow cookers – a skill which comes naturally to me since, as I have mentioned many times recently, I hail from a long line of talented cooks, with my mother topping the list; she instilled in me at an early age a love of hearty and delicious home-cooked meals and the know-how to prepare them.

Mom was a Sicilian immigrant who attended school only until the age of 9; with her own ailing mother unable to maintain their home, my mother assumed the role of nurse, cook and maid …. devastatingly unfair, but that’s the way it was in 1925 – kids forced to abandon their childhood, growing up in a hurry.

My mother and her cousins did not have access to YouTube or TikTok or cooking channels on TV; there were no cookbooks in her small apartment …. just recipes galvanized in her brain from watching her grandmother and her aunts holding court in the kitchen.

Many of the ingredients my mother used were home grown, such as vegetables, herbs and fruit, and the items that didn’t come from the ground were all bought from the local grocer and butcher, the price haggled and haggled once again until my mother was satisfied; her purchases were of the finest quality and she always returned home with change in her purse.

When I, as a kid, would come home from school or a day outside with my friends, I would always be greeted with the sublime aromas of something magical cooking; I would float into the kitchen as though carried by angels, my nose twitching, and I would dreamily ask “What’s for dinner?”

So many mornings I was awakened by the steady thump thump thump of the base of my mother’s palm kneading and pounding the dough for her exquisite double crust pizza filled with nothing but sweet, caramelized onions sautéed to golden-brown perfection; to this day after too many years and countless attempts, I still have not figured out her secret to that culinary slice of heaven.

“Mambo Italiano” featuring Rosemary Clooney singing and Sophia Loren dancing.

Short Story

Such A Crime

January 10, 2024January 12, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge
has challenged us once again
to write a Six Sentence Story
and to include the word “stock”.
This is my response.

Monday after school, me and my friends were in our usual hang out …. Caroni Brothers Grocery Store …. where we go for snacks, gum, you know – typical things 10 year old boys like – and, as usual, my mouth was watering for my favorite candy in the whole wide world, Tootsie Rolls, BUT I forgot my allowance and my friends didn’t have any extra money to loan me so I just walked around the store feeling glum when all the while those chocolatey Tootsie Rolls kept calling my name; before I could even think about what I was doing, I reached into the display box on the shelf, snatched a handful of Tootsies and bolted out the side door, but instead of running as fast and as far away from the store as I could, I tossed my candy into my backpack and sat on the ground leaning against the wall, relieved that I got away with it, when suddenly Mr. Caroni appeared outta nowhere, looming over me like a gorilla, and he reached into my backpack for my stash of Tootsie Rolls, shook his beefy fist and snarled something about cleaning him out lock, stock and barrel and to “get outta here, you mangy little thief, and never come back!”

That night I prayed Caroni’s would burn down – no such luck, by the way – and every day that week I gazed at the store with longing as my school bus passed by with one sickening thought haunting me: this coming Sunday morning, when me and my Dad are gonna take our weekly walk to Caroni’s for a loaf of Italian bread, a box of macaroni, a half-dozen cannoli and the newspaper; there’s no way I’m gonna be able to walk into that store and I’m thinking maybe I should just run away from home right now and never look back, but that would break my Mom’s heart.

Sunday arrived and Dad called out for me to “get a move on!”, all the while I’m making up excuses why I can’t go but he ain’t buying any of them; that’s it – dead man walking – and I dilly-dallied the whole way to the store, watching caterpillars, kicking pebbles, stopping to tie my shoelaces .… again …. until my Dad couldn’t take it anymore and shouted “C’mon, kiddo; what is this .… a funeral?” and I’m thinking “yeah, mine!” and before I knew it, I started crying and blubbering like my baby sister.

Squatting down and taking hold of my shoulders, Dad looked me square in the eye and asked “Ok, what’s going on?” and sobbing pathetically like a little sissy, I told Dad the whole sordid tale about me, Mr. Caroni and a handful of Tootsie Rolls; he took out his handkerchief, wiped my face, held it to my nose and said “Blow; listen, kiddo …. what you did was wrong and it’s obviously eating you up inside, but I’m afraid it’s not over because you still have to apologize to Mr. Caroni, which won’t be easy, but you have to do it …. and not a word about any of this to your Mom because this is a “guy thing” and it stays between us guys.”

We walked into the store, picked out our usual items and brought them up to the counter where my day wasted no time mincing words and said “Mr. Caroni, my son has something to say”; shaking in my shoes, I managed to look up at Mr. Caroni’s face and squeaked out “I’m sorry for taking those Tootsie Rolls, sir, and I’ll never steal anything from you ever again” and I extended my hand; an eternity seemed to go by but, to my shock and relief, Mr. Caroni took my little hand in his large meaty one, gave me one solid shake and nodded in agreement.

“Anything else?” Mr. Caroni asked, to which my dad replied “Just these” as he tossed a handful of my beloved Tootsie Rolls onto the counter; I’m sure glad my secret’s safe with Dad ’cause the last thing I wanna do is break my Mom’s heart.

From 1971, this is Cat Stevens with “Father and Son”

Short Story

The Piano Lesson

January 3, 2024January 12, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge
has challenged us to write a
Six Sentence Story and
include the word “task”.
This is my response.

Not having practiced the piano at all that one week, I called my instructor who was waiting for me at the church and declared into the phone “Mrs. Ridgeway, it’s Nancy and I can’t make it to my lesson today because it’s raining”; I was quite proud of myself for coming up with such a creative and foolproof excuse.

In her clipped New England-accented voice, Mrs. Ridgeway replied “You’re not a sugar cube and won’t melt in the rain”, then went on to say “Surely you have an umbrella you can use”; I was quick to inform her that I had left my umbrella on the school bus, adding that no one was at home with me to lend me an umbrella and my mother didn’t approve of me walking unprotected in the rain to which my piano teacher replied “Well then, I’ll just come to your house for your lesson”.

You could have knocked me over with a feather because I certainly was not expecting that response and, true to her word, ten minutes later Mrs. Ridgeway appeared at my front door, ready for the task at hand; I dilly-dallied as long as I could looking for my book of Schirmer’s Library of Musical Classics – Selected Piano Masterpieces, setting up my metronome, cracking my knuckles and swinging my arms a la Ed Norton and shifting butt cheeks searching for the most comfortable position until Mrs. Ridgeway’s patience reached the breaking point and she barked “Enough!” which nearly made me jump off the piano bench in a panic.

Shaking like the last leaf on a branch in a windstorm, I opened my lesson book to the appropriate page and began playing Beethoven’s Für Elise while Mrs. Ridgeway sat next to me, staring over my shoulder and glaring; I played as though I was wearing boxing gloves and, being the master sleuth that she was, Mrs. Ridgeway saw right through my brilliant plot.

Angrier than my sister the day she discovered I had ripped off all the heads on her Barbie dolls, Mrs. Ridgeway exclaimed I had wasted her valuable time and she doubled my lessons for the next week which would have been tolerable if she hadn’t reported to my mother who got so mad because of my lack of responsibility, she withheld my allowance for the next two weeks and took away my TV privileges …. even Dr. Kildare.

Hoisted by my own petard!

This is what Für Elise is supposed to sound like; you’ll notice Lang Lang is not wearing boxing gloves (but I bet he’d sound just as good even if he was).

The incomparable Jackie Gleason and Art Carney in a clip from the Honeymooners – Suwanee River. How could I possibly resist?

Uncategorized

APPLE BLOSSOM TIME

December 29, 2023December 29, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Rochelle from Friday Fictioneers
gave us the photo below while
Denise from Six Sentence Stories
provided the prompt word “jingle”.
This is my response, a union of two prompts,
in a 100-word, six-sentence story.*

The year was 1939; they were a happy couple.

When she became pregnant the following year, they were ecstatic; their son was born in 1941, the most beautiful baby anyone ever saw – golden curls, plump cheeks as rosy as apple blossoms.

He was a delightful child who brought incredible joy into their lives.

In 1942 the baby was diagnosed with nephritis; incurable, the doctor said and they were left heartbroken.

In the blink of an eye between Jingle Bells and Auld Lang Syne, their baby silently passed away.

The young couple was devastated; they never celebrated new year’s eve again.

NAR © 2023
100 Words
6 Sentences

*This story is true; the young mother and father were my parents, their baby boy was the brother I never knew. Six weeks after their baby died, my father was drafted and spent his entire tour of duty fighting in Europe during WWII while my mother was left alone without a husband, without a baby. It was many years before I understood the ineffable emotional toll this had on their lives and why we never celebrated New Year’s Eve.

This is The Andrews Sisters singing “Apple Blossom Time”

This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.

Short Story

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

December 20, 2023December 19, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

It’s six for A Six today,
all coming together to form one story:
One prompt for GirlieOnTheEdge’s Six Sentence Story,
four Fandango’s One Word Challenge prompts and
one photo prompt from Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.
Yes Siree Bob, that makes six!
🎄 🦌 🎅🏼 🦌 🎄

It was a long time ago, probably 30 years now, but I remember that night like it was yesterday, as if someone had taken a permanent marker and etched the whole event on my brain for all eternity; at the time I was quite active in my church, so much so that I somehow managed to get myself elected president of the parish council, a situation I found myself in because it’s a tremendous challenge for me to say “no” and, as a result, I end up getting involved in projects I’d rather not be doing.

My committee and I were decorating the rectory meeting room and setting the tables for the parish council’s Christmas dinner when I realized the wine I bought for the function had gone missing; now, I am a very organized person, certainly no scatterbrain, and when I found there was no room whatsoever in the refrigerator or freezer for the bottles of wine, I placed them in a covered box in the garage attached to the rectory knowing they would stay safe and cold, so how they could have disappeared was a total mystery.

Faced with the inability of turning water into wine and with no time to go to the store, I decided to check the rectory storage room hoping to find wine left over from a previous dinner and I was rewarded with an entire case of red wine sitting on a shelf in the corner just waiting for me; well, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I saw this new-found wine as divine intervention and placed two bottles on each table, quite pleased with myself for having saved the night at the last minute.

When the priests arrived for the party, they looked around the room in approval, nodding and smiling, but that was short lived when I suddenly saw one priest, Fr. Bob, heading my way and he didn’t look happy which made me wonder what was causing his consternation; now, in my defense, I am not a member of the clergy and have no way of knowing these things but the wine I found in the storage room was not just any ordinary, run-of-the-mill wine – no siree – it was blessed communion wine, meant solely for the purpose of Holy Communion and definitely not for a party, albeit a church Christmas party!

When Fr. Bob asked me (rather belligerently, I might add) how I could have made such a careless mistake, my mind went blank and everything I tried to say ended up sounding like a lame excuse; what was supposed to be a great accomplishment for me as parish council president turned into the most mortifying experience of my life and just when I thought the evening could not get any worse, it did.

The man I hired (from a so-called “reputable” agency) to play Santa Claus went AWOL, leaving his sleigh and a slightly inebriated-looking reindeer abandoned in the snow-covered backyard of the rectory; after a search of the grounds, Santa was found in the monsignor’s car in the garage, drunk as a skunk, passed out in the back seat and clutching my missing bottles of wine …. and if you give me a Bible, I will place my right hand on it and swear that everything you just read is entirely true (except the part about the tipsy reindeer; I added that because I simply couldn’t ignore the adorable graphic accompanying this story).

This is “The Ballad of Uncle Drank – Santa’s Hammered”

Story

CHRISTMAS TREE COUP DE GRÂCE

December 13, 2023December 13, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge
is asking us to write a
Six Sentence Story
and to include the word “farm”.
This is my story.

Early in our marriage, Bill and I inherited my parent’s ginormous artificial Christmas tree which we used for about ten years until it died; at that point our boys were very young and we thought it would be a nice family outing to go to one of the local nurseries to pick out a live tree, which was something we did for about four years until one Thanksgiving, while celebrating at my sister’s house in Rhinebeck NY, my brother-in-law mentioned they were going to Wonderland Farm the next day to get their Christmas tree (and you can bet my ears perked up at hearing a delightful fantasy name like that …. Wonderland Farm …. an utterly irresistible place if ever there was one and I definitely had to go!).

Well, it turned out that Wonderland Farm was a wholesale grower of Christmas trees, meaning people like you and I could go there, walk around the grounds until we found the perfect tree for our house, chop it down, drag it to the baling machine where it got bound and gagged and tied to the top of the car, then we had to drive the 90 miles home (the whole time checking to see if the tree was still on top of the car), drag the tree into the garage, saw off an inch or two from the bottom and let the tree sit in a bucket of water for a couple of days before bringing it inside to decorate; being totally unfamiliar with this activity and having young boys who thought it would be “awesome” to act like Paul Bunyan for a couple of hours, we decided to join in the tree chopping fad – a new family tradition that lasted for about three years until the back-breaking, ass-freezing novelty wore off.

Once we stopped cutting down our home-grown trees, we weren’t quite ready to bite the bullet and go cold turkey by putting up a fake tree, so back to the local nurseries we went for a few more years until that fateful day when I was un-decorating by myself and, while struggling to get the tree out the front door to the curb, I lost my balance and fell backwards into our partially frozen juniper bush; my hands and clothes were sticky from pine sap, I was a disheveled and scratched mess from wrestling my way out of the juniper, there was a trail of pine needles from my living room to the front curb, I was exhausted and achy and I’d had quite enough …. the perfect storm, the live Christmas tree coup de grâce.

The following weekend the family hopped into the car and drove to the Christmas Tree Shop where we bought a nice big artificial tree which we lugged home and immediately tossed into the attic where it remained until the following December which turned out to be a huge mistake because when we finally opened the box, we discovered it was not the gorgeous fake evergreen we saw on display but a namby pamby shade of pink aluminum which was never going to fly in my house, so we packed it all up and returned to the Christmas Tree Shop where we were told “No refunds after 90 days of purchase”; logically, I knew that but it was still a bit of a blow because the store was to blame for the mislabeled box, so once again we found ourselves wandering around looking for a Christmas tree and we found something I’d never seen before – a skinny tree, fully decorated and lit, with its own storage bag, meant to fit neatly in the corner of a room – and we scooped that baby up and brought it home.

That skinny tree served us well but (you knew there was a ‘but’ coming, didn’t you?) for a skinny tree, that damn thing weighed a ton and lugging it up from its storage spot in the basement really took its toll on Bill’s rotator cuff [we still have that skinny tree neatly packed away in its storage bag and stashed in a corner of the basement and every time I go into that back room, it scares the hell out of me because I forget it’s there and it looks like a body bag up against the wall!]; now I was asking myself what we would do for our next tree and the answer came to me while at the dentist one day and I spotted his lovely 3-foot tall fiber optic tree with twinkling lights which seemed to speak to me in Morse Code saying “Buy me and put me right by the fireplace and surround me with nutcrackers”, so that’s exactly what I did and there it served us very well for a couple of Christmases …. until I saw something while searching for stocking stuffers on Amazon that turned out to be a veritable game changer.

There on Amazon was a gorgeous tree the likes of which I had never seen before and I read all about it (not once but twice) and ordered it yet I was still surprised when a package was delivered that resembled an extremely large pizza box which contained something that looked like a wreath that melted like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz …. it sure didn’t look like a Christmas tree and I was beginning to wonder if I’d made a mistake or if Amazon had sent the wrong item …. but after laying out all the parts on the floor (which consisted of the melty-looking tree, a base and a pole), it all began to make sense and it was incredible to see it all come together; there’s no way I can adequately describe how wondrous this tree was in person or how amazingly easy it was to assemble so if anyone is interested in seeing for themselves just how easy it really is, go to Amazon.com and search for “Prextex Premium 6 ft Pre-Decorated Christmas Prelit Pop Up Tree” – but I must caution you …. you may very well want a Christmas tree or two just like this for your very own home .… and I absolutely couldn’t blame you!

This is Brenda Lee and “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”

Short Story

DADDY GOES TO THE MALL

December 7, 2023December 6, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise @ GirlieOnTheEdge
has once again challenged us
to write a Six Sentence Story,
incorporating the word “limit”.
This is my response.
🎅🏼

“Now listen up, kids, because Daddy’s had just about enough of this nonsense; I’m at the end of my rope and very close to losing it right here in front of Cinnabon, you hear me?

Every year it’s the same thing with you kids; Timmy, Sally .… I need you guys to get a grip because people are starting to stare, mall security is checking me out and the big guy in the red suit is becoming impatient.

Try to remember what we talked about last night when I read you a bedtime story, how you gotta behave because Santa is watching all the time and he knows when you’re being naughty (like now) or when you’re being nice; if you want Santa Claus to come to our house this year and bring you Christmas presents, you better shape up this minute and stop crying or else you’re gonna get a big fat lump of coal in your stocking!

Sally, I know you want Mommy right now but the last time I saw her she was ducking into Ye Olde Candle Shoppe and she hasn’t come out yet …. as if we really need more goddamn candles that smell like fruit cake and reindeer balls …. it ain’t normal, I’m telling you; look, we’re next in line to see Santa so everybody settle down, stop crying and when we’re all done we’ll go down to the food court and get ice cream at Baskin Robbins, ok?

Hold on a second, kids, cos one of the elves is putting up a sign and I wanna see what it says; whoa, whoa, whoa …. wait up there, pal …. what’s with the sign?

Ok, change of plans, kids …. Santa’s taking a lunch break and won’t be back till 3:00 so we’re gonna go hunt down Mommy in the friggin’ candle store and then we’re gonna go home where Daddy can watch Sunday football and have a couple of cold ones and Mommy can bring you back to the mall tomorrow while I’m at the office; Timmy, Sally …. for fuck’s sake …. that’s enough now cos Daddy’s good and pissed and has reached his limit …. so stop with the damn crying or I’ll really give you something to cry about!”

This is Bob Rivers & Twisted Christmas with “I Am Santa Claus”

It’s Birthday Thursday today
at The Rhythm Section.
Stop by and see who’s
celebrating a birthday!
No fuss, no muss;
just wall-to-wall-music!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Story

THE PIG JIG

November 29, 2023November 30, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us to create
a Six Sentence Story using the word “detail”.
This is my response to that challenge.
(Revamped, rewritten and reposted from a 2022 story)

Recently, while talking with a friend, I asked her “What is your earliest childhood memory?” to which she replied her days in kindergarten and there may have been some mention of earwax and/or sticking bubble gum in her ears but that’s her story to tell; as it turns out, some of my early childhood memories also revolve around my kindergarten days and what a joy it was to be five years old when all that really concerned me was eating and playing.

My kindergarten teacher’s name was Mrs. Merchant and she could have been anywhere from 34 to 64 years old with her short, curly salt-and-pepper hair, rimless glasses, shirtwaist dresses, sensible shoes and sweaters (which she wore every day regardless of the temperature), but the single-most thing that stands out in my mind about Mrs. Merchant was the fact that she would discreetly vomit daily into a silver bowl which she kept behind the piano, and then cover the bowl with a towel and carry it off to the bathroom for a good washing; our mothers told us not to stare because it was rude but it was pretty damn hard to ignore your teacher puking behind the piano every day.

We did all sorts of fabulous things in kindergarten like arts and crafts, story time, marching band parades and show-and-tell but my favorite thing of all was the talent shows where we could sing, dance, tell a joke …. basically whatever 5-year-old kids did that qualified as talent; I always sang a song and I remember every detail about one of my performances – my song, my little dance and most of all my costume, my little pig costume.

My mother, ever the creative seamstress, bought a child’s pair of pink one-piece Dr. Denton footed pajamas with a rear flap for “easy potty time” (if you don’t remember Dr. Denton pjs, you’re really missing out on something!) and she brought home some pink felt from the shop where she worked to make little pig ears and a curlicue tail which she fashioned out of a short length of a wire clothes hanger covered in pink felt and stitched to the little rear end flap of my pjs; my mother covered one of my plastic headbands with felt and attached the ears to it while my piggy nose was made from stiffly starched fabric covered with felt with two holes cut out on each side for the string which tied around the back of my head to keep my piggy nose in place like a mask.

I did a little Pig Jig which I can only describe as a cross between clogging and the tarantella and I was told I looked absolutely adorable but sadly …. or luckily, depending on how you look at it …. no photos remain of that momentous occasion – at least none that I’m aware of; I’m sure if there were any photos out there, someone would have used them to blackmail me by now, don’t you think?

Yes, those days in kindergarten were great and I believe Mrs. Merchant (who probably suffered from bulimia, poor thing) didn’t have a first name because I’d never heard it; I also wasn’t crazy about nap time because no 5-year-old wants to nap but what I wouldn’t give these days for a nice cozy afternoon snooze!

This is “School Days” by The Runaways.

Short Story

PILLOW TALK

November 15, 2023November 15, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

It’s Six Sentence Story time with Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge. Yeah, it is.

“Other” is a word that rhymes with mother, which also happens to rhyme with smother, which begs the question: “Am I a dreadful person for wanting to smother my mother ?”

Mother wasn’t a bad person; there was no physical abuse – just a major lack of tenderness which can leave greater, more permanent scars …. a perfectionist who found it very difficult to show warmth or affection, even to her children; I don’t remember her saying “I love you”, tickling me till I squealed or reading bedtime stories; what I do remember is proudly showing her a drawing I made in school with the inscription “Skyscrapers scrape the sky while butterflies flutter by”…. something my teacher called “highly imaginative and showing great vision” but mother said it was foolishness because butterflies can’t fly that high.

As a teenager I was forbidden to shave my legs but did anyway and not wanting my secret revealed, I wore jeans all the time, even to the beach in the middle of summer which also covered-up the fact that I used a self-tanner which turned my skin orange; mother watched as I scrubbed myself raw in the tub using a mixture of water and bleach – a humiliating experience – but it was at that time she discovered my shaved legs, causing her to explode like a slow gas leak and, of course, I was grounded but it was worth it.

Many days after arriving home from school I would find the contents of my dresser drawers dumped on my bed, simply because mother didn’t approve of how my clothes were folded; if I wanted to sleep that night, I’d have to put all my things away (or push them to the floor, which I often did) and I’d get hell the next day but it was a trip seeing her bulging veins and bugged-out eyes.

Years later when I had kids, mother would pop in unannounced and examine my house like the “White-Glove Lady” checking for dust; if my oven didn’t meet her standards, she would clean it (which, now that I have 20/20 hindsight, was a blessing in disguise because I ended up with a clean oven) and then she would depart as quickly as she arrived, leaving me with a spotless house but never once sitting down for coffee and a piece of pie or stopping to play with my children.

Lately I’ve been having a recurring dream about smothering mother with a pillow and when I wake up, I’m smiling; I guess my earlier question bears repeating: “Does that make me a dreadful person?”

This is John Lennon & Yoko Ono with The Plastic Ono Band singing “Mother”:

Short Story

CUTTING BACK

November 8, 2023January 29, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Once again Denise from GirlieOnTheEdge
has challenged us to create a Six Sentence Story
incorporating the word “balance”.
I have used one of my own photos for inspiration.

My mother-in-law Gertrude was a wonderful woman; she raised a family of four kids (including one set of twins) and provided quite well for all of them on one income – her husband’s very ordinary salary for his work in the produce shipping department of the Long Island Railroad – not an easy task but she managed.

She was a homemaker – one of the vast majority of American women in the 1950s who chose not to work outside the house; while doing all the household chores, caring for the kids, attending Mass, going to school meetings and leaping tall buildings in a single bound, my mother-in-law still found the time to cultivate an impressive green thumb – a skill she taught me and one I am now passing on to my granddaughter.

One of the first times I met Gertrude, she brought me up to the enclosed front porch of the house to show me her impressive collection of plants; they were all nature’s incredible works of art – healthy green leaves with swollen, flowering buds – and I was immediately stung by the gardening bug.

Sometime after Bill and I were married, my mother-in-law gave me a plant – a coleus she had rooted from cuttings of one of her own plants; I placed the new addition to my small collection on a windowsill in our apartment and proudly watched it flourish, but one day, to my dismay, the coleus did not look healthy and eventually started losing its leaves and became spindly.

When I told Gertrude about my bad luck with the plant, she gave me some pointers and then said something that I have never forgotten: “Sometimes you just have to be ruthless; cut the plant back, way down to the dirt, remove all the dead stems and give it another chance to grow.”

I’ve be trying to apply that philosophy to my personal life when people or things become too demanding, draining me of my time and energy, pushing me to the limit, overwhelming; balance is not something we find but something we create and there are times when we have to be ruthless and cut back, way down to the dirt, let go of those outside forces dragging us down and give ourselves another chance to grow.

This is Rascal Flatts doing “I’m Movin’ On”.

Short Story

DOTTIE PESSIN

November 2, 2023November 3, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Fandango gave us a Story Starter prompt and
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge challenged us to write a
Six Sentence Story, being as creative with punctuation as we dare.
This is my answer to Fan’s prompt and Girlie’s challenge. Enjoy!
🎶🎶🎶

One day when I was about nine years old, I was home with my mother when there was a knock on our door and when I answered it, I was very surprised to see Dottie Pessin – our pudgy-handed neighbor from around the corner who rarely made an appearance – standing there in her perpetually stained housecoat, carrying a thin, flat brown paper bag, hair in curlers, and declaring “Oh, Nancy, I’m so glad you’re home from school because I have something for you and I’d like to come in to show you.”

Well, it wasn’t every day that someone came to our door unannounced bearing gifts for me for no reason under the sun, so I was not about to turn Dottie away (I was no fool, even back then), but my mother had now joined us and was somewhat suspicious about this strange, unexpected visit and asked Dottie to explain herself, to which Dottie replied “I was out shopping when I came across this album of kid’s songs and I immediately thought of Nancy, so I bought it hoping she would like it” and clapping her pudgy hands added “I’m very anxious for her reaction so let’s give it a listen.”

Now, I don’t mind telling you this surprised the hell out of me and pleased me no end because I was already madly in love with everything about music and could barely contain my excitement as I reached for my little record player with the image of Brenda Lee on the lid; Dottie apparently shared my enthusiasm and as the music played she kept asking me “Do you like it? Do you like it?” to which I had to admit I did indeed like it very much (seeing as how I was a kid listening to an album of kid’s songs – what’s not to like?).

We listened to one side of the album and, as I was flipping it over to listen to the other side, Dottie exclaimed “Oh, I’m so pleased you like the album but I just noticed the time and the “Edge Of Night” is coming on in 15 minutes so I’m going to take the record back now and be on my way”; my mother, ever in She-Wolf mode, saw the confused and let-down look on my face and was damn well taken aback herself by that strange and sudden announcement by Dottie …. after all, the album was supposed to be a gift …. and my mother questioned Dottie in no uncertain terms “Just what the hell do you mean you’ll take Nancy’s gift back, Dottie?”

Without an apparent thought for others nor the slightest bit of remorse or worry …. not about my mother’s sizzling Sicilian volcano temper nor the sadness building in my eyes …. Dottie replied “Oh, this isn’t a gift for Nancy; I bought this for my friend’s daughter who’s the same age as Nancy, but since I don’t know anything about little girls (never having had any myself) and the things they like, I wanted to run it by Nancy first to get her opinion, just to make sure it was a good gift and my friend’s daughter wouldn’t be disappointed”, and with that, Dottie Pessin …. our pudgy-handed neighbor from around the corner who rarely made an appearance …. patted the curlers in her hair, took her thin, flat brown paper bag with the album of kid’s songs inside, held it tightly against her perpetually stained housecoat and bounced out our house like the giant green Grinch helium balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade without so much as a pudgy-handed wave or a glance over her shoulder to spy a regret-filled teardrop fall onto my purple Daisy Duck sweater (because all the other girls wore Minnie Mouse sweaters and I was never like all the other girls).

Now, you may be asking yourself “Could something this bizarre really be true and how could that woman screw with a little girl’s feelings like that?” and I will tell you that it most certainly is true – every pitiful word; I have no idea how someone could be so unaware and insensitive (unless they have their head so far up their ass they can smell Brylcreem) but, after 60-plus years, I still remember that surreal afternoon with Dottie Pessin like it was yesterday and, being a smart cookie for a 9 year old, I had the same thought about Dottie back then as I have this very moment: “What a stupid bitch!” 🌋

This is the Rolling Stones performing “Bitch” …. as if anything else would do!

It’s time to celebrate
Birthday Thursdays
over at The Rhythm Section.
No fuss, no muss –
just wall-to-wall music.
Stop by for some cake and sympathy!
🎂
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Short Story

BARREN FIELDS

October 25, 2023October 24, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

I’m writing this letter to you, Mother, knowing it will never be sent; you’re gone now so there is no one to send it to but still, some words needed to be said.

We scattered your ashes by that old tree that stands alone in a barren field, the tree you always compared yourself to whenever we drove by; how many times did I have to hear you make a comment about that damn tree?

It was rough growing up thinking I was unloved by you and there were times I hated you for that; for years I thought it was something I had done but now realize it was something you couldn’t do – let your guard down and your emotions out and show me a mother’s love.

My teen years were the turning point for me because I got out of the house and freed myself of the strange power you had over me; how I resented you and your aloofness …. so many years wasted …. and now as I look back, I feel sorry for you because you chose to keep yourself deeply rooted behind the walls you built.

I remember once overhearing a fight you had with Dad, an argument about how it was – as you put it – ‘unmanly’ of him to dote over me; that was the only time I saw Dad get angry, shouting at you that he had to shower me with the love of two parents because you were unable or unwilling to express your love.

Well, Mother, I’m happy to say I have a warm and loving family, I’m nothing like you and I will not spend my life wondering how things could have been different if you had torn down those walls you hid behind; now you’re gone, your ashes cast into the wind, and I will be the one who will rest peacefully.

This is an AI Midjourney version of the song “Barren Field”:

Short Story

SOUNDS OF SILENCE

October 13, 2023October 13, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

It’s a sad commentary when two people are out spending time with each other and yet they are miles apart – or so it may seem at first glance; this is not always true as we will soon learn in the case of Dan and Josephine.

This was the lesser of two evils as far as our young couple was concerned for, you see, people would talk about them no matter what they did and they are still too unsophisticated to grasp the concept that what other people think of them is not their problem.

I know I’m one of the guilty ones when I see two people out together, each one glued to their cell phone, totally ignoring the person they’re with; my first reaction is “how stilted and stifled is this relationship, how bored are these young people that they can’t even carry on a conversation with each other?” and I think of my husband of 50+ years and how we always find something (or someone) to talk about.

Perhaps I’m the one with the problem of being judgmental and jumping to conclusions.

Let’s go back to the case of Dan and Josephine, the young couple in our photo; what people observing them are not aware of is the fact that both Dan and Josephine are deaf and since they have been ridiculed, teased, mimicked and stared at for using sign language while out in public, they have opted to carry on their conversations via text.

Maybe next time we should remember to mind our own damn business and not jump to conclusions; there may be a very good reason – a personal and sometimes difficult decision people are forced to make – and it’s not our place to point fingers …. even if they really are just ignoring each other. 🙈 🙉 🙊

Story

MOAI MAN

October 6, 2023October 6, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

He was covered with dirt, leaves, broken branches and assorted detritus of a dozen or more years’ worth of storms and the forces of nature … dismissed, ignored, abandoned and forgotten … never given a scant thought until I came upon him, and even in his forlorn and dejected state, cast off and tossed aside, he was still majestic and I knew I had to give him breath, new life, a home, a place of honor.

After pulling him from the webs of thorny bushes and strangling ivy, I wrapped him in a blanket, secured him inside my car and drove home where I positioned him on a table in my potting shed and gave him a thorough wipe-down; he was in remarkably good condition for having spent all that time in the elements … after all, he is not made of stone or plaster or concrete but of wood and still there was no rot, no boring holes from worms or bugs, no tiny gnawing marks from rodents as if he had commanded them all to stand back, to keep their distance.

A gentle sanding was all that was needed to remove any loose and chipping paint; there was hardly any, a sign that this proud fellow refused to allow years of snow, rain, wind and unrelenting sun to wear him down.

I primed my pump sprayer and, with a slight nod of deference to this royal figure, I began applying a fresh coat of paint as black as pitch … new garments meant for a prince; in constant, sweeping motions I covered him from head to toe until he was gleaming in a slick veneer of ebony, a raven cloak.

When the paint was dry, I raised him up in my arms and carried him out to a spot specifically chosen for him, a place where he will be seen by all, where he will proudly reign.

He is my Moai Man, carved by the Rapa Nui; his name is Jude and his bearing is regal. 🗿

Short Story

THE CHOSEN

September 27, 2023September 27, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

When I was a kid, I attended a private Lutheran school from First Grade all the way through my senior year in high school; being in an unusually close environment such as that with a bunch of other kids was like having a very large extended family and, just like siblings, there were days when we fought like cats and dogs and there were times when we’d do anything for one another.

Being a relatively small school, there were some features we didn’t have that you would normally find in a larger public school; for example, we had a gymnasium but not an auditorium so phys ed and basketball games were held in the same room as our concerts, plays, pep rallies and graduations. We also did not have a cafeteria where students could buy food for lunch; everyone brought their own lunch, which we ate in the lunchroom or student union, and were able to buy snacks, desserts, candy, ice cream and cartons of milk in the small school store just off the lunchroom.

The snacks in the little store were nothing special – mostly things like chips, pretzels, Hostess Twinkies and Snowballs, Sugar Daddys, Tootsie Rolls and novelty candy items like Pixie Stix, miniature wax bottles filled with a sticky sweet liquid, button candy and tiny ice cream cones that weren’t ice cream at all but some kind of rubbery sugar substance – but we also had real ice cream and individual cartons of both regular milk and chocolate milk; it’s funny but the feature I remember most about those milk cartons was the round perforation on the top side where a straw could be inserted for mess-free drinking.

One unforgettable day when I was in fifth grade, a representative from Drakes Cakes came to our school and our class learned it had been selected as the official ‘taste tester’ for a bunch of new products being considered for the school store; once every week for about four months we got to sample items that weren’t as yet available to the public for sale such as Funny Bones, Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, Yodels, Coffee Cakes and Fruit Pies.

Man oh man … as you can well imagine, that was one of the most amazing times in our young lives and by far the best year we ever had in school; my class was the envy of all the other kids and I still can’t resist those delicious devil’s food cake ‘hot dogs’ filled with whipped cream that we all know as Devil Dogs.

Short Story

BURN MY BISCUITS

September 13, 2023September 13, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Today’s burning question from Cyranny is: “What’s one odd thing about yourself that you would never want to change?”

Perhaps it’s not so terribly odd but for me it is a no-brainer: Promptness, as in I am never late … never; there’s no good excuse or acceptable justification to make anyone wait for me because in the scheme of things, I am just not that important.

I have a family member who is consistently late and by consistently I mean late for everything, even her daughter’s recent wedding (how is something like that even possible?); we like to joke around that she’s going to be late for her own funeral but all the joking in the world doesn’t erase how irritating it is to have to wait for her every single time and it’s gotten to the point that we have to fib a little and give her a 20 minute earlier meeting time knowing she’ll be 20 minutes late but will actually show up on time … lol … see how that works?

Sure, shit happens, like being unable to control the weather or traffic; maybe we can’t control it but we can anticipate it by checking our weather apps and bringing along a freaking umbrella or listening to the traffic report and leaving the house 15 to 20 minutes earlier than the other guy … the guy who doesn’t care if he shows up late and makes people wait.

I’d rather be half an hour early for my doctor appointment than arrive 5 minutes late; at least I can get myself a cup of coffee, listen to the radio and relax in my car until it’s time to go in, even though chances are excellent the doctor will be running late!

In that case I am faced with the one thing I dislike more than being late and that, my friends, is called “The Hurry Up And Wait Syndrome”; man oh man, does that ever burn my biscuits – like an old Sunbeam Toaster Oven stuck at 475º!

Short Story

BOOM SHAKALAKA

September 6, 2023September 6, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

My parents fought just about all the time; from breakfast until Dad left for work they would argue about something, then they’d start in again after dinner.

I’d hear them arguing while I did my homework; at night while trying to get to sleep I would hear other noises coming from my parent’s bedroom which were pretty loud but they definitely weren’t fighting and the next morning they were all smiles – go figure.

Then one day my friend’s older sister told us we had to have a talk; she was 12 years old and already wearing a bra with a C cup so we paid attention. That was the infamous day we learned about S-E-X and boy, was that an eye-opener!

I was a pretty curious and precocious child so after that talk I figured out darn quick what those noises were from Mom and Dad’s bedroom at night and why they were always so happy the next morning after one of their big arguments.

Right then and there I promised myself when I got married I would fight with my husband as often as I could; I mean, if Mom and Dad were that happy every morning, there had to be something to this S-E-X thing after all.

Uncategorized

MINDGAMES

July 26, 2023July 26, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

It’s time for another Sixer, courtesy of Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge.

“Melt away the fears and anxieties in your mind, feel them liquify and allow them to slowly trickle down your face and relax as tiny rivulets flow down your neck, shoulders, back, thighs, legs and finally your feet where they silently fall off the grid into the ‘Well of Anxiety and Panic’; keeping your eyes closed, cover the well, lock it in place trapping your anxieties inside, inhale, exhale, open your eyes and allow the calmness and peace to envelop you.”

After six long months of listening to my therapist repeat the same litany in her soft, sing-song voice, one would think I was well on my way to living a life free of worry, what-if scenarios, anxiety, panic attacks and Xanax.

Oh, I have my times of quiet lucidity … weeks of stress-free bliss when I can enjoy a lovely dinner with my husband or a carefree shopping trip in Manhattan, nights when I fall asleep quickly and easily and wake up refreshed and at peace.

Then just as I’m getting used to this ineffable comfort zone … WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA’AM!! … the panic machine is back with a vengeance, coming out of nowhere with all the subtlety of an 18 wheeler, taking over my life for hours upon days upon weeks only to suddenly, spontaneously run out of gas and coast away down the road leaving me in a safe haven until it reaches a rest stop where it can take a break and refill its gas tank for the next assault; it’s a cesspool of what-the-fuckedness, the grasping, squeezing dragging down quicksand of fuckedupedness!

Some Einstein once said “The intuitive mind is a sacred gift; the rational mind is a faithful servant.”

MIND – Noun: a beautiful servant; a dangerous master.

Uncategorized

HIS WHITE COLLAR JOB

July 19, 2023July 19, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

A solitary man sat huddled in the corner of the church pew, thinking, praying, pondering his next move, occasionally glancing at the little light above the confessional door indicating that a priest was available to listen, to advise, to absolve; rubbing his chafed neck, the man looked down at his Roman collar now resting on the pew next to him, as he contemplated how many years it had been since his ordination, how many baptisms he had performed, weddings he had celebrated, funerals he had officiated – more than he could count.

He was a good priest – some might even say excellent – not perfect by any stretch but he was no thief, no murderer and the rights certainly outweighed the wrongs – all except THIS wrong; no one knew his secret so who was he hurting, he asked himself endless times, always able to justify his actions for even Jesus said that the sins of the flesh were human and the easiest to forgive.

They were friends and saw each other every day at the hospital where they both worked – she as a nurse and he as a chaplain – respected, trusted and admired by staff and patients alike for she possessed an amazing ability to calm the fears of the sick and console the grief-stricken and he to provide solace in the form of prayer to the heavy-hearted and forlorn, to offer hope to the hopeless, to lay his hands on those in the throes of death and perform last rights when the end was upon them.

They told themselves they were drawn together by their mutual empathy for the suffering, which was true at first, but now the unthinkable had happened – they had become lovers, adulterers, for he was married to the church and she was married to his best friend; he was happiest when he was with her and yet this wrong which felt so right was eating him alive.

He glanced up again to see the little light was still burning brightly – a beacon to him in his bleakness – and he knew the three lonely choices before him: confess his sins, beg forgiveness and give her up, go on living a lie and continue their affair or abandon his beloved church not knowing if she would leave her husband for him; whatever his decision, the toll would be unbearable.

Making the sign of the cross, he rose and slowly walked toward the confessional, steeling himself as he reached out for the handle of the confessional booth but at that exact moment when he looked up, the little light had been switched off; knowing he missed his chance at forgiveness, he was despondent, his head hanging, tears falling as he turned and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

Uncategorized

SO IN LOVE

July 12, 2023July 12, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

It’s two, two, two prompts in one!
A Six Sentence Story word prompt
from GirlieOnTheEdge
and
a photo prompt offered up by Fandango!
OMG! The Sicilian’s outta control!

Last year was our 50^th wedding anniversary, the Big 50, the Golden One, and we knew we wanted to do something special because, really – not too many couples these days make it to 50 years together and are still very much in love – but we’re not crazy about large, over-the-top parties or celebrations with a cast of thousands (even if that’s what our children wanted) so we got the family together and said “Listen, kids, we love you and appreciate the gesture but we really don’t want a party” and we set off to make plans of our own for our special day without putting a strain on our bank account.

We casually tossed out a few ideas such as a weekend in Manhattan (too crowded and we couldn’t get tickets to any of the good shows), or a trip to Vegas (all the flights were crazy expensive), or a mini vacation in Saratoga (but the racetrack wasn’t open for the season yet), or a stay at the Hilton Boston Downtown at Faneuil Hall (there was a conference going on and no rooms were available); nothing was doable so we put our anniversary plans on the back burner figuring we’d get to them eventually.

Well, we got busy with the grandkids, doctor appointments, car inspections, yadda yadda yadda, and all of a sudden our anniversary was just one week away and we didn’t have anything planned; it wasn’t the end of the world – both of us would have been happy going to our favorite Italian restaurant for dinner and a nice bottle of Montepulciano – but those little voices in our heads kept whispering “It’s the Big 50, the Golden One so do something special!”

The next morning my mister announced that he found the perfect spot for us to celebrate our big day: a secluded and romantic place with fabulous views where we could relax and enjoy a delicious meal while sitting by a roaring fire; of course I was all in and asked where this place was but all my guy would say was “it’s a surprise” and told me all I needed to do was throw my toothbrush and ‘a little sexy something’ in a bag, then he gave me a wink and my heart fluttered like it always does when you’re so in love.

On Friday afternoon we set out on our secret romantic get-away and I have to say we were both excited, even a bit giddy as we listened to oldies on the car radio; by now the sun was low in the sky and we were a good ways upstate – where exactly I didn’t know – but the scenery was gorgeous and I expected we’d arrive at our secret destination very soon – perhaps a place that resembled a fantasy castle in one of our granddaughter’s princess books – but just then we pulled off the road into a clearing and my mister jumped out of the car, came around to the other side to open my door, extended his had and asked “May I have this dance?” as he swept me off my feet afterwards suggested I might want to take at a look around while he got everything set up – just don’t go too far, he warned!

When I returned to my mister I could see he’d been busy as I was greeted by a sight I wasn’t quite expecting – a big tent and a roaring fire under a flawless sky, surrounded by the most amazing mountains that I was rendered speechless – not just because I was taken aback by the gorgeous scenery but because after 50 years of marriage, my wonderful husband was very much aware how much I detested camping, yet here we were and all I could do was smile when he showed me the take-out containers from our favorite restaurant with all the foods we like heating by the fire and a lovely bottle of red; he asked me to dance again, and I thought “I’m so in love with this man and all the ways he makes me feel special”, I knew I’d gladly put up with one night of camping, especially since after dinner I would passionately show him all the ways I could put my ‘sexy little something’ to good use.

Uncategorized

COLETTE

July 2, 2022July 24, 2022 Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

This is a little something I wrote for ‘Six Sentence Stories’ on the site GirlieOnThe Edge. We are to write a story of exactly six sentences, this week using the prompt word ‘strike’. Thanks to Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge for coming up with this fun and challenging idea. I hope you enjoy my six sentence story, ‘Colette’.

She is our miracle baby, the light of our lives, the most precious gift anyone could ever hope for.

No matter how miserable I’m feeling with deep-rooted arthritis pain that won’t let go, no matter how tired I am and long to hide myself away and do nothing but write, the moment she smiles at me my pain washes away.

She’s like a lightning bolt, a heavenly strike from the skies that penetrates the top of my head and courses its way down to my toes, spreading joy, happiness and love throughout my body.

She is Colette, our perfect 28-month-old granddaughter, with the face of an angel and the determined heart of a lion.

When I am with her there is no force that can strike me down for she fills me every day with never-ending joy and an ineffable love.

I love you, my sweet baby girl, beyond the moon and the stars and all the galaxies in the universe.

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