Not About the Fish – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #97

I knew I didn’t have any sunrise pictures to go with Crispina’s (way too early for me, on most days!) and I thought I’d skip or write a little something simple.  But then I could not help it and found myself trolling my photos.  Wouldja lookit that?  I’ll be darned… A little something simple AND a sorta kinda matchy-matchy 😉

 

Whether at sunrise alone

or at sunset with a friend

it doesn’t matter

It’s not about the fish

It’s about getting away

from the demands of life

to just be one with nature

It’s what keeps me sane

 

No Longer Needed – Friday Fictioneers

I really wasn’t going to touch this one.  And then I couldn’t help but go back 23 years.  This week’s photo is supplied by Roger Bultot.  Thanks, always to Rochelle for hosting this weekly gathering.  If you want to play along, just click on the frog below and add your link to your 100 words.

©Roger Bultot

High Chair — Nee & Wee

No Longer Needed

Why did you throw out the highchair?

I didn’t throw it out, I left it on the curb for anyone to pick it up.  It’s not like we need it anymore.

What if we have another baby?

What if we don’t?  What if he was our one and only?  I can’t walk past that thing just like I can’t leave his room the way it is.  I’m turning it into a reading room.

I get it and I’ll help you.  …  Do you think one day we can try for a family again?

Yes.  When my heart doesn’t hurt so much.

 

Austin’s Room

 

 

 

The Moon, Playing Coquette

For those of you participating in dVerse, I would not want to take up more of your time.  Do not be shy and jump down to the title, saving you the extra 300 words of my preamble!  Speaking of challenges, Merril is hosting Prosery Monday today and I cannot resist, especially since I was already working on this post when the challenge popped into my inbox.  Of course, that meant limiting myself to 144 words but hey, why not?  Today, we must use the line:  “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.” – From Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River”.

Eeesh… hard to believe it was two weeks ago, I promised Marina the moon.  What can I say? Either time, stuff, fatigue, listlessness, other stuff, etc. got in the way.  Or a combo of all.  Or some.  Neither here nor there, right?  I’m here now.  And how do you like that?  The time it took me to do this, the moon is in the same phase-ish.  Wait. Is it?

No, it isn’t.  I had to look up just where in the moon’s phase I was when I took the photos. Though my camera says September 1st, I know it was August 31st (must find out how to change the settings on my camera).  On August 31st, the moon was at 97% Illumination, in Waxing Gibbous, leading up to September 2nd’s Full Moon.  I was going to post this tomorrow, September 15th, when she is at 5% Illumination, in Waning Crescent, leading up to September 17th’s New Moon. So. My timing (with a minor cheat) is bang on – mirror-style.  Have I bored you?  Or, like me, did you learn something new?

Enough blah blah, Rogerson, move on to your little story created using your pictures of the moon,taken on August 31st.  A little music to get you in the mood…

The Moon, Playing Coquette

 

Like voyeurs, they watch, moonstruck, unwilling to leave, because on this night, the Moon plays temptress.  Unabashedly, she prances around fully nude, but tonight, though her light is bright, she keeps a sliver of herself hidden.

She is playing the seductress with a reverse striptease.  She flirts with the leaves on the trees, coyly covering and uncovering parts of herself.

First one side,

then the other, concealing more of herself each time she shifts.

It is sensuous dance that surprises the watchers. How can they be aroused by the addition rather than the removal of vestments? And yet they are. Enchanted, even.

At last, she finishes her dance, her new garment reminding her audience of a woman’s shoulder, decorated with lace.

They leave her, making their way to their beds and, in their dreams, they sleep with the moon, replaying her dance, in reverse.

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #174 – Rectify

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments. Always a thank you to Sammi for hosting.

 

 

Emails, texts, Facetime, will have to suffice

To tease and flirt and so entice

They cannot touch, they cannot kiss

Wait they must, to share their bliss

Situation must be rectified

 Before anyone is satisfied

 

Not Gonna Happen – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Wednesday! You know that means Friday… for Fictioneers, that is. Rochelle is hostess and supplier of photo this week. Should you wish to play along, just click on the frog below and add your link to your 100-word story. G’head. It’s fun!

https://rochellewisofffields.files.wordpress.com/2020/08/wilmington.jpg

Amazon.com: Big Magnet, 3.5

 

“Cynthia, will you marry me?”

“No, Brad. Stop asking. You keep getting the same answer. When will you understand I like how things are?”

“But you love me, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to be married. I like my independence. What we have works. Why ruin a good thing?”

With a “Hmph!” Brad kissed her on the cheek and said, “Fine. I’ll pick you up after work.”

“Great! See ya later!”

As Brad approached Cynthia’s shop, he thought of a new way to ask her.

However, in the door, he got his answer.

‘Nope’.

A Proper Send-Off

I know I promised you the moon today, Marina, but I feel compelled to write something else.  Tomorrow good for you?  I sure hope so.

I am sitting in my quiet house, having just returned from Patrice‘s funeral.  The boys stayed behind with their gang to celebrate him the way twenty-somethings “should” – starting with a shotgun beer in the parking lot, no doubt, followed by who-knows-what and I should not know.

Visitation was held from 10:00 am till 3:00 pm today (plus four hours yesterday from 4:00-8:00 pm) followed by the religious ceremony in the chapel, which was the room right beside – a rarity, not the chapel, but the religious ceremony.  Most of my family came and it was no easy feat for all the “kids” who had hung out with Pat on the cruise. It was just so surreal.

There is a different dynamic when the deceased is a twenty-two-year-old healthy, full-of-life type.  I’ve been to far too many forty-somethings and fifty-somethings funerals already since, let me see, 2001 – so almost twenty years.  And I thought THEY were all too young.  So this?  No. Almost impossible to wrap one’s head around it.

Life celebrations have gone from boards with pictures or albums on tables showing the life of the loved one to movies or montages of their life scrolling in an endless loop.  I thought seeing a fifty-year old’s was hard. This was a punch in the solar plexus.  They had a corner for Pat’s art, a long table with various pictures and favourite pieces such as a hockey shirt, his football trophies and such and, of course, a beautifully done video.  And, oh Lordy.  I was not ready to see him lying in his coffin.  Everyone gets cremated now.  Visitation is an urn with a 16″ X 20″ (or two) photo beside the urn. Not this time. They went old-school for this.

The place was packed with mask-wearing mourners of all ages.  the priest came in and told us that he would give one prayer and then ask us to make our way next door to the chapel, leaving the family to say their final farewell in private.

Standing by your bench, watching your own twenty-two-year-old and his four friends, plus Pat’s cousin, roll the casket to the front, while this song is playing is sobering.  These young men were doing their best to hold it together as they performed their solemn duty, then sat together and let their emotions do what was needed.  This song just about killed me.

Father Sylvain was perfect.  He said beautiful things and asked those who pray to pray; never preaching

Jules, Marilyn and Maude (his parents and sister) came up and Jules spoke for them. He started off by saying he promised Pat he wouldn’t cry and he spoke beautifully, his composure cracking only at the end; his wife and daughter on either side of him, giving him what he needed to push through.  My heart broke for them.

I know Pat’s family chose music that he loved and when this song played, I watched as their heads bopped to the beat. I know it wasn’t the lyrics they were feeling.

Father Sylvain introduced Charles-Olivier to come and say a word and the five young men stood up as one, the four surrounding him as he read the beautiful post he wrote the day he found out he lost his friend, his gym partner, his clown, the one who always said how much he loved them who was now his guardian angel.

There were the usual blessings and the thank yous and, as the following song played, we were all invited to come up and use the provided Sharpies (and Purell) to write something on the casket.  Now THAT is a beautiful thing.

May I say that I do not want to do this again.

 

 

Making Things “Better” – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #95

I had so many “matchy-matchy” pics I had trouble deciding where to go with this one.  And then, as I sorted through and brought them down to two, this is what happened.  I hope you don’t mind, Crispina, that I sandwiched your beautiful pic between my two! 🙂 (I know you don’t!)

Do you remember when as far as the eye can see we saw nothing but the sea?

Yeah, it was so beautiful.  We were one with nature.

Exactly.  And then those windmills popped up.  Didn’t seem too bad, though. They are definitely a good way to harness the wind into energy and not too intrusive.

Yeah, that’s true.  Why couldn’t they stop there?

Why’d they have to build that big-ass hotel and develop that area? Why couldn’t they leave it alone? This was our sanctuary of sorts.

Yeah. Man’s need to supposedly make things better.  Heaven forbid we not use up every last natural beautiful place for some new development ..  Pffft. Betterment, my ass.  Better enjoy this beach while it’s still available.

Next Best Thing to the Real Thing – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Wednesday (is it still Wednesday? Yippers, for another hour, here in Montreal, anyway) where sometimes I play Friday Fictioneers.   Rochelle keeps us keepin’ on and this week, it’s with the help of C.E. Ayr’s photo.  Should you want to play, just click on the frog below and add your own 100-word story which includes a beginning, middle and end.  Remember, it’s not what you look at, it’s what you see 😉

EPS Illustration - Frog with movie clapper. Vector Clipart gg95713744 - GoGraph

Next Best Thing To the Real Thing

Hard to believe we’re in a hotel. My goodness! It feels like we are in the middle of New York!

Welcome to Vegas!  Come, let me show you more. They even have a mini Coney Island, including a roller coaster that —

Wait.  I hear music.  Look! A piano bar!

Yeah. It has duelling pianos. We’ll have a drink there first then dine at Gallagher’s for the best dry-aged beef you’ve ever tasted.

This is so cool. Where are we going tomorrow?

I’m taking you to Paris, Baby.

Then?

How about Venice?

It’s the next best thing to the real thing!

 

In Morning’s Light

Sanaa Rizvi is hosting dVerse Poetics today.  The subject is exploring erotica as a literary genre.  Subtlety goes a long way for me when it comes to erotica.  I love pushing my own boundaries – not that mine are that cut and dried by it is still a genre not familiar.

The early morning sun

caresses their slumbering bodies

awakening one, who traces the rays

over his lover’s body with a soft caress

 

She stirs and goosebumps rise to meet his fingers

the heat from his body draws her close

a kiss on her nape shivers down her spine

and soundlessly, in unison

 

They turn to each other, then

ever so gently his body covers hers

as they welcome the day

with a rhythm borne of love

 

Mindful(less?)ness

Free the space for nothingness

It was August 7th when David Kanigan suggested I write a post based on my response to his post “You Missed That…”  Here we are, the last day of August and I am finally writing it.  I did start composing last night but it took me so long to find David’s post because my computer decided to be slower than molasses in January that I abandoned the project in frustration and decided to watch the second half of “Chef’s Table with Jeong Kwan” because watching the first half the night before is what brought me back here in the first place.

So, here I am now.  My response to D.K.’s post was this:

Yes. Mindfulness is a state of being.
It’s funny. On Wednesday, while sitting in my canteen, for a “quiet moment” (i.e. no customers, everything stocked, nothing needing my attention) I was so aware of just how many sounds I am being bombarded with in that tiny space. The hum of the three fridges – each their own sound, the clicking of the hot plate, the whir of the A/C, the flapping of my protective plexiglass “window” every time a breeze came. It was both disconcerting and oddly soothing at the same time.

David’s response was:

You should write a post based on this comment. That’s beautiful.

Kiki seconded the motion and, after a chat on Messenger with Sawsan, I said I would.  Thank goodness I didn’t say when I would do it!

As I worked yesterday, I kept thinking of Jeong Kwan and her being present in the moment – giving herself completely with an open heart and love to whatever task she is doing.  I decided to try to be mindful (instead of incredibly bored) as I made the sandwich fillings:  weigh the meat, calculate the percentages of the add-ins needed as per the recipe such as mayo, sour cream, old-fashioned grain mustard, etc.; take out the food processor, wash and chop the celery, add to bowl sitting on scale, add each ingredient by weight, mix with spatula.  Then, process ham or chicken (or pass hard-boiled eggs through a cooling grid) and add to bowl. Remove my ring and go in with my hands (except for the eggs) to mix well as it is way way more efficient. Feel the cold ingredients and their textures as I lift and fold, almost in a kneading motion, scraping sides of bowl with the side of my hand to bring into the mix.  Let my mind remain empty as I do it, focussing solely on the task, a meditative state.  For me, this is the form of meditation that works for me – besides walking. Of course, today, of all days, I was disrupted by a client who scared the bejeezus out of me by calling out.  No matter. I was able to get back into that frame of mind after I got him his hot dog.

By being mindful, it somehow felt less monotonous; less brain-draining. It helped me give meaning to a simple, repetitive task that I do three times per day, twice per week.  Does this mean I love it? Hell no. Not even close.  What it has done is confirm that I definitely do not want to work in the food preparation business ever again.  I shall, however, not leave them hanging and finish my season. Even if it kills me. Slowly.  Is it mid-October yet?

Dishes done for the third time, vacuum-formed packs put away, I was able to relax between sporadic customers. It had rained non-stop on Tuesday so I was frankly surprised there were as many golfers as there were. The air was crisp; the wind, fierce, the grass certainly soggy, and yet there they were.  They truly are a special breed of fanatic.

I sat there, trying to read when the various hums and clicks got my attention and I realised this was the reason for this post in the first place!  So I set my timer to see just how often the two most annoying and loud items go off.  The vent, the air-conditioning, the small fridges each have their own humming sound that remains constant.  The hotplate starts an almost frenetic clicking sound that goes up to reach its crescendo then slows down until the clicks are more intermittent. The cycle takes 2:35:42 exactly – I timed it.  Twice.  The big-ass Foster fridge motor starts off with a thud and a shudder and this odd echoey-rattly sound before lowering into a loud hum. The cycle takes about 5:03:07.  I timed it twice but missed the start by about 5 seconds as my phone had turned off and frankly, I hear the damn thing all day, I was done focusing on it for this.  I have noticed one of the other fridges has its own sort of shuddering restart or whatever you want to call it but I didn’t bother with it.  I actually took this video two days after David’s post, thought I’d try to redo it and then decided meh. This’ll do to give you an idea.

I have never spent so much time alone and in my head, as I have since I started this job on June 18th. Yes, there are busy moments and lots of customers but they come and go quickly, in a rush to hit their first or back nine. It’s not like serving in the restaurant of the previous golf club I worked for where you get to know the customer’s names and favourite beers and create a rapport.  Sure, there are quite a few regulars, here:  Monsieur Pomme, who orders an apple-oatmeal muffin every single time – and says not a single word other than to order, or now, smile as I put his muffin on the counter before he asks; or Mr. Oxford (from whence he hails) who orders his coffee with four laits – pronounced lays (milks). There are friendly and not-so-much-so types and no one lingers.  That’s to be expected in a canteen or casse-croûte, as we call it.

Random view from my window to distract you from how long this post is

Employees come to get their lunches and snacks as well and some, a few only, take a moment to chit-chat. Other than that?  Me, myself and I.  And my head. And my thoughts.  And the incessant humming and clicking.  I tried putting the radio on to drown out some of it but, being under a cement terrace, the reception is not always without the grating scratchy sound of not quite being on the channel – you remember those? A radio with a dial that you have to adjust ‘just so’ to get your station? I know, I know, I should simply download some music on my phone but honestly? I don’t think of it.  Regardless, it’s not worth it, it just adds to the cacophony.

Somehow this post has not turned into what I thought it would. So since it was a reflective piece, I’ll leave you with a nice little reflection of the setting sun on my just rained-on street.