Spouses – Page 7 – The Elephant's Trunk

Out Of The Blue

January 21, 2024January 22, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Today Jim at Song Lyric Sunday is challenging us to choose a song dealing with mental health. This is a double edged sword; it’s wonderful that there are so many songs about this subject to choose from but it’s a shame that there are so many troublesome issues (and troubled souls) to write songs about.

I chose this one because it’s a tremendously uplifting song, I love the group and I feel a personal connection as well. When you’re talking about a song, it’s great to have something that ties you to it. It may not always be something positive but that’s just the way life is. The beautiful thing about music is there’s something for whatever is going on in your life. I hope you enjoy my selection today.

“Mr. Blue Sky” is a song by the Electric Light Orchestra (ELO), featured on the band’s seventh studio album “Out of the Blue” written and produced in 1977 by front man Jeff Lynne. Promotional copies were released on blue vinyl, like the album from which the single was issued. Due to its popularity and frequent use in multiple television shows and movies, it has sometimes been described as ELO’s signature song.

I have loved this song since the first time I heard it. It’s a happy and fun tune about a make-believe superhero, inspired by a silly TV show Jeff Lynne loved as a child. It was recorded with percussion played on a fire extinguisher, for crying out loud, and was so powerful and singable, astronauts would use it as an alarm clock in space! Reaction by critics and the public was a definite thumbs up, calling the tune “truly exhilarating”; the song would go on to be referred to as “the happiest song ever”. Sorry, Pharrell!

In 1977, Jeff Lynne and the other members of ELO rented a place in the Alps to work on music for their new album. Jeff was trying to write songs but the weather was so dark and dreary around him, he went into a funk. So how was it possible for Jeff to have written this fun, happy song?

During a BBC Radio interview, Jeff Lynne gave this account of how it all went down:

“It had been dark, wet and dreary for more than two weeks, and I didn’t come up with a single thing for the new record. I started going to the local pub, getting drunk, and spending more time there than back at the studio with my mates. Here we were in a house in the Alps and I was totally spiritless. I had writer’s block and fell into an ugly depression. Those two weeks felt more like two years! Finally one morning the sun suddenly came out and shone brilliantly. It shook me from my gloom and I felt inspired for the first time in weeks. It was like, ‘Wow, look at those gorgeous mountains, that beautiful sky’! For me that was a sign, a re-awakening, a chance to start over. I was so encouraged and motivated, I wrote “Mr. Blue Sky” and 13 other songs in the next two weeks.”

That’s Jeff’s great story; now here’s my story.

Over a span of 8 years, 2011 to 2019, I had two major surgeries on the same knee. It was not fun but what surgery is?

After operation #1, a total knee revision, I was in a lot of pain and my recuperation did not go well. I fell into a major depression. I lost my appetite, suffered panic attacks and shut myself off from everyone and everything. All I wanted was be left alone and sleep. I was convinced I was going to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life, unable to play with my young grandchildren. I began seeing a psychologist. And I was taking anti-anxiety meds and pain killers.

My husband Bill was my biggest supporter, a shoulder to lean on, my rock. He took me to physical therapy 3 times each week and stayed with me. He drove me to see the psychologist and sat in the waiting room. He took me out for drives just to get me out of the house. He set up FaceTime with our sons. He arranged for someone from the nail salon to come to the house to give me a mani/pedi. He helped me shower and wash my hair. Family and friends brought over prepared meals which Bill warmed up for me, even though I had little interest in eating. He was worried about me, scared for me but never let it show; he was a saint.

One day Bill came into the bedroom and said he had something to show me. He switched on the TV and inserted a DVD; it was the “Concert for George” and it was the first thing in months that held my attention. That’s the day I started listening to music again. Bill and music were the major factors in getting my mental and emotional recovery into motion. I put on my headphones and listened to all my favorite tunes. I started feeling better and eventually got myself to the point where I felt before the urgent need for surgery …. but I still had nagging pain in my knee. X-rays revealed something wrong with my replacement and I needed to have a total revision …. a complete do-over of the first operation. All that suffering between 2011 and 2019 because of something that could and should have been avoided.

The 2nd surgery was in early December 2019, just before Covid. I had great hope this time around but my recovery turned into the perfect storm. A visiting nurse came to see me five times and Bill brought me to have my staples removed. I started physical therapy but that lasted only about two weeks before everything came to a halt. I was left to my own devices as far as physical therapy was concerned and I had a wave of anxiety wash over me thinking “here we go again” …. but this time I sort of knew what to expect. I had an exercise routine from my first round of PT 8 years earlier which I did on my own as best I could. Being your own physical therapist after major surgery is far from ideal. By the grace of God, I did not hurt myself or fall into another depression. Once again music and Bill were my constant companions. I’d also begun to write again.

Long story even longer, when lockdown was lifted, I went back to therapy. That’s how I met the therapist who literally saved my life and I still see him when I have a flare up. Besides being a great therapist, he’s an incredibly good person who loves what he does …. helping people recover and feel better. And he always has music playing during his sessions! If I didn’t have him and Bill, I don’t know where I would be right now. And I’m also no longer taking meds.

Depression is serious business. As hard as it may be, we need to try to let people into our life. We need to talk to someone, anyone who will listen and be a good friend. There’s no shame in being depressed; it’s an illness and needs to be treated as one …. not covered up like a dirty secret.

I’m one of the lucky ones and I have music, my therapist and Bill to thank for helping me on the road to recovery.

Take good care of yourselves, my friends, and try to listen to music every day. Don’t underestimate it’s powers. It’s a balm for your body, mind, heart and soul. It could also mean a new lease on life.

National Depression Hotline – 866-629-4564 for free help, treatment options and support. Call 24/7.

This is “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO

LYRICS

Sun is shinin’ in the sky
There ain’t a cloud in sight
It’s stopped rainin’, everybody’s in the play
And don’t you know
It’s a beautiful new day? Hey

Runnin’ down the avenue
See how the sun shines brightly in the city
On the streets where once was pity
Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey

Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long (so long)
Where did we go wrong?

Hey you with the pretty face
Welcome to the human race
A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky’s up there waitin’
And today is the day we’ve waited for

Oh, Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long (so long)
Where did we go wrong?

Hey there, Mr. Blue
We’re so pleased to be with you
Look around, see what you do
Everybody smiles at you

Mr. Blue, you did it right
But soon comes Mr. Night creepin’ over
Now his hand is on your shoulder
Never mind, I’ll remember you this
I’ll remember you this way

Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long (so long)
Where did we go wrong?

Hey there Mr. Blue (sky)
We’re so pleased to be with you (sky)
Look around see what you do (blue)
Everybody smiles at you

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Jeff Lynne
Mr. Blue Sky lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Jeff Lynne–lead and backing vocals, lead and rhythm guitars, orchestral and choral arrangements
Bev Bevan– drums, various percussion instruments, cymbals, backing vocals, fire extingjuisher
Richard Tandy– piano, electric piano, synthesizer, vocoder, orchestral and choral arrangements
Kelly Groucutt– bass guitar, backing vocals
Mik Kaminski– violin
Hugh McDowell – cello
Melvyn Gale – cello
Lewis Clark – orchestral and choral arrangements, orchestra conductor

Mental Stability

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Short Story

Forever Dream

January 13, 2024January 13, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

It’s time once again for The Unicorn Challenge;
this is my 250 word response to the photo below.

“Tell me again, Tom.”

“It was a glorious day, greener than Killarney in spring. We were out for a stroll, the leaves sparkling with dew. You looked so beautiful, Maggie, you made my heart skip a beat. Bluer eyes than I’d ever seen and hair the aroma of fresh peaches. We stopped and I picked a wildflower. I don’t know how you did it but you twisted the stem and made a ring. That was the day we became ‘engaged’. You said we needed to walk under the branch that stretched out over the path to make it official. I held your hand and we walked to the middle of the little bridge. We stood there and I knew from that moment on we would always be together. That’s where I kissed you for the first time. We were very daring, you being an older woman and all. I was 11 and you were 13 but we knew then we were made for each other.”

“It’s exactly as I remember. Tell me more, Tom. Put your arm around me. I’m so very cold.”

“Do you recollect the day we walked into the woods and discovered that cabin? I called it a ‘dilapidated shack’; you said it was “our dream’. We fixed that place up good, filling it with dreams. We raised our family there and welcomed our grandkids. Now our grands are getting married. Three generations of dreams, Maggie. Maggie? Oh, my sweetest love. Sleep now and dream forever.”

NAR©2024
100 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-12/01/24

This is “A Kiss To Build A Dream On” by Louis Armstrong

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.

Story

Soft Touch

January 12, 2024January 12, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

In previous years at this time we’d be covered in a blanket of snow.
With that in mind, here’s a story from January 14, 2023 ~ my response
to Linda G. Hill’s Just Jot it January 2024 prompt word: “toast”.

A couple of years ago, New York was hit by a major snowstorm. Wearing thick-padded booties, the snow silently tiptoed in while we slept and when we awoke there was a three-foot-deep crystalline blanket everywhere we looked. It was coming down pretty heavy and we could barely see anything in the backyard as we looked out our bedroom window … almost as if someone was standing on our roof shaking out a king size comforter full of feathers. Bill and I stood there for a while taking in the silent beauty of it all, then shuffled into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee and a few slices of my homemade banana bread.

The instant we were done making breakfast, the lights went out. There was no point in trekking down to the basement to check the circuit breakers; we knew the area had experienced a power outage. We sat in the kitchen by the still-hot radiator enjoying our coffee and warm toasty bread, a pale white glow from the snow enveloping every room in the house. Before retreating to the living room, I poured our pot of coffee into a thermos to stay hot for a few hours.

I went to the closet and brought down Bill’s emergency hand-crank radio with LED flashlight, AM/FM stations including the NOAH weather channel, a power bank of phone chargers and USB ports. This baby would serve us just fine until the power was restored. In the meantime Bill ventured out to the frozen tundra of the screened-in porch to retrieve some logs for the fireplace.

Bill got a nice fire going while I set up the radio on the table between our recliners. The phone chargers and USB ports were lifesavers; we were able to keep our cell batteries from dying and my laptop going so I could work on my stories. I was even able to plug in my new electric blanket which used a handy dandy USB port. Bill marveled at the technology of the little red radio and only bemoaned one design flaw – there was no TV.

We were happily ensconced in our recliners enjoying our little haven. All was silent outside except for an occasional gust of wind and every so often we’d spot a blue jay out our front window picking berries off the holly bush. I think we must have dozed off for a bit when we were roused by the harsh sound of steady scraping. We listened for a few seconds, then realized someone was outside shoveling the snow. We peered out the window to see our two little neighbors, six-year-old twins Jackson and Connor, shoveling our front path. At least that’s who we figured they were; it was impossible to tell by the way they were bundled up.

We sat back in our chairs, sipping our coffee and listening to the steady scrape-scraping of the boys’ shovels. Closer and closer the sound came; now they were clearing the steps leading to our front door. The adagio of their shovels was replaced by a sharp staccato knocking on our front door. I sank deeper into my blanket while Bill went to get some money to pay the enterprising kids, delighted that he didn’t have to shovel our front path himself. He opened the heavy wooden door and stood just inside the glass storm door to settle up accounts. Jackson and Connor stood on the front porch leaning on their shovels; toothless grins, cherry-red faces and sparkling blue eyes glistened in the still-rapidly falling snow which clung to their long blonde eyelashes.

“We cleared your path for you, Mr. Richy!” they proudly declared in unison, looking over their shoulders to admire their handiwork which was now covered by a fresh ½” of new snow. They looked back at Bill, staring up at him for his approval, their faces sporting the goofiest, most irresistible smiles imaginable.

“I see that, boys, and a fine job it is, too” replied Bill. “So tell me, what’s your going rate?“

With furrowed brows and crinkled noses the twins eloquently asked “Huh??”

“How much do I owe you for shoveling our path?” Bill asked in a way they could understand.

Very matter-of-factly with absolutely no sign of embarrassment or regret, the boys announced “Oh, we’re not allowed to accept money. Our mom and dad said we have to do good deeds.”

“Hold that thought, boys, and don’t go anywhere.”

Bill scurried back into the living room. “Are you hearing any of this conversation?” he asked me, clearly incredulous. “A concept like that in this day and age is mind-blowing!”

“Well, what’s your game plan?” I asked, knowing Bill always had a plan brewing.

“My game plan? Why, I’m going to pay those boys for a job well done and toss in a few packs of Pokémon cards just for good measure!” He was downright gleeful.

Bill scurried back to the boys and, opening the door just a crack to keep the cold out, shoved $20 and two packs of cards into their pockets.

The boys immediately started to put up a fuss about taking the money but Bill told them to stash it in their piggy banks for a rainy day and if their dad had a problem with it, he was more than welcome to come over and talk about it. With new-found treasures in their pockets, the toothless twosome raced home to show their friends their unexpected booty. Their little friends cheered loudly at the sight of the boy’s riches. Even their dad came out to see what the hubbub was all about.

The big financial deal now settled, Bill sat back in his recliner and sighed contentedly.

“You’re such a soft touch” I teased. “You’re rather pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am!” he replied. “Listen, I’m all for good deeds but when I was their age, I was out shoveling snow and I know it’s hard work. Those kids did a damn good job. If their dad objects to them getting paid, I’ll just tell him to think of it as a tip for his two fine sons. I can’t believe he’d have a problem with that.”

Well, it came as no big surprise when the twins soon returned and began shoveling the snow off our driveway – and this time they had reinforcements. Their momma didn’t raise no dummies! You haven’t lived until you’ve seen five six-year-olds shoveling one driveway like their little lives depended on it.

“Better get your wallet out, Rockefeller. They’re back and they brought company” I laughed.

Bill may have unwittingly created a couple of monsters; during the spring the twins started going door-to-door pulling a wagon behind them. They were selling rocks! I’m reasonably certain their parents did not give permission for their budding business venture because it ended as abruptly as it started. Too bad; I’m sure they had the rock-selling market cornered. Very entrepreneurial kids; even Warren Buffett had to start somewhere!

Well, kind of a pity when you think about it. The boys scrubbed those rocks until they glistened in the sparkling sunlight. They really were impressive-looking rocks – there’s no denying that – but they were still just rocks, not exactly a priceless commodity.

Bill bought two. He’s such a soft touch.

NAR©2024
First published 2023

Daily Prompt – JusJoJan the 12th, 2024

This is George Harrison with “Soft Touch”

Short Story

As He’d Hoped

January 12, 2024January 11, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers
has challenged us to write a 100-word
story prompted by the photo below.
Incorporating prompts from
Weekly Prompts Wednesday and
FOWC with Fandango,
this is my response to Rochelle’s challenge.

How many years does someone need to spend in a loveless marriage before the word divorce is mentioned?

That was Barbara’s regrettable life. When her husband finally approached her, she didn’t hesitate; she knew she couldn’t love him as he’d hoped.

Their split was swift and formal.

Now Barbara walked out of the Prada shop in Salamanca and, with thrilling expectation, waved when she saw Evelyn across the street.

Their pace quickened and they embraced passionately, unafraid and unashamed to show their love for each other.

They walked off, hand in hand, toward a romantic outdoor café.

Happy at last.

NAR©2024
100 Words

12 January 2024

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Divorce

FOWC with Fandango — Expectation

This is Elbow with “Grounds For Divorce”

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.

29 December 2023

Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

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

WHEELBARROWS AND WOODPECKERS: PART 2

December 25, 2023December 25, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Yesterday my MC had just emailed his estranged wife
and was hoping for a reply, a Christmas miracle.
Here’s where we left off. Let’s continue:

※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Push send and cross my fingers that Annie hasn’t changed her email address. Going to bed and will say a prayer for a Christmas miracle…..

I woke up early again today; it’s Christmas morning. I’m anxious and afraid to check my email. Can I bring myself to read beyond the first couple of words? Instead, I decide to wait just a bit and pour myself a cup of coffee. I sit looking out the window as the woodpeckers hop from branch to branch finding their way home.

Did Annie get my email? Will she answer me? I guess I can put off the inevitable for only so long. I decide to check my computer; nothing. My heart is shattered and I crumble onto the chair . What a fool I was to wait so long to reach out to her.

It’s early afternoon now and the luscious aroma of roasting turkey is wafting through every room in the house; I can’t bear the thought of eating Christmas dinner alone. When everything is done cooking, I’ll pack up all the food and bring it to the soup kitchen; at least someone will reap the benefits of my stupidity.

I clean up, get dressed and pour myself a glass of wine. Perhaps I’ll sit by the tree and listen to some Christmas music while the turkey finishes doing its thing. The happy tunes coming from the radio do not match my mood and then, as if by simply willing it to happen, a melancholy song starts up. I never thought I would be spending Christmas like this …. alone, broken-hearted and in tears.

I hastily wipe at my eyes with the back of my hands and turn off the radio. No more music today. Time to see how the dinner is coming along. On my way into the kitchen, I glance out the window at the woodpeckers. Standing by the once useless wheelbarrow, suitcase in hand, is my Annie. She gives me a slow, sweet smile and a little wave.

Without stopping to think “Is this real?”, I flew down the stairs and out the back door. Thank you, God, for second chances.

This is “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by Diana Krall.

A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS,
MY DEAR FRIENDS!
MAY ALL YOUR WISHES COME TRUE!
🎄

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Longer Stories

WHEELBARROWS AND WOODPECKERS: PART 1

December 24, 2023December 23, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Taking a short break to celebrate
Christmas with my family.
Rebooting an old favorite from 2021;
some of you have seen it; many haven’t.
💫

My Dear Annie,

It took about ten minutes of me staring at a blank computer screen before I started typing this email – and that’s just today. I’ve been doing the same thing every day for the last eight months. I’ll type a paragraph, then delete it. The idea of reaching out to you began thirty seconds after you left our house and closed the door on our life together. I have about a thousand thoughts and questions swirling around in my brain, much like the snowflakes dancing in the wind in our backyard.

I got up early and made myself a cup of coffee, then sat by the kitchen window and watched the birds at the feeders. You’ll be happy to know the red-headed woodpeckers have returned, just as they always do. How I wish you would return to me, too.

I held my coffee cup up to my nose and inhaled the rich aroma of dark roast. I’m drinking from that cup you gave me ages ago with COOL BEANS scrawled across the front. I use it every day and always think about you (not that I need a reminder) and I’ve decided that today will be the day I must summon the courage to write to you to say “I’m sorry”.

You see, tomorrow is Christmas Day and I can’t think of a better time to tell you what’s on my mind. If I don’t do it today who knows if I ever will? I miss you, Annie. I miss you so damn much it literally hurts. My heart aches for you and my stomach churns when I realize what a first class jerk I was to let you slip through my fingers.

I don’t know what I was thinking. No, I take that back; I do know. I was thinking about myself – me, myself and I. What a stupid, selfish idiot I was. I’m sure you’d agree with that assessment. I’m equally sure there’s a spot for me in the Guinness Book of World Records as the biggest fool ever. How could I expect you to put your dreams and plans on hold while I pursued mine?

If I’ve come to realize anything over these last few months it’s the fact that what I want in life isn’t more important than what you want and all my achievements are not worth a damn without you. I am so sorry for not seeing that sooner.

When I finally realized how empty my life was without you and how much I yearned to be sharing and living our dreams together, you were long gone. I don’t blame you one bit; if I was you, I would have left me, too. I’m useless without you and I’m so ashamed that I put myself before you.

Do you remember that old wheelbarrow we found last year buried under weeds and ivy? It was missing its wheel and was of no use to anyone. You had the brilliant idea of transforming it into a planter instead of throwing it away. I have also lost my wheel, my direction in life and I find I can’t do anything without it, without you. I need you to help bring me back to life, to give me purpose. I need your forgiveness. I need you.

I was driven by my obsession for success and power more than anything else – more than putting you first, more than your deepest desire to start a family. How could I have deprived you of that? How could I have deprived us of that? How could I have been so blind not to see that was exactly what I wanted too? Well, I screwed up royally. All the success and power I ever wanted are mine now but they are hollow victories. The price was too dear – losing you and everything that was and might have been, that should have been. I wake up alone in our bed and come home to an empty house. And all day, every day, I simply exist like a wheelbarrow without a wheel.

I have no idea where you are, how you are or what you’re doing. I pray that you haven’t lost all faith in me, even though that may be what I deserve. That would surely destroy me because my love for you is stronger than ever. I wouldn’t blame you for not believing what I’m about to say but I would do anything, give up everything just to have you by my side once again. I am empty inside without you and I’m begging for a second chance. My one hope that I cling to every day is the fact that I haven’t been served with divorce papers …. yet. Please tell me there’s a chance for us, a chance that you can possibly forgive me.

Christmas Day. What a blessing it would be to have you back, to have you tell me we’re going to be okay! How grateful I would be for the opportunity to show you how much I love you and need you in my life!

Don’t laugh but I’m going to attempt to prepare my very first Christmas dinner by myself. I bought a small turkey, all the fixings and a lovely bottle of wine .… just enough for two. It would give me the greatest joy to share the day with you and every day after that, to hold you in my arms and make all the sorrow go away.

Annie, if only you could sprout wings and fly home to me like the woodpeckers! Will you come home for Christmas? Please come back to me and never leave.

I love you so very much.

Charlie

※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Push send and cross my fingers that Annie hasn’t changed her email address. Going to bed and will say a prayer for a Christmas miracle.

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW

This is U2 with “Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)”

Warmest Wishes This Christmas Eve!

Story

THE CALL

December 5, 2023December 5, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Out of the blue the call arrived. It was late and I was beyond tired after a day of Christmas shopping and decorating. We were tempted to let it go straight to voice mail, but Gary thought it might be important.

“Gary? Hi, it’s Alice from the adoption agency. I hope you and Carol are sitting down! We have a baby for you! Can you come by in the morning to talk?”

Gary stood up; his face registered shock. “What? My God! Are you sure?” Completely convinced that something terrible had happened, I grabbed the phone from Gary. “This is Carol Wheeler. Who’s this, please?”

It was not bad news …. just the opposite. It was elating, magical, top-of-the-world, The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year news!

A baby in need of a home! A baby for us to love!!

“Yes!! We’ll be there! Oh, Alice. I’m so happy! Thank you so much!” I was rambling.

Dumbstruck, we stood there …. then pandemonium broke loose. Laughing, crying, hugging, kissing, dancing, tossing tinsel around the room like crazy people. Anytime would have been amazing but for this to be happening during the holiday season was wondrous!

We didn’t think …. or even care …. to ask “boy, girl, age, etc., etc.”? After eight years of trying to get pregnant and faced with disappointment each time, an incredibly strong and loving stranger was presenting us with the most precious gift imaginable.

“Gary, do you realize in a few days we will be a family of three?” I asked breathlessly.

IN A FEW DAYS!!

All tiredness forgotten, we raced to the attic for the plastic bins of assorted baby items. There in the corner stood the bassinet; it seemed to glow in the darkness. I believe at that moment I heard angels singing. We reverently carried it down to our room. I leaned into Gary, overcome with elated exhaustion.

And then the phone rang a second time. We stared at it, afraid to answer, sure it was Alice calling to say the baby’s mom had changed her mind, there would be no happy family for us.

I reached for the phone and wearily, warily said “This is Carol.”

“Carol, it’s Alice again. Sorry to bother you and Gary but there’s been a development.”

I closed my eyes waiting for the words I didn’t want to hear. Not now, not at Christmastime. Alice continued talking and I felt my knees growing weak.

Stunned, crying, all I could manage was a hushed “Oh, Alice! Are you absolutely sure? How could this be happening? Yes. Yes, I understand.”

I hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. I was already crying when I turned to face Gary. He held me close and whispered “Shh. It’s ok, honey. Everything will be ok. Another baby is out there waiting for us. It’s just a matter of time.”

On tiptoes, I reached up to give my darling husband a little kiss. I murmured “I love you”, my mouth just brushing his. I looked into his eyes and spoke, my voice breaking.

“Oh, Gary. There was a mix up at the hospital and Alice was given the wrong information.”

Gary started to speak but I gently placed my fingers on his lips to quiet him. I continued.

“Alice called just now to ask how we feel about adopting twins.”

I’m quite sure neither of us was breathing at that moment. Gary’s eyes grew wide as the realization sunk in and I let out a little laugh. Gary put up two fingers and mouthed the word “Two”. I nodded and replied “Two. Twin girls”.

We fell to the couch, a huddle of tears and laughter and hugs. Then I heard my love’s voice next to my ear: “I told you another baby was out there waiting for us!”

Twins! Oh, what a joyful Christmas this will be!

This is Mark Tremonti with “The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year”

I hope you’ll join me today
for an all new In The Groove
as I welcome in the holidays.
Stop by for some great tunes!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Flash

THWACK!

December 4, 2023December 4, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“Watcha staring at, Norman?”

“Ain’t staring, Agnes. I’m observing.”

“That so? Watcha observing then, Norman?”

“Nuthin that concerns you, Agnes.”

“It’s Mrs. Claus with the biggy bumps, ain’t it?”

“She’s got a nice wobble, is all.”

“You idiot!”

**THWACK!!**

“Ow! I gots a biggy bump on me head now, Agnes!”

“Ain’t no bump, Norman! Just a wee wobble.”

NAR © 2023
58 Words

Weekend Writing Prompt #340 – Wobble

This is Sue Thompson singing “Norman”.

Flash

NUMB

November 7, 2023November 6, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

A four-line response to the
photo-prompt challenge below
from Greg @ Four Line Fiction

*Image: Abandon Houses / Abandon, Decaying and Forgotten Group – Facebook*

“Is there really such a thing as the perfect marriage?” Marcella wondered; at one time she believed the answer was “yes”.

Now, laying on her bed alone in her apartment, Marcella’s head was swimming; after 18 years of marriage, how could she have been so terribly mistaken?

She had discovered a loose thread, one which kept annoying her, and as she toyed with it, pulled on it, every neatly sewn stitch in the tapestry of her life began to unravel until there was nothing left but tatters.

“How does a man who seemed unwaveringly devoted to her and their daughter have another wife and children on the other side of town and everyone knew except her?” Marcella asked herself, her mind now numb; the very idea was staggering and she nearly laughed at how totally preposterous and unimaginable it all was.

#gb4lf #gmgblog

Four Line Fiction (2344)

This is Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”.

Please join me today
as we start a new edition of
In The Groove.
I think you’ll find it
quite enlightening.
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Story

ON THE BRINK

November 4, 2023November 4, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Today she would find out if her entire life was a lie.

“Where to, Mrs. Carmichael? Shall I call for your car?” asked her ever-attentive doorman, Harold.

“Not today, thank you. Just walking up to Brooks Brothers to buy an anniversary present for my husband. It’s our 15^th.” She remembered she also needed to make a stop at her psychologist’s office.

“Congratulations, Mrs. C! You have yourself a nice day.”

Claire Carmichael smiled at Harold and walked the short distance to her therapist’s office on Earl Street. Ringing Dr. Brink’s doorbell, she waited for his ubiquitous snobbish greeting of “Enter!”

“Welcome, Claire. Last time you were here we discussed your suspicions that Jeremy was having an affair. Why don’t we pick up from there?” he suggested.

Clearing her throat and adjusting her skirt, she began. “I’m no longer convinced Jeremy’s cheating on me. I’m not saying that he’s never had affairs but something is different. Things have changed between us. They’re better. Jeremy’s calmer, more attentive, grounded. He’s home every night by 6:00 and we enjoy our weekends together. No more overnight, out-of-town business trips and I’m actually happy for the first time in years.”

“Interesting” Dr. Brink acknowledged. “And to what do you attribute this change in Jeremy’s character?”

“We had a long talk the other night and it wasn’t easy for Jeremy. He confided in me that he’s been having panic attacks for quite some time. He finally started seeing a psychiatrist who’s helping him tremendously. He’s on medication and takes an early lunch twice a week to see his doctor.”

“And you believe him?”

“I do” Claire replied, uncomfortable with her therapist’s skepticism. And she did believe Jeremy; his explanation was credible and heartfelt.

“Did Jeremy happen to mention his psychiatrist’s name?”

Feeling rather nonplussed she replied “No, he didn’t and I didn’t ask. That would be prying – information I didn’t need to know. Now I really must get going. It’s our wedding anniversary and I have errands to run.”

“Good luck, Claire. Ever vigilant!” he called after her.

When Claire stepped outside there was a chill in the air; the sky was mottled and gray. That session unnerved her and she lingered for a while smoking a cigarette wondering what Dr. Brink meant when he said “Ever vigilant.” Muttering “shrinks!”, she wrapped her coat tightly around herself and quickly walked to Brooks Brothers. She chose a pair of monogrammed cuff links; they were elegant and ridiculously expensive but Claire wanted Jeremy to know how proud she was of him.

Leaving the store Claire decided to go across the street to their favorite French restaurant and arrange for a special anniversary dinner to be delivered to their apartment. Looking up Claire’s heart skipped a beat and she felt dizzy.

Exiting the restaurant was Jeremy, his arm around a captivating young woman. They were laughing, embracing and kissing as they walked.

Stunned, Claire threw the box from Brooks Brothers into a trash can and hailed a taxi.

“Where to, your highness?” The driver was uncouth with a big mouth, both physically and metaphorically. He chomped noisily on a cigar and Claire could smell his disgusting breath from the back seat. But he probably never cheated on his wife, she thought, acrid bitterness stinging the back of her throat.

“Just drive” was all she said; the cabbie smiled greedily as he flipped the meter.

Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Mottled Sky Page

Credible – Word of the Day Challenge

This is Nancy Wilson singing “Guess Who I Saw Today”.

Flash

OUT OF GAS

November 3, 2023November 3, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to
write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us.
This is my response to her challenge.

“We’re out of gas, Pepper.”

“Look, Brad! There’s a light! Let’s walk to it.”

“Good idea! Maybe someone can help.”

Arriving at a house, the couple was struck by its serene beauty. They dreamed of owning a home like this.

They knocked and a woman answered.

“May I help you?”

Brad explained their situation; the woman said there were full gasoline cans in the garage and invited them in.

The interior was breathtaking.

“Your house is gorgeous!” exclaimed Pepper.

“Oh, it’s not mine; I’m the selling agent. You interested?”

Brad and Pepper exchanged surprised and delighted glances.

“We’ll take it!”

NAR © 2023
100 Words

3 November 2023

This is “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

Short Story

BALLS TO THE WALL

October 3, 2023October 2, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

While reading the real estate section, my wife Jen called out to me. “Hey, Eric, check this out. You know that community we love? One of the houses is available, has everything we want plus a big yard and a pool. And get this – they’re asking only $275,000! That’s well within our budget!”

“Seriously? Those houses usually go for twice as much! Wonder why it’s so low.”

“The agent’s number is right here” replied Jen. “Let’s call.”

After a brief phone conversation, we agreed to meet at the house at noon. When we arrived, the real estate agent explained to us that the previous owners had moved back to England for work purposes and were anxious for a quick sale – even at a loss.

The community was lovely and families were outside enjoying the great weather. The house we had our eye on was even more beautiful than we imagined – not a thing wrong. We asked the agent to make arrangements for an inspector to check everything out and a few days later he reported the house to be in excellent condition. Any doubts were removed from our minds.

“Well, babe”, I said, giving Jen a hug, “looks like we just found our dream house!”

Two weeks later we moved in and everyone was extremely welcoming. In fact, the guy next door came over the first night we were in the house to invite us to a barbecue that weekend. We knew we were going to love this place.

The barbecue was fun and gave us a chance to meet all our new neighbors. Later that night at home we talked about how nice everyone was; in particular, Jen was surprised by how helpful the men were – “Except for that one awkward scene when Barb got annoyed with Gil because his potato salad had too much mayo!” she laughed.

As time went by, we couldn’t help noticing that all the men were house-husbands while all the women went to work. How odd! One night Gil called to invite me to the weekly Friday night poker game at his house and Jen to a ladies book club night at Susan’s.

The card game was going well and I was on a winning streak when out of the blue Gil asked “So, Eric, when are you gonna get your balls snipped?”

Totally thrown off base, I gagged on my drink. “Excuse me??” I sputtered.

“You know. Snipped! We’re all snipped” Gil answered, making little scissor cutting gestures with his fingers. “Dr. Susan does it, smooth and easy. Our wives convinced us life would be much calmer that way and it is. Here’s her number.”

Mumbling hasty excuses, I hurriedly left the game and dashed home, colliding with Jen running home from the other direction.

“Do you know what they do here?!?” she asked, horrified.

I nodded frantically. “And the only things getting cut are our losses! C’mon! We’re outta here!”

I hope you’ll join me today
as I take you on a
new musical journey
In The Groove.
It’s gonna rock your world!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Longer Stories

SAFE IN A BUBBLE

September 12, 2023September 11, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

September 12, 2001 – The Bronx, New York

“Arabic For Dummies”? The Qur’an? What the hell are these disgusting books doing in our house? You’re still associating with that … that … savage, aren’t you, Gloria? Answer me!”

“Papa, please, calm yourself. It’s not good for your blood pressure. If you’re referring to Yusuf, he is not a savage. He’s a sweet, gentle and loving man and you’d realize that if you got to know him. He’s a student at the university studying religion and…..”

“And the making of bombs and God knows what else! Gloria, he’s an Arab, a Muslim, for the love of God! Haven’t you seen enough on tv to know what these people are capable of? You saw with your own two eyes what happened yesterday! Here, on American soil. Crashing planes into buildings! Innocent people jumping to their deaths because it was preferable to being burned alive! We wept for people we don’t even know, Gloria. We witnessed the unimaginable. They are animals, mass-murderers, all of them!”

“You’re right, Papa; what happened yesterday was unspeakable. We will never forget such horror. Yusuf and his family are appalled and overcome with sorrow over this tragedy. But Papa, tell me – when did you become an expert on Muslims or Arabs? You’ve never even tried to get to know them. All my Arab friends are good people, decent, peace loving people. We’ve spent hours talking, exchanging philosophies and sharing meals.”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing. You actually sit down and eat with these people, if you can even call them that? This is a nightmare! How can you do this to me?”

“What am I doing to you, Papa? You haven’t even given Yusuf a chance. You refuse to meet him, to sit down and have a conversation with him. You’d see he is a man of peace, a good man incapable of hurting anyone.”

“Are you nuts? Have you lost your mind, Gloria? Do you actually think I would sit with him in my house? Please, God, don’t tell me he has you brainwashed already! That’s what they do, you know … draw you in to their cult and before you know it you’re hooked and there’s no way out. Why can’t you stick to our own kind, find a nice Jewish boy? An Arab and a Jew … whoever heard of such craziness?!?

“I can’t believe we’re fighting over this again! Why must you keep bringing it up, Papa? You didn’t give Evelyn a hard time when she said she was going to marry Gino. And what about Kenny when he and Makayla got engaged? You now have an Italian son-in-law and a black daughter-in-law who you welcomed with open arms and you don’t want me seeing Yusuf simply because he’s an Arab!”

“Oh no, do not be fooled, Gloria. There’s no such thing as ‘simply an Arab‘. They all have a hidden agenda! Are you blind to what’s going on around you?”

“Papa, look at me. I’m a grown woman capable of making my own decisions. Why can’t you trust my judgement like you did with Kenny and Evelyn?”

“Gloria, you’re not thinking clearly. Gino is a doctor, making an excellent salary. Your sister and their kids will never want for anything. Makayla’s parents are lawyers and she’s in law school herself. Your brother and sister made smart choices. They didn’t bring some maniac suicide bomber into our family.”

“STOP! Stop saying that! You know nothing about Yusuf and you have no idea what you’re talking about! He’s a wonderful man with a big heart and we have developed deep feelings for each other.”

“Deep feelings. Deep feelings? What are you saying, Gloria? Are you sleeping with him?”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you just asked me that! I’m not a child and, frankly, that’s none of your business.”

“None of my business? As long as you’re living under my roof, it’s my business.”

“Here we go again! Well maybe it’s high time I moved out of this prison and found a place of my own!”

“PRISON! After all your mother and I have done for you, you have the nerve to say that! And by ‘a place of your own’, you mean shacking up with that terrorist, don’t you? Why don’t you just stab me in the heart and put me out of my misery!”

“Genug! Enough! Sei still!!
What’s going on here?
I can hear the two of you all the way downstairs!”

“Hilda, אהובתי (“my love”) I didn’t hear you come in.”

“As if you could hear anything over all the yelling in here!
What’s gotten into the two of you?”

“It’s your daughter. She’s being absolutely unreasonable. I don’t even know who she is anymore.”

“Oh, mein Gott! So now she’s MY daughter? Sheldon,
the last time I checked she was OUR daughter.
Is this about that Arab boy again?”

“Mama, please! I can’t talk to Papa about this any more. If anyone is being unreasonable, it’s him.”

“Gloria, calm yourself, meine liebe Tochter.
Why don’t you go out for a while,
go to that nice coffee shop near the university?
Spend some time with your friends.
Sheldon, come sit with me.”

“Hilda, are you crazy? She’s going to run right to him! Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

“Just like you ran to me, Sheldon, when your parents called me a filthy Nazi?
Look at me, Shelly. Do you remember what it was like for us
when we first met? You a Jew and me a German.
Ach du lieber Gott! What were we thinking?
My father was so furious, he wanted to kill both of us.
But we knew we’d rather die than be separated.
Sheldon, you should know better than anyone
that you cannot judge one man
simply by the sickening actions of others,
by his looks, what country he’s from
or what god he worships.
You’re a good man, liebchen.
You were a good man when we were teenagers
and you’re a good man now.
You’re scared, Shelly, just like we were scared back then.
But we persevered and in time my parents saw the real you
and your parents saw the real me.
Do you remember what you told your parents
all those years ago?”

“Of course I do. I said ‘I love her and I would die for her’.”

“Ja. And do you remember what I said to your parents?”

“Like it was yesterday. You said ‘I love him and I would die without him’.”

“Things haven’t changed that much, Sheldon,
except now WE’RE the parents.
Shelly, you have to let Gloria fly on her own wings.
You have to trust her.
If you don’t we will lose her.
I hate to burst your bubble, meine schnitzel,
but they love each other
and it’s as simple as that.
Trust them.”

I hope you’ll join me today
for some great tunes
straight out of the Motor City!
https://rhythmsection/blog/

Longer Stories

SEPTEMBER SONG

September 11, 2023September 12, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

The events of 911 are on all our minds today.
I have chosen to repost a piece I wrote in 2020,
not about what happened on that horrendous day,
not about hate and violence
but a reflection on a simpler time,
a more peaceful time.
I hope it relaxes your mind and
soothes your heart and soul.
❤︎

When I was younger I remember my grandparents dancing in the living room to some of their favorite ballads: “I’ll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time”, “As Time Goes By”, “I’ll Be Seeing You”, “You Belong To Me”. They would drink a glass or two of sherry and talk about “the good old days” and how quickly the years pass. There was one song in particular that always made them somewhat melancholy. They’d sit side by side near the fireplace just listening to the words and holding each other close:

“When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn’t got time for the waiting game”

I was just a kid and I couldn’t understand why a song about weather and time made them sad. That’s the way it is with kids; time means nothing. If someone is 25-years-old, that’s practically ancient! We’d watch shows like “Father Knows Best” and “The Donna Reed Show”; the actors were probably 40-years-old, if that, but they looked decrepit to us. The concept of aging was nonexistent.

❖❖❖❖

You blink your eyes once and you’re suddenly in high school. Then before you know it you’re married with kids of your own. Wait a gosh darn minute! When did that happen? Funny how time has a way of creeping up on you. One day you’re sledding down a giant snow-covered hill and the next you’re taking your own kids sledding down that same hill.

Your little Katie with a head-full of golden curls is now a teenager and you hear yourself saying the exact same things your parents said to you. And now your parents are the ones sitting by the fireplace listening to “September Song”.

Then one morning you wake up and it’s Katie’s wedding day. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and your wife says how dashing you look, still so handsome in your tuxedo and you tell her she’s radiant in her gown, always the prettiest girl in the room. And in each other’s eyes it’s the truth; you haven’t changed a bit since your own wedding day.

You think about your grandparents, gone for a long time now, and you remember the call you got from your mother last week:

“Oh, dear, your dad and I are just heartbroken over this
but we aren’t going to be able to make the trip
up to Vermont for Katie’s wedding.
Lord knows, we hate to miss it but we’ll be there in spirit.
Please give our sweet Katie-Girl all our love.“

You understand; they’re 80-something and don’t get around like they used to. It’s a long trip from Florida to Vermont and they can’t handle the cold weather. Still, you feel very sad knowing they’ll miss their first grandchild’s wedding day.

❖❖❖❖

What a beautiful bride Katie was! Doesn’t her wedding photo look lovely on the mantle next to yours and your parents and your grandparents? Now it’s just the two of you in that old, empty house. Once upon a time, when you and your brothers and sisters were kids, the house was filled with your laughter. But wait – it’s suddenly not so empty and quiet anymore. Where’s all that noise coming from? You take a peek around the corner; there are your grand kids in the living room near the Christmas tree. There’s some rock and roll song on the record player, the 12-year-old twins are playing “Yahtzee” and your 15-year-old granddaughter is furtively sharing a sweet kiss with her boyfriend under the mistletoe.

“C’mon, kids!” Katie calls out from the front hallway. “Your dad’s got the car all packed up and it’s time to go. Say goodbye to Grams and Gramps.” And she gives you both a kiss on the cheek promising to call soon.

❖❖❖❖

It seems like just yesterday but you realize eight years have gone by since you left Vermont and retired to Florida. You think about playing golf but your rotator cuff has been hurting a lot lately and your wife isn’t quite ready to hit the links so soon after her hip replacement. Well, let’s not think about that now. There will be plenty of days for golf. So you pour yourself another cup of coffee and work on a crossword puzzle while your wife knits a blanket for Katie’s grand-baby – your very first great-grandchild.

Now in the evenings you sip sherry in the living room. “There’s nothing good on tv these days. How about we listen to some music? Well, look what I found!” and you blow the dust off an old forgotten record laying on the shelf.

“What memories that song brings back!” And you sit holding hands, gazing at faded family wedding photos on the mantle, listening to Sinatra sing:

“Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September”

And you give your wife a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

It was my great honor and thrill back in 2020 to be asked to narrate a few of my stories on the BBC radio show called Upload; this was one of those stories. I hope you enjoyed reading it today.

Short Story

HORSE OF ANOTHER COLOR

September 10, 2023September 9, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“Eavesdropper, eh? Terrific odds. He’s a mudder and on this muddy track today, I’m taking that as a good sign. Just look at his lineage! Yep, Millie, I predict Eavesdropper’s the winner of Race 9” Harry Goldman boasted to his wife.

She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “Whatever, Harry Houdini. Not one of your so-called magical predictions has paid off yet.”

“All right, Millie. I admit you got lucky today. What’s your secret? Been communicating with a horse whisperer?” Harry asked, annoyed at his wife’s winning streak.

“Oh, zip it, Harry! If it wasn’t for me, we’d be in the poor house. You haven’t won all day! Now be quiet and let me concentrate on my choice for this race.” Millie buried her nose in the racing form.

Harry heaved his portly body out of his seat. “Pardon moi, madame. I’m gonna place my bet on Eavesdropper. Then we’ll see who’s got horse sense!”

“Haha!! Horse sense! That’s a good one, Harry! You’ve been sittin’ on yours so long you’re now a horse’s ass!” Millie cackled. “Go on up. I’ll be along in a minute. I’m thinking here.” Snapping her Bazooka like a bubblegum queen, Millie studied the lineup for the next race, then clickety-clacked her way to the betting windows, her leopard print heels pinging off the metal steps like a kid’s cap gun.

Bets placed, Harry and Millie settled in for the race. “I got a good feeling about this one, Millie!” Harry said excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

The starting gun shot out and the announcer shouted “And they’re off!”

Eavesdropper took the lead immediately and didn’t let go. Anxious, Harry sprang to his feet, urging his horse on. Suddenly, the horse in fourth place started picking up steam. Faster and faster he galloped, flying past the other horses, and at the last second crossed the finish line just before Eavesdropper.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “I can’t believe my eyes! What a shocker! The winner by a nose …. Muddy Waters!”

Harry slumped into his seat, defeated. “I don’t freaking believe it! Of all the rotten luck! Eavesdropper was a shoe-in.”

Millie, however, was happy as a clam. “Well, I won again, Harry! Good old Muddy Waters brought it home for mama. I just knew it!”

Harry stared at his wife, amazement mingled with contempt dripped from his creased brow. “Now wait just a damn minute! You won again?? Millie, I’m begging you! How’d you do it?”

“Harry, calm yourself before you have a coronary! It’s really a no-brainer. Remember how you said the track was muddy today? When I saw the name ‘Muddy Waters’, I knew I had to go with him. I was inspired.”

“Ok, I’ll give you that one, Millie. But how’d you pick all the other winners?”

Millie chewed her bottom lip, not sure if she wanted to reveal her secret. Finally she blurted out “It’s the colors! If I like what the jockey’s wearing, I’ll pick that horse.”

Flabbergasted, Harry spewed out his beer and howled with laughter. “That’s your strategy? COLORS?!? Ok, Mrs. Crayola. Who you picking for the last race?”

Millie looked around surreptitiously. Tapping the racing form with her fire engine red fingernail, she pointed to a name on the card.

Harry was nonplussed by Millie’s revelation.

“HIM?? Rabelais? His color is ‘Eiffel Tower Brown’ – like a friggin’ turd! Are you sure that’s how you wanna go, Millie?” Harry was almost giddy, anticipating Millie’s long-awaited loss.

“Shh! Not so loud, Harry! People are listening! He’s from France and you know how I love my Frenchies! You could say I-FELL for them!” Millie elbowed Harry and laughed gleefully at her pun.

“Hardy-har-har!! Aren’t you the clever one?” Harry groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I give up, Millie. Go with your cockamamie hunch and bet it all on Rabelais!”

Millie was already at the window, her chubby fist clutching her money, before Harry was even finished talking.

Join me today for
a very special
Name That Tune.
It’s a sure bet
you’ll have a blast!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

Uncategorized

THE TALK

August 30, 2023August 29, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“More coffee, Marshall dear?”

“Don’t mind if I do, Peg darling. It’s very good tonight.”

“Oh, I’m glad you like it. I tried a new brand.”

“Interesting. It’s not like you to try new things.”

“Really, Marshall? You don’t think so?”

“No, I don’t. You’re quite steadfast, you know.”

“Steadfast. Are you comparing me to a dog, Marshall?”

“Nonsense, Peg. You’re reliable, dependable. No surprises.”

“Oh, so I’m dull. No surprises. We’ll see about that.”

“Now, don’t get in a snit, Peg. We’ll see about what?”

“I’m not in a snit, Marshall. And I do have a surprise.”

“Do tell, Peg. Now I’m a bit curious.”

“I’ve been having an affair.”

“An affair, you say? May I ask with whom?”

“Yes, of course. Jack, the milkman. Are you surprised?”

“No, not really, Peg. Can’t say I am.”

“Well, I’m certain you didn’t know. Why aren’t you surprised?”

“Easy, darling. Most affairs for housewives are with the milkman. Convenience.”

“I suppose that’s true … quite convenient, yes.”

“Now if you had said my brother, that would have raised an eyebrow.”

“And why is that, Marshall?”

“Because, Peg dear, we only see my brother once a year.”

“Good point. Another cup of coffee, Marshall darling?”

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #234

Uncategorized

THE OLD B.O.H.I.C.A.

August 16, 2023August 16, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

We’re old school …. well, at least my husband is. There are some things he simply insists on doing the old-fashioned way. One of those things is paying bills. Most people I know use online banking; it’s quick, easy and from what I’ve heard, safe. My husband Bill (how appropriate) is extremely reluctant to put his faith in online financial transactions. Oh, he’ll place orders online but that’s different, he says.

So how do we pay our bills? By writing checks by hand and maintaining a record in the checkbook register. That was always Bill’s job until a few years ago when he underwent emergency surgery after falling off a ladder. While he was in the hospital and rehab, I took over the task of paying the bills and I still do it.

I don’t mind, really, but sometimes the bills all seem to come at the same time and it turns into a project. One thing that saves time is all bills now come with a return payment envelope; no more hunting through the rolltop desk in search of my own envelopes. But everyone once in a while we’ll get that one rogue bill with no return envelope. There I am, ensconced at my desk, pen and a fresh cup of coffee at the ready and I have to stop what I’m doing to dig around for an envelope. That really burns my cookies.

The biggest offenders are the dentist and the gardener. Why? Human error. Both are small businesses set up in the same fashion: there’s one person who manually prepares the invoices for mailing. Sometimes they remember to include a return envelope, sometimes they don’t. And when they do remember, it’s alway one of those smaller envelopes, not the letter size. Funny, they never forget to bill me; I wonder if it would be ok if sometimes I remember to pay them and sometimes I don’t. I’m only human, after all. No, I doubt that would fly.

Is it a coincidence that both the dentist and the gardener mail out a typed invoice on a standard 8 ½ “ x 11” sheet of paper which has no perforated line at the top or the bottom? That’s the line that easily allows me to separate the portion of the invoice that gets returned with my check from the portion that I keep for our records. No perforated line means I have to use scissors to separate the two parts of the invoice or, if I don’t feel like getting up, repeatedly fold one section of the invoice in the same place until there’s a sufficient crease to neatly tear the the invoice into two sections. Mostly neatly; sometimes it looks like I used my teeth, which seems quite fitting for the dentist’s invoice.

And another thing. I think all return envelopes should be prepaid with no postage required on my part. I mean, let’s get real. Isn’t it enough that I’m sending these businesses my money? Now I have to affix a postage stamp. I have been given the privilege of paying to send them my money. Let that sink in. Not only am I giving them my money – I’m paying to do so.

And then we still have to take all our envelopes to the post office!

That, my friends, is “The Old B.O.H.I.C.A.” – Bend Over; Here It Comes Again.

You know, I really need to have another serious conversation with Bill about online banking.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Aug. 12, 2023

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A FINE TIME TO ASK

August 9, 2023August 9, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“We’ll be home soon, darling” I assured my wife.

“It was a brilliant idea celebrating Christmas at the cabin. Which reminds me, David – you did unplug the lights on the tree, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t; I assumed you did. Fine time to ask, Claire!”

“David, you can’t just assume! And since when is it my job?”

“You assumed I unplugged them!”

“We have to go back.”

After a three-hour return drive in stony silence, we arrived at the cabin – minutes after the firetrucks.

Only a charred moose head on the stone fireplace remained standing; everything else was smoldering remains.

NAR © 2023
100 Words

11 August 2023

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VAFFANCULO!

August 3, 2023August 2, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“So, what brings you here today, Lou?” asked Dr. Patterson.

“I can’t sleep, Doc!” replied Lou in despair. “I’m so tired! I haven’t slept a wink!”

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that!” laughed the doctor. “Look, Lou. Of all the ailments people discuss with me, the greatest number of complaints isn’t about body aches, irritable bowels, erectile dysfunction or psoriasis: the most talked-about topic is lack of sleep. Falling asleep at bedtime and getting a good night’s rest is a problem that plagues millions so you’re not alone in this. I’m going to ask you some questions; let’s see if we can come up with a solution.”

Lou yawned and nodded in agreement. His wife Marie chimed in. “Maybe you should start by telling the doctor how much coffee you drink every day.”

“Ok, that’s an excellent suggestion. How much coffee do you drink, Lou?” asked Dr. Patterson, his fingers hovering over the keys of his computer.

“Oh, I guess about eight cups a day and an espresso after dinner. We have one of those – whatchamacallits – Nespresso machines. Fantastic things! Just pop in a little plastic capsule and brew yourself fresh coffee in no time”

“Whoa! That’s a lot of caffeine!” The doctor was clearly surprised.” You need to cut back. If you drink that much coffee, at least half of it should be decaf. I’d like to eventually get you down to just one cup of regular coffee in the morning. How about alcohol?”

“Go ahead, Lou. Answer the doctor” Marie said, giving her husband a nudge with her elbow.

“I’ll have a couple of glasses of my cousin Carlo’s homemade vino while Marie’s preparing dinner. And another glass or two with dinner. Oh yeah, I like a nice sambucca while I’m watching “The Tonight Show” with that Jimmy Fallon. He’s a funny guy!”

The doctor stared at Lou allowing his words to sink in. “That’s five alcoholic drinks per day!” Dr. Patterson was flabbergasted.

“Give or take. Yeah, that sounds about right” was Lou’s reply as the doctor shook his head in amazement.

“What form of exercise do you engage in?” the doctor asked.

“Exercise!?” squawked Marie. “The strongest parts of his body are his fingers … from pushing himself away from the dining room table, surfing the interweb and using the remote control. He gets his exercise by watching Stallone running up and down those steps in that Rocky movie … as if that’s gonna work, you stupid jackass!”

Lou’s eyes shot daggers at his wife. She shrugged. “What? It’s the truth, Lou, and you know it.”

“What about your diet, Lou?” asked Dr. Patterson while eyeing Lou’s sizable belly.

“Diet? I ain’t on no diet, doc! My Marie is a fabulous cook!” Lou exclaimed, making her blush. “She makes everything from scratch, including her pizza, pasta, braciola, arancini – you name it, she can make it. And her ricotta cheesecake? Fuggedaboutit!”

“Well, it’s wonderful that Marie’s such a great cook but it sounds like you’re eating a lot of rich, fattening foods” the doctor replied with concern.

“What’s wrong with pizza?” Lou asked incredulously. “It’s the perfect food – something from all the food groups. You got your carbohydrates, your protein and your dairy, right?”

“Well, technically, yes but I wouldn’t call it ‘the perfect food’. Dr. Patterson entered all Lou’s information into his computer. “Let me get this straight, Lou. Your caffeine and alcohol intake is off the charts, you eat rich foods and desserts, you spend a lot of time in front of some type of device, you stay up late and you don’t exercise. Is that about right?”

“Yeah, I guess” Lou admitted begrudgingly.

“Do you realize that everything you’re doing is adversely affecting your quality of sleep? And what about you, Marie! How well do you sleep?”

“Who, me? Why, I sleep like a rock” Marie answered proudly.

“You’re not kidding! You should hear her snore, doc!” Lou guffawed. “What a racket! It sounds like bocce balls rolling around the court! Hey! That’s probably why I can’t sleep!”

Marie huffed indignantly.

“You snore, Marie? Sounds to me like you could have sleep apnea – a serious disorder. Considering everything we’ve discussed I’m referring you, Lou, to a life management specialist. And Marie, I’m scheduling a sleep disorder study for you.”

Lou and Marie stared at the doctor in shock.

“Can’t you just give me some sleeping pills?” pleaded Lou.

“And maybe all I need are some of those nose strips” Marie suggested hopefully.

“I’m afraid not. You need to make some serious life changes” replied the doctor showing Marie and Lou to the door. “Just stop by the desk on your way out and Victoria will have all the paperwork ready for you.”

“Thanks a lot, Marie, making me tell the doctor everything! Now I gotta see a specialist!” Lou griped. “This is all your fault!”

“Oh, shut up, Lou! Thanks to you, I gotta go for a sleep study! Well, you can get your own damn dinner tonight. I’m on strike!”

Lou looked devastated.

“And another thing, Lou – vaffanculo!”

I hope you’ll visit
me today
At The Movies
for more great music!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

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SELF-PRESERVATION

July 25, 2023July 24, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“’Settlers or Sellers’, that antiques show is coming on. Wanna watch, Doug?”

Just then the phone rang. It’s our daughter Chrissy talking about how tomorrow’s going to be a gorgeous day and our five grandkids really want us to go to the beach with them.

“Ok, honey. Sounds wonderful. We’ll see you in the morning. Yes, we’re looking forward to it.”

Doug, who had been happily watching “Seinfeld”, was now sitting imperially on the edge of the couch scowling at me.

“What was that remark ‘’we’ll see you in the morning’’? I don’t know about you, Helen, but the only people I’ll be seeing in the morning are my golf buddies. We’re going to rent a couple of carts, play 18 holes, drink martinis with lunch, talk sports and smoke cigars. I’m begging you, Helen. Don’t take my day away!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You can play golf any day. When do we get to go to the beach with the kids.”

“As infrequently as possible!” Doug groused. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Oh, come on! Summer’s almost over and the kids are so looking forward to a day with us.”

“And I’m looking forward to seeing my buddies! We’ve had this outing planned for two weeks. Helen, must I remind you what hell it is going to the beach with the kids?”

“Doug, you’re making it sound horrible.”

“Helen, my love, it is horrible! We’ve been to the beach with the kids exactly three times. Do you know why? Because it’s HELL!”

“But Doug, I hate to disappoint them.”

“And that, my dear, is your Achilles Heel. We start off excited for a great beach day and within an hour it turns into hell. Chrissy brings so much stuff we’re like the Israelites crossing the desert. Who complains the sand is too hot? Who needs a diaper change? Who drops their lunch in the sand? Who fights over the sand toys? Before you know it, everyone’s crying, they want to go home and our wonderful day at the beach is kaput.”

“And you’re the one crying the loudest, Doug” I laughed.

“Damn right I am, woman. It’s a nightmare and you know it! Listen, why don’t I call the guys and suggest our lovely wives join us tomorrow? You haven’t played in months. How about it?”

The idea was very appealing. “Doug, do they still serve those delicious Celtic Guey Cocktails and Waldorf salads?”

“You bet they do! I know they’re you’re favorites. What do you say? Are we on?”

“Yes! We certainly are on! You call the guys and I’ll call Chrissy. I hope the kids aren’t too disappointed.”

Doug kissed the top of my head. “Honey, it may not seem like it now but you’re doing us all a favor. The kids will be just fine – and so will we. Now call Chrissy.”

Feeling just a wee bit guilty, I dialed Chrissy’s number.

“Chrissy, sweetheart. About tomorrow. So sorry to disappoint but your dad just reminded me ……”

Come on over today to
In The Groove
for more summertime fun!
https://rhythmsection.blog/

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DOG DAY AFTERNOON

May 25, 2023May 25, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Giving an old dog a new bone for Sadje’s photo prompt challenge. Woof!

“You mangy son on a bitch, get your ass off my lawn! Go on … get the hell outta here!”

That was Old Man Jenkins. He and his wife Harriet live next door to us and the source of his rage was none other than our pet French bulldog, Jacques. My husband Ted would run out of the house, apologizing profusely.

“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins! Jacques a handful but he’s just playing. He’s really lovable once you get to know him. Just look at that grin.”

“Get to know him!? Are you freaking nuts, Peterson? That bastard just crapped on my fruit trees!”

“Think of it as fertilizer, Mr. Jenkins” Ted suggested sheepishly and dragged Jacques away.

“FERTILIZER!?! I think you mean just plain shit!

“Hush now, Aaron!” chastised Harriet. “Using such language … why, there’s children next door!”

“Don’t hush me, Margaret! That damn dog’s a menace! If you can’t control your frigging mutt, Peterson, I’m gonna call the cops. Or maybe I’ll just put a bullet between his beady little eyes.”

And the kids started crying.

“Now, Mr. Jenkins, please don’t say things like that. You’re scaring my kids.”

“Well, that’s just too damn bad! You solve this problem or I will … permanently!”

Ted brought Jacques back inside, promising the kids everything was going to be ok, that Old Man Jenkins was just sputtering angry syllables he didn’t really mean.

The next few days we kept Jacques on a short leash. Old Man Jenkins seemed to calm down and busied himself with his fruit trees.

On Saturday morning Harriet Jenkins approached me in the grocery store. “Thank you, Alice, for keeping Jacques out of our yard. Now Aaron can care for his beloved fruit trees in peace. In fact, he’s been so preoccupied he hasn’t noticed the family of critters living in our wood pile. They’re just so darling, I even named them – Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar!”

And off she went, chuckling suspiciously.

Sitting down to dinner later that day, we suddenly heard Old Man Jenkins yelling at the top of his lungs. We never heard him scream like that before so we knew it had to be something awful. Please … not Jacques! We raced outside, stopping dead in our tracks: there stood Old Man Jenkins, pricked by at least 100 porcupine quills.

So that was the “family of darling critters” Harriet was referring to!

“Excellent aim, my little darlings!” exclaimed Harriet. “Guess they know a prick when they see one, Aaron!”

#WDYS

What do you see # 187- May 22, 2023

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PANTIES

April 23, 2023April 23, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“These aren’t my panties, George.”

“Whatever do you mean, Carla?”

“What could I mean? I think you know, George.”

“I have a confession, Carla.”

“I knew it!”

“Those panties are mine.”

“Say what?!”

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2023/04/22/weekend-writing-prompt-308-confession/

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GAG ME WITH A SPOON

April 22, 2023April 22, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

One of the best things about being empty nesters is not having to cook full meals every night.

Bill’s easy, always has been; he’s not the meat and potatoes kind of guy. We’re happy with soup, BLTs, burgers on the grill, my sensational ham and cheddar omelets … you get the picture.

There are some days when I feel the urge to cook and will prepare a lovely risotto or perhaps seared sea scallops over a lentil ragù. Rare but it does happen. I’m very content taking it easy these days.

But I have to draw the line at one thing: Chef Boyardee ravioli in a can. Six words that never should be put together. It’s a travesty; it’s also one of Bill’s favorites.

I was raised on pure, natural homemade Italian food. “Pasta” in a can is not food. Correction – it’s food: bad food, eye-averting food, gag-inducing food. It’s a treat for Bill to eat this staple from his childhood. He gets practically giddy buttering his bread and dipping it in the (dare I say) sauce in anticipation of that first mouthful. That, my friends, is a scene that once seen cannot be unseen.

Me? I won’t even open the can.

Gag me with a spoon!

https://lindaghill.com/2023/04/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-22-2023/

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MARIPOSA

April 21, 2023April 21, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

When drunk, my wife Blaire could be a sexy vixen or a slutty bitch; tonight was definitely the latter.

Sprawled out on the deck of my boat ‘Mariposa’, Blaire slowly got to her feet and staggered toward me, one hand grasping the boat railing and the other a bottle of vodka.

“For fuck’s sake, James, why do you always have to wear that ridiculous outfit?” Blaire slurred. She drained the bottle, dropping it on the deck.

“This is proper nautical attire, darling, perfectly appropriate for every occasion” I replied. “But you don’t know the meaning of proper and appropriate. You’re all but falling out of your dress.”

Blaire ran her hands up and down her tanned body. “What’s wrong, Captain? Don’t you like the way I look? All the other men do” Blaire purred tauntingly.

“Darling, you’re such a drunken whore” I snarled and she reached up to slap my face. I grabbed her wrist and shoved her out of the way. She fell, hitting her head. Putting the boat in neutral I quickly checked on Blaire; she was dead. I adjusted her dress and looked around the boat making sure nothing was out of place.

Heading for the dock, I made a frantic call. “Mayday! Mayday! Emergency on board ‘Mariposa’!”

The police asked a few routine questions but it was obvious my wife had too much to drink; she lost her balance and fell. It happened so fast I couldn’t prevent it … even if I wanted to.

Once again I rise to the Unicorn Challenge hosted by Jenne Gray.

https://talesfromglasgow137065088.wordpress.com/2023/04/21/the-unicorn-challenge-21-04-23/

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SYLVIA REPLIED

April 16, 2023April 15, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“Walnut, definitely walnut” declared Sylvia Klein. “Look what is says in the brochure”:

Honor your loved one by choosing an exquisite solid wood casket.
The strong, stately Elite Walnut is a timeless casket that comes with
beautiful platinum swing bars and a secure locking mechanism.
Like most of our funeral caskets, the Elite Walnut features
an Eternal Rest Adjustable Bed and matching pillow.
The luxurious silk velvet lining makes this casket an excellent choice
at the remarkably low price of $17,000.

“Doesn’t that sound ideal, Lenny?!” Sylvia exclaimed to her husband.

“$17,000?! What else is in there – the Crown Jewels?! Who pays that kind of money for a casket?! Sylvia, for that amount we can give our grandsons a bar mitzvah feast fit for a king!”

“Did you see the part where it says ‘adjustable bed and matching pillow’? Oh, Lenny, think how comfortable I’ll be.”

“Comfortable?? For crying out loud, Sylvia, you’re gonna be dead. D-E-A-D dead! This isn’t a week at the Ritz Carlton! Adjustable bed my ass!”

“Lenny, why are you acting like an old tightwad? You always said money is just a number. This means a lot to me!” Sylvia exclaimed tearfully.

“Sylvia, calm down. When have I ever been a tightwad? Our daughters had extravagant weddings. You wanted that chandelier for the dining room which, I’ll remind you, cost a pretty penny. Then there was the Steinway mahogany baby grand and you don’t even play the piano! Let’s not forget the Jaguar with all the bells and whistles and more cruises than 10 seasons of ‘The Love Boat’! Everything you ever wanted I happily gave you but this – this is just a big waste of money!

“Leonard Klein, how can you say that?! My final resting place and you’re calling it a waste of money! Sylvia wailed.

“Sylvie, I’m sorry. Calm down. Can we please discuss this later?” Leonard pleaded.

“Wait, Lenny. You haven’t heard the best part. This is a special for Rosh Hashanah – buy one, get one at half price. That’s only $25,500 for two – one for me and one for you!”

Leonard sighed deeply. “Oy vey, Sylvia, I don’t need all this stuff! Put me in a plain pine box and toss me off the yacht. You can even write on it ‘Leonard Klein sleeps with the fishes’!”

Sylvia started sobbing. “Oh, Leonard, how can you say such a horrible thing? The thought of you being nibbled on by fish and crabs and God knows what … I could die!”

“Sylvia, please stop crying. I was just making a little joke. If you want this ‘Elite’ whatever, we’ll get it. Ok? You feel better now?”

Sylvia sniffled and nodded her head. “Oh yes, Lenny! You’ve made me very happy! Now one last thing: I can’t be buried. I’m terribly claustrophobic. The thought of being underground – I’d die! I want to be cremated.”

“Cremated?!” Leonard yelled, running his fingers through what little hair he had. “Now you want to be cremated? Are you meshugenah, Sylvia? $17,000 for a piece of firewood?!”

“$25,500, Lenny” Sylvia replied.

Check out my new
Name That Tune
post today in
The Rhythm Section
https://rhythmsection.blog/

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CHUNK ‘O BURNING LOVE

March 5, 2023March 4, 2023 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

“Out of chunky peanut butter again!” Bruce had just woken up and all he wanted was a cup of black coffee and toast with chunky peanut butter. Was that too much to ask? Standing in front of the open cabinet scratching his substantial stomach, he began searching the kitchen shelves but there was no chunky peanut butter to be found. Sure, there was creamy but nobody likes that insipid crap except wusses and prissy women like his wife, Betty.

“BETTY! WHERE’S THE GODDAMN CHUNKY PEANUT BUTTER?” He listened closely but got no reply. “Probably at her stupid writing club — as if she could ever be an author!”

“Gotta do everything myself around here” Bruce muttered as he got dressed and headed out for his beloved chunky peanut butter. First stop – Acme Grocers. No luck. “Damn!” grumbled Bruce. On to Shoprite. Again no chunky peanut butter. Bruce was starting to get really pissed off, a huge headache beginning to pound in his brain. Another stop at Wegman’s; they have everything. There were all sorts of butters –peanut, almond, cashew, walnut, sunflower – and they were all creamy!

“Where’s my fucking chunky peanut butter?” – the words raged through Bruce’s brain. “What is this, a freaking conspiracy?”

Bruce started frantically searching the shelves, knocking all the jars onto the floor. Broken glass flew everywhere and Bruce bellowed in pain as huge shards ripped into his hands. That’s when he completely lost control. Customers ran from the the store in a panic as Bruce began roaring and morphing into The Incredible Hulk.

Hulk Bruce stormed out of Wegman’s and bounded down the street toward Walmart, ripping the doors off the store in his fury. People cowered in terror as an enraged Hulk trashed the store.

Just as he reached the peanut butter aisle, Bruce woke up in his own bed, sweating and panting. “Oh, sweet Jesus! It was just a nightmare.” Slowly Bruce got out of bed, splashed cold water on his face and shuffled into the kitchen. Betty came in through the back door with an armful of groceries just as Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee.

Then, as though off in a distant fog, he heard Betty speaking in slow motion: “SORRY — BRUCE — BUT — THEY — WERE — OUT — OF — CHUNKY — PEANUT —BUTTER.”

Bruce’s roar and Betty’s blood-curdling screams could be heard all the way down at Walmart.

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ON THE ROCKS

February 4, 2023June 14, 2024 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Ancient Greek temples dotted the hillside of Agrigento. “Aren’t they magnificent, Camilla?” I tried engaging my wife of twelve years in conversation.

Camilla always wanted to visit Sicily; now we were finally here but our vacation had been marred by the news of the death of Eunice, her closest friend since college. Actually, Camilla had been depressed ever since Eunice’s cancer was diagnosed two years earlier. She became morbidly preoccupied with illness and death and every little pain sent her running to the doctor. She had become lethargic and morose. The whole situation was tedious; I thought a holiday abroad would lighten both our moods.

“I don’t like this place, Nigel” Camilla remarked. “It reeks of death and decay. You can practically see blood stains on the ground.”

“Good God, Camilla! Why are you allowing your mind to give in to these macabre thoughts?” I questioned impatiently. “Feel the sun on your face. Look at the glorious Mediterranean surrounding us. Let yourself be transported to another era.”

“I have a ghastly headache, Nigel. Take me back to the hotel!” Camilla demanded.

“But we just got here! Look at these fabulous gnarled olive trees. Why, they must be as old as the ruins themselves. Impressive, aren’t they? Let’s sit and enjoy the view. You’ve always dreamed of coming here, Camilla. Enjoy it!“

“How can I enjoy myself knowing Eunice is gone? How can I enjoy anything ever again? She was my dearest friend.” Camilla buried her head in her hands, sobbing.

“I know it’s difficult, my dear, but try not to dwell on it. Here, listen to this.” Retrieving a brochure from my pocket, I began to read. “‘In mythology, Agrigento was founded by Daedalus and Icarus.’ Just think of it – these temples have been here since the 5th Century B.C.! The contemporary glass and steel buildings back home can’t compare to these majestic structures!”

“Nigel, please! You think I give a damn about any of this? It’s meaningless without Eunice. Meaningless, I tell you! She was the light of my life.”

Camilla stared at me with frenetic eyes. I was beginning to believe she was losing her mind.

“Your life is meaningless? What about me, Camilla? I’m your husband, for crying out loud! We’ve been together for twelve years. Does that count for nothing?”

“Oh, come on, Nigel! Isn’t it about time we admitted the truth. Our marriage is a sham! And now Eunice is gone! There’s nothing left for me!” Camilla turned and started walking away.

“Eunice! All you ever talk about is your beloved Eunice!” I yelled after her. “You’ve been obsessed with her for years! I always wondered but now I know why you were never interested in sex, laying in our bed with about as much enthusiasm as an earthworm. You and Eunice were lovers, weren’t you?”

“Yes! I loved her and she loved me passionately, deeply. I never loved you, Nigel. Never!” Camilla looked at me with intense loathing and I became enraged, jealous of her dead lover.

“I’m glad Eunice is dead, Camilla. I hope the cancer slowly gnawed away at her and her life was one of incessant pain. Oh, I’m so glad she’s dead and now you’re in agony without her!” I spat out dreadful words of rage.

Camilla picked up a rock and threw at me but it fell short. She started running and I caught up with her, reaching for her arm. She screamed “Don’t touch me, Nigel! Just go away and leave me alone!”

Pulling away, Camilla ran toward the craggy cliffs. In a horrifying instant she was gone, plunging headlong against the rocks, her body shattering like an empty vessel, and disappearing into the sea.

Aghast, I stood staring into the abyss. “Goddamn, you, Camilla!” I shouted. “Goddamn you! Go be with your precious Eunice!”

After a long while alone on the cliffs, I walked back to my rental and drove to the hotel. I saw no reason to rush back home. Perhaps I’d extend my holiday indefinitely, head to the Amalfi Coast. I realized it had been ages since I’d had any time alone. I inhaled the heady fragrance of the plumeria and eucalyptus. I exhaled slowly, relishing the soft breeze in the evening air.

A glass or two of limoncello on the rocks would be the perfect way to end the day.

This is “Love On The Rocks” by Neil Diamond

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OUR ‘ENRY

December 26, 2022December 26, 2022 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

WHILE I KNOW BOXING DAY HAS NOTHING AT ALL TO DO WITH THE ACTUAL SPORT OF BOXING, I THOUGHT SOME OF YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ A POEM I WROTE LAST YEAR. YOU MAY BE SURPRISED, EVEN SHOCKED, TO LEARN THAT BOXING IS NOT MY WHEELHOUSE. NEITHER IS WRITING POETRY SO I HAD TO DO A FAIR AMOUNT OF RESEARCH AND EDITING. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, I HAD A LOT OF FUN IN THE PROCESS AND I LEARNED A LOT. I HOPE YOU ARE EQUALLY ENTERTAINED WHEN YOU READ MY POEM. HAPPY BOXING DAY TO ALL MY FRIENDS UP NORTH AND ACROSS THE POND! 🎁

Commemorated through the region
for his prowess and pugilistic might
was the one and only Henry Cooper,
a champion born and raised for the fight.

He and George were born on the third of May;
the two brawny lads were identical twins.
By the age of fifteen Henry excelled in boxing
with seventy-three out of eighty-four wins.

This proud son of South East London was a giant,
a lefty with a formidable uppercut jab;
cut-prone and no great defensive technician,
yet his glove on one’s jaw felt more like a stab.

Tall, broad-shouldered and athletic,
he cut an imposing figure.
With powerful fists licensed to kill,
his look was of sternness and rigor.

In September ’54 he fought Harry Painter;
it was his very first match as a pro.
The battle took place at Harringay Arena
where Henry soundly defeated his foe.

Our ‘Enry took off like a house on fire,
for nine bouts in a row, no one got in his way.
But he lost number ten on a technical knockout;
how ironic that match was at old Harringay!

Henry bounced back, never one to stay down;
every match for him was compelling and vital.
But he suffered a big loss on February nineteenth;
Joe Bygraves took the Commonwealth heavyweight title.

Henry was no fly-by-night flash-in-the-pan;
undefeated champ for twelve years was he.
Our ‘Enry fought with the greatest and best
including “The Louisville Lip” – Muhammad Ali.

The young champ was still known as Cassius Clay;
the year was nineteen hundred and sixty-three.
A great deal of ticket-selling for this long-awaited bout
created a massive amount of world-wide publicity.

In the fourth round Henry was leading on points,
Ali making little attempt at effective aggression.
Henry felled Ali with a left hook to the body;
“‘Enry’s ‘Ammer” it was called in the profession.

Well, Ali’s manager brought him to the corner,
administering smelling salts banned in the UK.
The prohibited act was witnessed by no one
and a rejuvenated Ali defeated Henry that day.

Decades later a vital extra six seconds
showed up in a long-missing recording.
If all things had been on the clear up and up
the headlines would have had different wording.

For a second time Henry went up against Ali
who was now world heavyweight champion.
Though cut and tired, Henry never hit the canvas;
a TKO was the decision and again Ali won.

Henry won forty out of his fifty-five matches
and in 1971 it was time to hang up his gloves.
But Henry was never really down for the count
and he had a rich life full of many great loves.

Jump back to the late 1950s
when Henry met the love of his life.
A Gina Lollabrigida look-alike
who he courted and took as his wife.

She was dark-haired, petite at just five feet tall
and her name was Albina Genepri;
a waitress at Henry’s favorite restaurant,
a beauty from the Apennine region in Italy.

Two people who grew up hundreds of miles apart
from similar backgrounds – both working middle-class.
Henry was a cockney bloke from Beckenham in Kent.
When Albina learned English, her accent was like cut-glass.

It was ironic but Albina hated boxing
yet she remained Henry’s strength and his shield.
He constantly asked her to come to his fights
but only one solitary time did she yield.

Henry was known as a prince among men
and a king of the ring in many a fight.
In 2000 he was dubbed “Sir Henry Cooper”
joining the ranks of paladins and knights.

One night on his way to a sporting event
Henry received a call from his son.
“Come back home, dad!” was the pitiful plea.
“Something terrible’s happened to mum!”

Their’s was a love that movies are made of.
Lives full of happiness and very few tears.
They both were the real deal, genuine article
and their marriage lasted forty-seven years.

Albina had suffered a heart attack,
her devoted life had come to an end.
Henry never truly got over the shock
but like a willow he learned how to bend.

Just three years later Our ‘Enry
quietly passed while watching TV.
His son said it was quick and painless;
“He’s with mum now for all eternity.”

He was a lovely gent and a good fella,
a great husband, dad and true friend.
All those dear mates of Our ‘Enry
were loyal right up to the end.

Henry & Albina Cooper
Henry Cooper was the only boxer
ever to be knighted.

Uncategorized

SOMEONE WILL PAY

October 23, 2022October 22, 2022 Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Roger Newcombe was a nasty, mean-spirited man; his only companions were his little Welsh corgi Magpie and his wheelchair. Roger had no family or friends; over the years he had alienated everyone who ever cared a whit about him. Even the postman fell victim to his bitter tongue and resorted to delivering the mail as quickly as possible, his hat pulled down low over his eyes.

The only things Roger had plenty of were bad memories and schemes.

It wasn’t always like that for Roger. True, he was a plain-looking man, never handsome, but he was a trusting soul and kindhearted. Roger felt out of place at his parent’s extravagant dinner parties and never wanted to attend but as the only heir of the richest man in the county, it was his obligation to make an appearance.

That’s when he saw the alluring Loretta Spencer, a new serving girl with a tiny waist, long legs and shocking auburn hair. Roger was smitten at first glance but was too shy to stare let alone talk to Loretta.

Kindness and a trusting nature went only so far and the young single women who came in contact with Roger were not attracted to him. Only Loretta paid him any attention with a barely perceptible wink of an eye and a shy but innately sensual smile. One fortuitous day Roger happened upon Loretta preparing the table for dinner; the two struck up a conversation which developed into a flirtatious friendship which in turn blossomed into a romance. Roger’s parents were livid about the relationship but Loretta encouraged Roger to be a man and speak up for himself and their newfound love. His parents were too stunned by Roger’s sudden display of courage to respond.

No one was more surprised than Roger. He had always been resigned to life as a lonely bachelor; now he’d fallen madly in love with a servant in his parent’s employ and he didn’t care who knew. He was enthralled by Loretta’s bewitching ways, intoxicated by her erotic education in lovemaking. Roger could not believe someone as beautiful, beguiling and seductive as Loretta could love him in return. They were married within a year and went on a grand honeymoon to Wales. Upon their return, they settled into the Newcombe’s lavish estate.

Roger accepted a job in his father’s company, sitting in his office all day doing very little and making a great deal of money which Loretta freely spent. She was a happy and pampered wife. Her relationship with Roger’s parents was estranged and she saw them only at dinner but being married to Roger made all her dreams come true.

That peaceful scenario was suddenly shattered when Roger’s parents were killed in a plane crash while on vacation. Roger was devastated by the loss of his mother and father but that was not the end of the shocking news for Roger and Loretta.

At the reading of Mr. and Mrs. Newcombe’s wills, Roger was struck dumb when he learned his mother’s last wish was for their home to be renovated into a rehabilitation facility for children with disabilities. In his father’s will, a new president was named for the company; it was Jonathan Whittaker, the current vice president. Roger was spitefully and embarrassingly overlooked, being left only an insignificant amount of money.

As the only heir, Roger fully expected to be left the Newcombe fortune and named president of the company. He didn’t really want the job – just the prestige that came with it. He could delegate his key employees to do all the work while he sat back and watched the company flourish. Now he and Loretta had no home and very little cash. Roger deeply regretted giving Loretta free rein to his money, buying so many expensive and unnecessary items. He loved her and was blinded by her charms. He was also too proud to try to return or sell the items to recoup his losses.

Loretta, being as smart and clever as she was beautiful, wasted no time setting her sights on Jonathan Whittaker, the new president of the company. Like a tigress on the prowl she hunted him down, dazzling him with her seductive ways. She finessed her way into his head, whirled her way into his heart and squirmed herself into his bed. Loretta convinced Jonathan to relieve Roger of his position at the company which he did immediately. While Roger was out of the house one afternoon, Loretta stealthily cleared out what little money he had stashed away in his safe and quickly served him with divorce papers. As soon as she was free of Roger, Loretta would marry Jonathan and she would once again be the wife of a wealthy man.

Roger was reeling; he could not believe how his life had completely fallen apart. His parents were dead, the only home he knew was no longer his, he had no job, no money and no wife. In a desperate plea to Jonathan Whittaker, Roger asked for and was granted a pension from the company – just enough to get by each month. He begged his father’s lawyer to intercede on his behalf and was given permission to live in the small annex house next to the Newcombe estate. Roger felt there wasn’t much more that could go wrong in his life.

He was mistaken.

One day as Roger was entering the annex house, he looked over at his old family home and saw Loretta pass by one of the upstairs windows. “What was she doing there?” Roger wondered. He went to the house to confront her; Loretta was packing the last of her things when Roger showed up. After a heated conversation Loretta brusquely walked by Roger, her suitcase smacking him in the back of his knee. Roger lost his footing and fell down the stairs. Loretta slowly walked down the stairs, looked at Roger not knowing or caring if he was dead or alive, and stepped over him. She calmly walked to the front door and left the house, closing the door behind her.

The next day Roger was found lying at the foot of the stairs; he was alive but he was paralyzed from the waist down. Now Roger Newcombe felt nothing in his heart but bitterness, anger and resentment. All he did was sit in his wheelchair by the window of the annex house with Magpie on his lap. With every stroke of the little dog’s soft fur, Roger thought “Someone will pay.”

That was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind.

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