🐘 Nancy is a storyteller, music blogger, humorist, poet, curveballer, noir dreamer 🐘
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration
to get creative in 100 words or less,
making every word count. Here’s my flash.
Sometimes you see an image
and you know it’s perfect for your story.
This is Kevin’s pic from No Theme Thursday: 10.17.24
and here is my story.
Written for Di’s Three Things Challenge #M849 and
Eugi’s Moonwashed Weekly Prompt; this is my story.
Joe did it again.
This morning he found himself in the elevator with his boss; they were chatting amiably about the baseball post-season games. Joe’s boss was impressed (and a bit jealous) to learn that Joe had a home theatre set up in his rec room with a 96” Samsung smart TV.
Before he could stop himself, Joe invited his boss over for dinner, a little billiards and the baseball game that night … without first checking in with his wife, Amy. This was not the first time Joe invited someone over without asking Amy; true, they were his friends and Amy didn’t mind because they just ordered pizza and played pool. But this was his boss and Joe was expecting Amy to cook a nice meal. And it was already 3:30 PM!
Joe sent Amy a text (because he was too chicken to call her in person!): “Hey, babe! Boss coming to dinner. Big opportunity for me! Don’t care what you have to do, just make me proud. Luv ya.”
Amy stared at her phone in disbelief. A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Wishing to avoid an unpleasant conversation, she answered Joe’s text with a simple “OK” but her blood was boiling.
Two hours later when Joe and his boss opened the front door, they were greeted with the most mouthwatering aromas coming from the kitchen. Joe looked around in awe at his sparkling house and the beautifully set dining room table. Amy greeted them, all smiles and looking lovely.
“Babe!” Joe whispered breathlessly. “The place looks fabulous and dinner smells amazing. How’d you do all this?”
Amy blushed sweetly and whispered back “It wasn’t so hard, honey. I just hired Minute Maid Cleaners, a personal chef and a waiter.”
“You did what?? We couldn’t possibly afford all that!” Joe barked.
“Sure we could, honey” Amy laughed, “after I sold the pool table and the TV.”
NAR©2024
Prompt words ‘maid’, ‘waiter’ and ‘cleaner’ for Di
and ‘blushed’ for Eugi.
From the era of the caveman, this is “Wives and Lovers” by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Ovi Poetry Challenge #69;
our inspiration word is “spice”. Here is my ovi.
It’s said love makes the world go ‘round
A loving couple altar bound
Their forever love have they found
What a very happy day!
What is the special joy of life
A happy man, a happy wife
A recipe with lots of spice
Who could ask for more?
Keep fighting to a minimum
Lovemaking to a maximum
Your lives will never be humdrum
And you’ll smile all the while!
NAR©2024
This is “Love Makes The World Go ‘Round” by Deon Jackson
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
There he stood at the crossroads of his life. He was 72 years old and made more poor choices than he cared to remember. He was purposeless, never knowing which direction to take.
He was an indecisive man. The only true and clear decision he made was marrying his wife. She was his anchor when he began to drift, his lifeboat when he was drowning in the sea of life.
On this crisp autumn day, he was suddenly consumed with the urge to take a walk, clear his head. His wife offered to go with him, but he declined saying thanks, but he needed this time by himself to think.
His wife suggested he wear his new chartreuse windbreaker; if he lost his bearings, as he was often wont to do, he’d be easily visible. And so he donned his yellow-green jacket and took off to find himself.
Now here he stood at the crossroads of his life, literally. He had no idea where he was. As he looked around, he realized he was truly screwed for he blended in perfectly with his surroundings.
At that moment he cursed his wife. He wanted to wear his beloved red jacket but no, she suggested he wear the chartreuse one. Because he could never make up his mind, he did as he was told. Now he was lost without a clue which way to go.
And to think he went off to find himself. Now he wondered if anyone would find him.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Crossroads” by Cream
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Six weeks after my spinal fusion surgery I have been given the all clear to start driving again! Woot woot! 🥳
This is very exciting news for me; however, some people may feel differently knowing I’m back on the road. Well, you’ve been warned! Just saying. 😆
NAR©2024
Author’s Note: Kidding aside, I am so grateful to be doing this well after major surgery. Both Bill and I are delighted with our new-found freedom; he’s been my chauffeur for the past six weeks. I’m really an excellent driver and in the 53 years I’ve been driving, I have never gotten a moving violation (and it’s not because the police have been unable to catch me!). 😎
This is “I Can’t Drive 55″ by Sammy Hagar
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for dVerse Poets – Quadrille Monday 209 – Plucking Strings
Our host Lisa asks us to include the word “string(s)” in our piece.
This is my free verse poem based on a true story as told by my mother.
My father’s mother hated my mother for marrying her son.
Returning from their honeymoon, my parents visited her mother, then his mother.
When his mother opened the door, she pushed my mother down the stairs, breaking the string of pearls around my mother’s neck.
NAR©2024
44 Words
This is “A String of Pearls” by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Weekly Prompts – The One-Day Prompt (6)
and The Sunday Whirl – Wordle 673 incorporating the
twelve required words shown below. Here’s my story.
“Secrets, lies, glimpses at your messages, the way you jump for the phone every time it rings. You’re living a secret life, Kenneth, and it’s destroying us.” June’s lips quivered, her eyelashes were wet with tears. She walked across the living room to stoke the slowly dying fire …. an ironic symbol of their languishing nine year marriage.
Kenneth stood by the window looking down at the street below. As much as he tried to avoid talking about it, he knew one day it would come to this.
June wondered if he was even listening.
“You had another dream last night, Kenneth; the bed was soaked with sweat. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
Slowly Kenneth turned to face June; he let out a ragged breath. “Yes, darling. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, sit with me.”
They sat together on the couch for a few moments in silence. Finally Kenneth turned to June and took her hand in his.
“I’m leaving, June. I’m going back to the Congo.”
June was stunned; of all the things Kenneth could have said, she never expected that. “And back to the arms of your lover Sunda, no doubt” she spat out bitterly. “How could you, Kenneth!”
“Sunda’s dead, June. The fevers returned with greater intensity and frequency. She didn’t make it.”
“Dead?! Then what other reason could you possibly have for going back?” June asked, bewildered.
“The messages I’ve been getting .… they’re all from my doctor. Twelve years ago Sunda and I nearly died from the plague in the Congo while doing research. We both miraculously survived. Now she’s dead and I also have the fevers. I’m dying. The doctor confirmed my fears.”
“No! It can’t be true! I don’t understand, Kenneth. Why must you return to the Congo? Stay here with me. We’ll find the best doctors and fight this together!” June sobbed.
“Oh, darling June. If only it were that easy. There’s just one cure and it lies in the Cinchona plant hidden deep in the western swamp forests of the Congo. I refuse to expose you to the danger. I leave tonight.”
NAR©2024
This is “Jungle Fever” by Stevie Wonder
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration
and get creative in 100 words or less, making
every word count. Here’s my flash.
Punch – that misogynistic bastard – was out cold, spent from guzzling booze and pounding Judy like a side of beef. She slipped him Valium to keep him zonked and shackled his wrists.
Policeman Jack, Judy’s lover, stood guard outside; Punch would never escape before the tide washed him away.
Judy’s long gone now on a slow boat to a podunk beach town called Atlantic City.
A year went by; nobody asked about Punch or Judy. How quickly they forgot.
When Policeman Jack received a letter from the States, inside was a ticket to Atlantic City. Judy was true to her word.
NAR©2024
100 Words
For more info about Punch and Judy click HERE.
This is “Judy In Disguise (With Glasses)” by John Fred and His Playboy Band
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for dVerse Poetics: Fall (in) Love,
this is my Dectina Refrain.
I
met him
in the fall,
tanned from summer.
He was a bronzed god,
hair as gold as the sun,
eyes like burnished copper glowed.
He warmed the chill from out my bones,
thawed the late Autumn frost in my heart.
I met him in the fall tanned from summer.
NAR©2024
Happy Birthday to my husband Bill. We met in the fall of 1968. 🤎
This is “Bill” from Showboat performed by the Rebecca Trehearn
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.
Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Push Comes To Shove” by Van Halen.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our gracious host,
Rochelle, has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration
to get creative in 100 words or less, making
every word count. Here’s my flash.
Sue was excited as she showed her husband Ron her purchase.
“Isn’t it gorgeous, Ron? My latest acquisition from the Mystical Emporium. It’s supposed to…”
Ron cut her off. “Not again, Sue! You’re so gullible!”
“Ron, wait! It really works!” But Ron left, slamming the door behind him.
Sue would have to wait until Ron returned from work to show him how the pitcher set glowed whenever someone lied.
As usual, Ron was late and Sue was waiting for him.
“Not now, Sue! I’ve had a grueling day at the office!”
And the magical pitcher set glimmered like a supernova.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Lies” by the Knickerbockers
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #380 and
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge where the required words
are ‘auction’ and ‘lilac’. In exactly 78 words, here is my story.
My husband came home from grocery shopping and after putting away the ice cream said to me, “I stopped by the Chatsworth Auction House. Look what I found.”
He handed me a small box; inside were vintage lilac gemstone and silver filigree earrings.
I started to cry … tears come easy … and he asked “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. They’re perfect” I sobbed. “Just like the ones I lost years ago.”
“I remember” he whispered and kissed my head.
NAR©2024
78 Words
This is “I Remember You” by Frank Ifield
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Ten days out from spinal fusion surgery and my lower back still hurts like a bitch on wheels. This is a much more difficult surgery/recovery than I expected; bearing in mind what’s involved …. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed …. I should have realized it would not be easy. And my doctor sent me home with Tylenol …. not even extra strength but regular Tylenol. Really?
Getting around the house with a walker, dressing myself and doing basic toilette is not problematic; beyond basic, it’s damn near impossible. What’s not allowed: stomach sleeping, bending or twisting at the waist, lifting anything heavier than 5 pounds. And, apparently, pain medication.
These days, I just about live in my electric recliner, getting up every hour or so to walk around, followed by icing my back. I tried eating my meals in the kitchen with Bill; it’s good to have a change of scenery and some normal time with him. The chairs, however, are not comfortable just yet so we eat together in the living room where there’s an over-large electric recliner with my name on it.
Making myself comfortable in a recliner is easier than in bed but still more difficult than I would have thought; the vertical 6″ incision is centrally located on the small of my back so I’m aware of every movement. There’s always something that hurts, that’s too big or too small, too hard or too soft, flattened out or all scrunched up, or just out of reach. Finding the perfect cushion has been a crusade; thankfully, Bill holds on to everything! Fortunately, once I fall asleep, I’m out for most of the night. Getting out of the recliner in the morning is slow-going as I’m stiffened-up from sleeping all night. It’s a process.
As far as my blogging goes, I’ll write when the mood strikes. I miss you and our camaraderie but my energy and strength are down. It took me two days just to write this! I apologize for not reading or commenting on your posts and I’m sure I’m not going to …. at least not for a while. I’m just not up to it.
Well, that’s the story, kids; taking life one day at a time.
Be good to yourselves. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
PS – As much as I’d love to hear from you, please try not to compare your own situation to mine or tell me about your dear Aunt Betty who was never the same after her surgery. I know you mean well but we’re all different and heal differently; downer stories don’t help. It’s human nature but a “get well soon!” would be far better and greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Here’s “It Don’t Come Easy” by Ringo Starr.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Resemblance can be a freaky thing. Supposedly everyone has a doppelgänger; someone out there is a duplicate of you with your mother’s eyes, your father’s nose and that annoying mole you’ve always wanted to have removed. We might even have several pairs of clones walking around, each totally unaware of the other’s existence.
It’s been said the longer people have a pet, the more they begin to resemble that pet. Dogs have been matched by strangers to their owners time and time again. The same is true for people; have you ever seen a long-married couple who now look like a set of bookends?
I have many relatives in Italy and Sicily; my family has always said one particular cousin and I have looked like each other since birth. We were born days apart and are called “I Gemelli” … “The Twins”. The first time my cousin Franco and I met, we just stared at each other in fascination. I think Franco and I do bear a strong resemblance however his eyes are blue while mine are green and he’s got a lot more facial hair than I do! LOL! And we have the same Sicilian nose!
The other day I wrote about my best friend Debby and how alike we are, not just our personalities but our physical appearance as well. One of my WP friends was quite interested in my story and left several comments and questions. I promised I’d write a little bit more about me and Debby … two unrelated women who could pass for sisters, perhaps twins at times.
I can’t explain how these things happen but events at my son’s wedding a few years ago proved the old saying true: fact is stranger than fiction.
There were a lot people at the wedding … family, friends, coworkers. My sister, Rosemarie, was there as was my friend Debby. The time arrived during the wedding reception for a family photo session. The music was playing, people were dancing and milling about. Janet, the wedding photographer, was scrambling around trying to wrangle immediate family members for photos. Craning her neck for a better look into the crowded room, Janet turned to me in surprise and said, “You’ve been holding out on me!”
I had no idea what Janet was talking about and asked her what she meant. She replied, “I know your husband has a twin brother but I had no idea you have a twin sister!”
This conversation went back and forth for a little while … me trying to convince Janet that I didn’t have a twin sister and Janet insisting I did! Of course, Janet was talking about Debby! I laughed and said to her “I really hate to burst your twin bubble but she’s not my sister; she’s my best friend.” When I spotted Rosemarie on the dance floor, I said to Janet, “See the woman in the cream-colored dress? She’s my sister.” I guess I really couldn’t blame Janet; even my new daughter-in-law’s relatives thought the same thing. To make matters more confusing, Debby and I were wearing the same dress (totally unplanned)! Mine was deep purple while hers was dark blue.
It took a lot of convincing for Janet to finally accept the fact that Debby wasn’t my sister and that Rosemarie was. I guess the idea of two sets of twins in the same room was just too exciting for Janet … a missed photo op! I wonder if the same people who matched the pet owners with their dogs would match me and Debby as sisters?
You be the judge.
Twins? Maybe, maybe not, but the resemblance is strong….
….except for my actual sister! Go figure!
NAR©2024
Remember this? Here’s the theme song from The Patty Duke Show called “Identical Cousins”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for dVerse Poets’ theme:
Poetics: Dreaming up a Poem.
This is my Ovi based on a dream.
We were in the car
Hadn’t gone very far
Not a cloud the sky to mar
It was a glorious day
We went to the casino
Hoping to win lots of dough
Trying not our money to blow
The slots were on our side
The sun was bright in the sky
We were happy, spirits high
The road was clear, I could fly
Where should we go for lunch?
Suddenly a huge traffic jam
On my brakes I did slam
Fishtailing, I felt the ram
Some guy hit me really hard
No way could I stop it
Roll roll roll flip into a pit
All we could do was sit
Gravel poured through the cracked sunroof
Police and ambulance appear
Anyone in there? Can you hear?
I’m in shock, feel no fear
We’re rushed to the hospital
I’m ok but my husband’s hurt
There’s so much blood on his shirt
He’s dazed and confused, not alert
God, please let him be ok
Dream ends and I wake up
I reach for my water cup
Heart is racing, thump thump thump
This is a true story
NAR©2024
This ovi poem is based on a horrible rollover accident from 2001 in which my husband and I were involved. The photo above is what was left of my car. I believe in God and I’m sure he was watching over us. It’s been 23 years but I still have dreams of that day.
This is “Dazed and Confused” by Led Zeppelin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
This is my 3rd story about Harvey and Fiona.
For a look back at earlier installments, click here.
While Harvey slept during the day Fiona cleaned, shopped and cooked. She wanted a vacuum cleaner but Harvey said it was too expensive and the noise would keep him awake so she settled for a carpet sweeper. Their only chance to be together was at breakfast and dinner time – and of course for coffee and dessert when Fiona served Harvey his favorite apple pie. Fiona loved baking and it was all worth it to see the way Harvey’s face lit up every time she made another pie.
Fiona suggested a few times that it would be nice if Harvey worked during the day so they could be like a normal couple and spend more time together but her words fell on deaf ears.
She also longed for a baby. Each time she thought she was pregnant it turned out to be a false alarm. Fiona saw a doctor who wasn’t very sympathetic; he shrugged his shoulders, gave her ambiguous explanations and performed a couple of routine tests. He told her it was just one of those things; not all couples could get pregnant. When Fiona finally got up the nerve to mention to Harvey what the doctor told her, he laughed and said it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t get pregnant; “Just ask that sweet little Frenchie I knocked up during the war” was his mean-spirited reply.
Fiona felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. When she cried that she needed something other than chores to fill her lonely days, Harvey yelled to “go get a job and start earnin’ ya keep around here! Who needs another mouth to feed anyways?” Fiona was reeling; how could he say such hurtful things? Heartbroken, she eventually gave up on having a baby and found a job as a presser in a shirt factory. The work was exhausting and she still had to clean the apartment and cook for Harvey … and bake.
What happened to the guy she married? Harvey was constantly annoyed about something or other and drank more now than usual. He got mean when he drank and Fiona bore the brunt of his anger. When he demanded sex every night before going to work, she kept her mouth shut but she was silently screaming. This was no way to exist, like a piece of property and not a person. She’d lie awake at night remembering her mother’s warning words: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? I don’t trust him, Fina girl!” The only thing in her God-forsaken life that she truly enjoyed was baking and she did it all for Harvey.
Fiona would fantasize about how lovely it would be to have her own little bake shop; she’d make lots of delicious cakes and pies for her large following of loyal customers – not just for her selfish husband. She knew she could do it if she only had the chance.
To be continued. For a look back at earlier installments, click here.
NAR©2024
This is “Here Comes The Heartache” by Fair Warning
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are
encouraged to be creative in 100 words or less
using this photo for inspiration. Here is my story.
Eileen gathered some boxes from the attic and began to pack up her late husband’s belongings; Ned always told Eileen he wanted his things donated to the men’s shelter.
Now the drawer was empty except for a folder; inside Eileen found Ned’s sketches of their lake. Leafing through them, Eileen was outraged to see drawings of her sister Denise in the lake dated 2023 – the last time she visited. Ned and Denise had a fling years ago but Ned ended it – or so he said.
Eileen put the sketches back into the folder. Time for a little chat with Denise.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Cry Me A River” by Diana Krall
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #159
where the first sentence is the prompt and
for Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt,
using the phrase ‘one day’. This is my story.
The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.
It’s hard to imagine life without her. When the hell did everything start to unravel?
Now he sat alone in the shell of their apartment, baseball game on the tv playing for no one, nursing his second scotch. This place used to be alive with people enjoying one of their famous parties. When he closed his eyes he could hear their friends’ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.
Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage – dinner at Gallagher’s, cycling along Riverside Drive, steamy showers after Saturday morning sex. They were in sync in their choices of movies, paint colors and the biggest decision of all .… neither one wanted kids.
He sat there, head in hands while a thousand thoughts went through his mind. When did he begin having second thoughts? Was it when her sister asked them to be godparents for her first baby? Was it watching the kids in the playground across the street? All he could remember was the night he whispered in her ear that he wanted to have a baby.
She was blindsided. What? No! He was just named partner at Central Casting. She was food editor for Country Living magazine. Life was perfect. They had an agreement, dammit!
Would she just consider thinking about it? No! How could he spring this on her now?
Days, weeks went by. She remained adamant, distant. Then one day he came home after work and she was gone.
Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers.
It couldn’t have happened to a more perfect couple.
NAR©2024
This is “The Dance” by Garth Brooks
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where
the prompt word is ‘paper’, which can be used as a
noun, verb or adjective … or all three which will
qualify for bonus points. Here is my 3-way stream.
On my nightstand I like to keep a pen and pad of paper where I can jot down ideas for stories, things I have to get done around the house, items I need from the store, etc.
During a recent trip to the grocery store I noticed that it’s impossible to find milk in glass bottles. There’s every type of juice or flavored iced coffee available in bottles but milk only comes in those waxy papered cardboard-like containers or plastic jugs. We’re serious about producing less garbage and using less plastic products so I decided to start getting our milk home delivered. Remember that service? Well, it’s back! All I had to do was place an order for delivery with one of the participating companies; my order was delivered in a metal milk box that is mine to keep for as long as I use the service. When it’s time to schedule my next order, all I have to do is place the empty bottles in the milk box and they’ll be replaced by full bottles of cold, fresh milk!
My husband likes to read the daily newspaper, even though he’s really only interested in the sports pages and the crossword puzzle. The headlines give him agita. That works out well because he uses the remaining sections to paper the floor under and around the cat’s litter box to catch any ‘spillage’ or litter that gets kicked out. Now that’s a proper use for the newspaper, especially the front page that’s always plastered with the arrogant face of one lying politician or another! A very fitting use indeed.
NAR©2024
This is “Sunday Times” by Loudon Wainwright III
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #369
where we are challenged to write something clever
in exactly 33 words using the word “spoonful”.
Identical medicine bottles was how my non-English speaking grandfather almost killed my grandmother.
Alone for 15 minutes resulted in administering a near-fatal spoonful of massaging oil of wintergreen instead of dextromethorphan for coughs.
NAR©2024
33 Words
This is “Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #154
“’It wasn’t that long ago when Ethan was rarely bothered by mosquitos, but this year he’s being eaten alive by them’.”
I wrote that in my diary just a few weeks ago.
Thank you all for joining us today as we say ‘farewell’ to my beloved husband, Ethan …. another innocent victim struck down in the prime of life by the dastardly mosquito. Ethan was attacked last week while bringing out the trash for pick-up in the morning; it was just a quick run to the curb but he didn’t have his EpiPen on him. Who knew just a few moments later he’d be in cardiac arrest from anaphylactic shock?
Ethan was never bothered by mosquitos before and at first it was just an annoying surprise when he started developing a reaction a few months ago. The change in him was sudden and drastic and, as much as I will miss him, I’m so thankful his time of suffering was short.
Doctors can’t say whether this is a genetic trait, if our children Evan, Ella and Emily will develop this horrible allergy. To help our children realize the seriousness of this situation and to protect them, Ethan has left them his award-winning collection of swatters, his supply of EpiPens, his boxes of citronella candles, his stash of DEET and, of course, his journal.
When the allergic reactions started, Ethan began writing down his thoughts; as a poet, he wrote some of his best work over the recent months. He was most evocative in his agony.
In closing I would like to read one of his most poignant poems. It’s called ‘Ode To The Mosquito’. And please .… next time you see a mosquito, ask yourselves ‘What would Ethan do?’“
Ode To The Mosquito
How can such a little thing
Be so damn annoying?
Flying round my arms and legs
It’s bothersome and cloying.
Go away, you vile thing
I’ll swat you with a stick.
You’re not welcome in my home
You nasty little prick!
Who would think that tiny guy
Could be such a bloody sucker?
When he sticks his fangs in me
I scream “You Motherf*#+er!”
You get me every time I’m out;
My blood is extra sweet.
Come and get me, little twit!
Tonight I’m packing DEET!
The end. 🦟
NAR©2024
Poem originally posted 2022
This is “The Mosquito” by The Doors
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #367 using the required
word “party” in exactly 88 words; Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge,
with the required word “peak” and Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge using the required word “sunset“. Here’s my flash.
Yesterday was our anniversary, wed 52 years. No party necessary.
None of our friends who married around the same time are still together. How sad is that?
People have asked “What’s the secret to a long and happy marriage?” For us it’s 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.
That’s us. Uncomplicated. Happy together.
NAR©2024
88 Words
This is “Happy Together” by the Turtles.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where we are asked
to start our piece with a question. Bonus points have been hinted at
if we also end our piece with a question. Here is my questionable
stream based on a conversation I had with my husband.
“What would you say if I decided to let my hair go natural? You know, go grey?”
“I’d have to ask why you would want to do that. You always take great pride in looking younger than you are. Wouldn’t grey hair make you look older?”
“Well, I’m not sure we can toss a blanket over all women with grey hair and say they look older. There are other factors that come into play. I’ve always had great skin. Won’t I still have great skin if I go grey? How can I just arbitrarily assume I will look older?”
“Ok, I’ll give you that much. You can’t assume you will definitely look older. You’ve told me how much you like the color of your hair. I’m surprised you’re suddenly considering changing it. Where is this coming from?”
“Honestly, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It would be so much easier not having to color my hair and get highlights every couple of months. Besides, when we were at your sister’s house the other day, I was the only woman who still colors her hair.”
“And you were the best looking one at the table!”
“You have to say that; I’m your wife! Your sister’s grey hair looks gorgeous. I know women who’d kill to have her color.”
“But there’s no guarantee you’ll end up with the same color, is there?”
“Well, no …. I suppose not. But my colorist is so talented, I just know she’d do a great job transitioning my hair.”
“Now I’m confused. If you want to stop coloring your hair, what does your colorist have to do with any of this?”
“My colorist will add some grey to my hair …. like getting highlights only they’d be grey instead of blonde. She’d gradually add more until my hair is completely grey, then I can naturally let my grey roots grow out.”
“Seem’s like an awful lot of work to me. Why not just stop coloring your hair and let nature take it’s course?”
“That’s a terrible idea! It’ll take forever and look awful growing out!”
“Well, if you’re convinced this is what you want, I’m not going to stop you.”
“I’m not at all convinced this is what I want; that’s why I asked you in the first place.”
“Ok, then my answer to your question is ‘Don’t go gray. I love your hair color the way it is.”
“Well, I’ll have to give that more thought. What do you think about me cutting my hair?”
“Seriously?”
NAR©2024
#SoCS
This is “The Girl I Love She Got Long Black Wavy Hair” by Led Zeppelin
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo prompt
as inspiration. This is my 2nd story of Harvey and Fiona.
For another look at the 1st installment, click here.
Harvey and Fiona were as different as a gorilla and a swan but they had an undeniable chemistry and started falling in love. No one was more surprised than Fiona .… except her parents.
There was a major obstacle her parents couldn’t overlook – Harvey was Jewish. Fiona’s very Irish-Catholic father hated Harvey, calling him ‘Christ killer’ and ‘kike’. Her mother was crushed. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? I don’t trust him, Fina girl!” she warned, crying into her apron. Fiona would not be dissuaded; with a heavy heart she closed the door of her childhood home behind her and never looked back.
Harvey and Fiona were married in city hall, the judge and his clerk their only guests and witnesses. After a weekend honeymoon in Niagara Falls, the couple settled into Harvey’s tiny apartment – a walk-up on the fifth floor with a depressing view of factories and government buildings.
Harvey worked the graveyard shift as a printer at the local newspaper, seven days a week from midnight till 8:00 AM. His fingernails were perpetually stained with black ink. The first morning he came home from work and saw the newly decorated apartment, he yelled furiously at Fiona for spending his money on unnecessary things. Uncaring, he left ink stains on the new bedspread when he sat down to remove his shoes.
Fiona cried silently in the kitchen. Harvey sidled up behind her, kissed a spot below her ear and she leaned into him.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Love With The Proper Stranger” by Jack Jones
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Melissa is our host for dVerse Prosery Monday. She has asked us to write a prose story of up to 144 words using the quote “I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye” by Edgar Allan Poe. Here is my prose in exactly 144 words.
It was no secret that Frederick’s father committed suicide, due, in no small part, to his wife’s constant belittling. The note he left read “The vile bitch! I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye”.
Not wanting his mother to be alone, and despite his wife Helene’s protests, Frederick moved his mother into their home. He hoped the two women might provide some companionship for each other but they soon began arguing.
Helene could do nothing right in her mother-in-law’s eyes. The old woman went so far as to flaunt Helene’s inability to have a baby, goading her on by calling her wretched, a desiccated vessel, a disappointing failure.
Now the pain and humiliation had taken its toll and Helene began her descent into madness. One day while Frederick was at work, she bludgeoned his mother to a bloody pulp.
NAR©2024
144 Words
This is “Song by Edgar Allan Poe”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Stream Of Consciousness Saturday –
where the prompt is ‘recipe’. Here’s my stream.
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 it’s a whole different ballgame when you’re on your own.
I’ll never forget the first time I tried to make Sunday pasta. Reading my mother’s 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.
That’s 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 didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I’m 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 Flintstone’s 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 I’d be good.
I eventually mastered the art of Sunday pasta with meatballs but I sure do wish I had my mom’s jelly jar .… for old times’ sake, you know?
NAR©2024
#SoCS
This is “Che La Luna” by my Sicilian paisano, Louis Prima
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday where the theme
this week is all about songs that incorporate whistling
“I didn’t mean to hurt you; I’m just a jealous guy.”
For all his jokes, frenetic antics and mugging for the camera, John Lennon was a quiet and insecure man, an ardent peace-lover whose young life was filled with much sadness, great depth and many demons. He was brilliant, an extraordinary talent and, all too often, he demonstrated a sharp-tongued mean spirit and jealous streak.
According to George Harrison, his friend John could be a “saint or a total bastard”.
With a sea-faring, mostly AWOL father and a free-spirited mother whose accidental death traumatized him for years, John was raised by his Aunt Mimi and Uncle George. His mother’s memory would later serve as a major creative inspiration.
John Lennon met Cynthia Powell in 1957, when they were students at the Liverpool College of Art. Although Powell was intimidated by Lennon’s attitude and appearance, she heard that he was obsessed with the French actress Brigitte Bardot, so she dyed her hair blonde. Lennon asked her out, but when she said that she was engaged, he shouted, “I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ marry me, did I?” She often accompanied him to Quarrymen gigs and travelled to Hamburg with Paul McCartney’s girlfriend to visit him. Recalling his reaction when he learned that Cynthia was pregnant, Lennon said, “There’s only one thing for it Cyn. We’ll have to get married.” And they did; their son Julian was born a few months later.
Cynthia attributed the start of the marriage breakdown to John’s use of LSD and she felt that he slowly lost interest in her. When the group travelled by train to Wales in 1967, a policeman did not recognize Cynthia and stopped her from boarding. I guess no one .… including John …. bothered to ID her! She later recalled how the incident seemed to symbolize the end of their marriage. After spending a holiday in Greece, Cynthia arrived home to find John sitting on the floor with Yoko Ono in bathrobes; she left the house to stay with friends, feeling shocked and humiliated. A few weeks later, she received notice that Lennon was seeking a divorce on the grounds of adultery while she was away in Greece and he wanted custody of Julian. After negotiations, Lennon capitulated and agreed to let Cynthia divorce him.
John and Yoko were married and they became even more inseparable; to the surprise and consternation of everyone within the Beatles’ organization, Yoko accompanied John to the recording studio …. an undeniable first. She was a quiet but constant presence and John only had eyes for her.
After a couple of years, May Pang entered their lives as their personal assistant. About three years later, Ono confided in Pang that her marriage to Lennon had become strained and she suggested Pang reach out to John as a “sexual distraction” for him. Pang agreed; she and John soon left for Los Angeles, beginning an 18-month period John later called his “lost weekend”. ” Pang encouraged Lennon to develop regular contact with Julian, whom he had not seen for two years, as well as his former bandmates and friends.
Much to Yoko Ono’s chagrin, the “diversion” turned into a relationship. John and May Pang considered buying a house together and he refused to accept Yoko’s telephone calls. He finally agreed to meet Yoko, who claimed she had found a cure for smoking. After the meeting with Yoko, John failed to return home or call Pang. When Pang telephoned the next day, Ono told her that Lennon was unavailable because he was exhausted after a hypnotherapy session. Two days later, Lennon told Pang that his separation from Ono was now over, causing Pang to speculate that Lennon had been brainwashed (!) as a result of his hypnotherapy.
What a convoluted mess among such allegedly forward-thinking people! John and Yoko remained married until his death in 1980; they are the parents of musician Sean Lennon. Yoko Ono never remarried.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m just a jealous guy.”
Those haunting lyrics from John Lennon’s timeless song, “Jealous Guy”, uncover the darker side of his iconic relationship with Yoko Ono. They are words that have rung true to anybody with insecurities and obsessions …. likely why it’s one of Lennon’s most enduring tracks. It’s also my favorite Lennon solo piece.
John Lennon began writing the song in 1968 as “Child of Nature” while with the Beatles during their spiritual retreat in India. The demo of “Child of Nature” featured Lennon’s double-tracked vocal and an acoustic guitar. Early the following year, he revisited the song as “On the Road to Rishikesh” during the Get Back sessions. Eventually, the lyrics were scrapped and replaced by the now well-known “Jealous Guy” lyrics for Imagine.
In “Jealous Guy”, John sings of his envious streak that would often result in tumult between him and Yoko; he admitted that jealousy would regularly dictate how irrational he’d behave either around her or without her. The song was never released as a single during John’s lifetime. It became an international hit in a version by Roxy Music in early 1981, the year after John’s death.
“Jealous Guy” is one of the most commonly recorded Lennon songs, with at least 92 cover versions. In November 1988, the single peaked in the United States at #22 on the Hot Adult Christian chart and reached #80 on the Billboard Hot 100 in conjunction with the release of the documentary film “Imagine: John Lennon”.
This is “Jealous Guy” by John Lennon
Lyrics
… I was dreaming of the past
And my heart was beating fast
I began to lose control
I began to lose control
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I was feeling insecure
… You might not love me anymore
… I was shivering inside
I was shivering inside
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
… I was trying to catch your eyes
Thought that you was trying to hide
… I was swallowing my pain
I was swallowing my pain
… I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
I’m just a jealous guy
I’m just a jealous guy
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriter: John Winston Lennon
Jealous Guy lyrics © Lenono Music
Bonus track. This is “Child of Nature” (Esher Demo) by The Beatles. (Esher is the town in England where George Harrison’s home Kinfauns was located and where the demos were recorded.)
Released November 22, 1968
Composer/Lyricist: John Lennon
Producer(s): George Harrison, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr
Studio Personnel: Giles Martin, Mixer
Very big thanks to Jim Adams for hosting another great weekly Song Lyric Sunday.
Thanks for stopping by. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo prompt below. Originally written in 2022
as a 750-word story, this is my revamped submission.
I stood at the bedroom window staring at the devastation caused by the previous night’s storm. My wife Dianna is going to be crushed when she sees what happened during the night – Mother Nature at her fiercest. I heard Dianna stirring in bed.
“Mike, it’s so early. What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“We had a pretty bad storm last night. It’s not good, hon. We lost some trees” I replied.
She threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, feet skimming the floor searching for discarded slippers. “Not Red. Please don’t say we lost Red!”
Dianna gasped loudly at the sight before her, then the tears came. She cried for a long time. I held her and let her cry; this was not something carelessly brushed aside or easily forgotten.
Finally her sobs lessened and with a broken heart and a weakened voice she sighed, “Poor Red! How I loved that beautiful old tree. Look at him now, a fallen soldier.”
We sat on the bed side by side; I spoke tenderly. “There’s no shame in mourning the loss of a tree. It’s not silly. It is, after all, a living thing. Does it feel pain when a leaf is plucked or a branch broken? Does it thirstily lap the rain after a dry spell? Does it feel your heartbeat as you rest a weary back against its old, sturdy trunk? How can we presume such things are not possible? No, it’s not silly at all.“
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Falling (Death Of A Tree)” by Over The Rhine
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Written for Friday Fictioneers where we’re given a photo
and asked to let it inspire us to create something magical
in 100 words or less. This is my 100-word inspired creation.
“Ungrateful … bastard … son-of-a-bitch … always telling me what to do … when to do it … waiting on him like a motherless child … picking up after him … cooking three meals a day … seven days a week … cleaning … cleaning … cleaning … and what’s my reward … an unwelcome fuck at 3 AM … pig … I … have … had … enough!”
Carla’s thoughts raced through her head like a locomotive engulfed in flames.
“You gonna cook that pizza or beat it to death?’ he snarled.
He died instantly. Death by rolling pin.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is a live acoustic cover of The Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post” performed by Matie Cummings and Jeremy Edge
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 