Home » Friday Fictioneers

Category Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Repurposed – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 111 Comments

Good Wednesday!  Hope all is well in your necks of the world.  This week’s Friday Fictioneers, as always hosted by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is brought to you through J. Hardy Carroll’s picture.  I could not help but go to Montreal for this one.  Should you have a different idea that you’d like to share, click on the frog below and add your 100-word story!

J. Hardy Carroll

Click me!

REPURPOSED

Let’s go visit the Biosphere on Parc Jean-Drapeau.

Wasn’t that the Expo ’67 American Pavillion?

Yep.  The most famous geodesic dome created.

Didn’t it burn to a crisp?

Yeah, sadly, a welding accident in ’76 while fixing the acrylic cover.

That blows. But then they fixed it up, right?

Took forever and by the’90’s became a water museum.

Cool. Wait. What happened during the ice storm in ’98?

Some damage and it was shut down for five months.  By 2007, Environment Canada decided it would be called an “Environment Museum”. Only one of its kind in North America.

So, worth a visit, then?

Absolutely!

 

 

For more on the Biosphere, click here

US Pavillion Expo ’67
Today’s Biosphere
On Fire
Lit up (changes colours)

 

 

 

 

Camping? – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 120 Comments

It’s Wednesday already. You know what that means! Yep, time for some Friday Fictioneering. This week’s photo is brought to us by c.e. ayr and reminded me of the Christmas/New Year of 2013/14. We spent Christmas in the Keys and New Year’s in Naples…

Thanks, always, to Rochelle for her willingness to keep this party going! If you want to join in, just click on my frog below and add your link with your 100-word story!

Click me to play!

Camping?

This is how the rich like to camp, I take it?

Yep! They each have their lot for a season. It’s like a community.

And they save some scraggly spots for those of us just passing through…

Uhhhh… Not so scraggly.

Right. Not loving it, to tell the truth. We are a bunch of sardines in a pretty can. And our sardine is lacking.

It’s not! We are one with the hoi-palloi!

You do know that means the riffraff, right?

Really? Shit. I thought it meant the rich and snooty.

Nope. That’s hoity-toity. Let’s go to a nice quiet wooded area.

That’s Not Kosher – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 111 Comments

Happy New Year my peeps!  I wasn’t sure where to go with this one so I went back a “few” years to a memory.  A very fond memory of a family vacation.  To play along, just click on the frog below and add your own 100-word story to go with this photo.  Thank you, always, to Rochelle for running things so fantabulously all these years.  As well, this is her photo so, yanno… thanks for that, too!

Click here to play!

That’s Not Kosher!

In the summer of ’75, Dad brought us to Golden Acres Ranch in the Catskills. We must have been the only Gentiles in the place.

“Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!” Our wake-up call every morning through speakers in the cabins.

There was horseback riding, dancing, sports – think Housemans of “Dirty Dancing” fame, but not quite so ritzy – at least, I don’t think it was.

I can still hear my not-quite-five-year-old sister, Tracy, ask Joel, our waiter, for a cheeseburger.

“Sorry, Kiddo, that’s not Kosher.”

“But I’m not Jewish!”

What a great way to teach us about other religions and cultures.

Keith, Me and Joel
Me on “Muddy”

A Monument for Christmas – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 127 Comments

Good Thursday to all, or Boxing Day. to Canadians and Brits.  Though we got our prompt a day early thanks to Rochelle‘s generosity, I could not squeeze in a story. And then I was glad I waited because this gave me the time to dedicate this post to my blogging friend David Kanigan, who sadly lost his brother, Lorne, in the first minutes of Christmas Day.

 

©Sandra Crook

Click me for more stories

A Monument for Christmas

It was time to stand tall and strong. He had to try to keep his anger in check as he knew it would serve no purpose now.  To rail against the system or whatever powers that be, that he wasn’t quite sure he believed in, would serve no purpose now.

He had to focus on the good that was before, and the end of all the suffering that had gone on for too long.  It was a small comfort.

He wanted more time.  And he didn’t want Christmas to be a monument to the day his brother’s light was snuffed.

 

Satisfied – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 143 Comments

Good Wednesday, my peeps!  Hope the sun is shining for you today.  Here, we have been graced with a lovely white blanket of snow, just enough to brighten things up a bit.  I was getting worried we’d end up with a green Christmas this year… Course, that is still a week away…

This week our lovely leader, Rochelle chose my picture. How cool is that? And, as it would have been Mick’s 56th birthday today, I felt a little something that represents who he was, was in order.  Do join in on the fun and add your own 100-word story by clicking on the frog below!

Click me!

Satisfied

The location was perfect – a wonderful unobstructed view of his beloved river. He’d always wanted a property by the water.

The gazebo was perfect. As she knew it would be. He never failed at whatever he built. He always put such meticulous care into every thing he created with his talented hands. Only he ever saw whatever small flaws there might be. Try as we might, we could never find them but they drove him crazy. Perfectionist, he was.

She could just picture him sitting there, legs stretched out, beer in hand, grin on face. Satisfied, a job well done.

Rebuilding – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 162 Comments

Good Wednesday, my peeps. It’s Friday Fictioneers time and our leader, Rochelle chose this picture from Michael Sublett to challenge us. And challenge she did. Of course, my brain is full of a head cold so I’m working twice as hard to get half the words. Ugh. I still have one weekend to work. Now is not the time!  Oh well… while I go soak in the tub, you can read my little 100-word attempt.

©Michael Sublett

Click me!

Rebuilding

Like the detritus caused by a wrecking ball to a no-longer-useful building, her life lay in a mess about her feet.   She walked through, kicking at the pieces, thinking life as she knew it was over. And it was. That part, anyway. Were there pieces she could salvage?  Should she even? Or should she simply walk away from this mess and start anew.  It scared the shit out of her, to be honest. She’d started over before, she could do it again.

It was so much bigger this time. She grabbed a framed picture. This could be her starting point.

 

 

Party too Hardy – Friday Fictioneers

Posted on by | 144 Comments

Good Wednesday, my peeps!  You know what that means, right?  That’s right. It’s Friday Fictioneers time.  I had a whole ‘nother idea planned out for this picture but reality butted its head in and took over. So. No fiction this week (yeah, yeah, I know, I rarely do pure fiction). This happened last Saturday at work.  Always thanks go to Rochelle for keeping us coming back week after week and to Fatima Fakier Deria for her photo.

Click me to join the party!

Party Too Hardy

Pat got louder and friendlier with each drink consumed. He paid for rounds and his circle got bigger. Nothing like free drinks to cement a friendship, eh? Just when things were getting a little too wild, the lights came on and the music was silenced. The circle broke up and they swayed their way to the stairway.

Resigned, Pat followed them, lost his footing on the third stair and tumbled down the remaining fifteen, landing head-first into the receptionist’s desk.

His blood was spattered everywhere. Despite his protests, we called the ambulance.

Some parties are harder to work than others.

 

 

Leaving the building…

*It turned out to be quite the scary thing. The guy went from arguing he was fine while letting my coworkers clean him up and wrap his head wound (myself running up and down the stairs getting ice and cold wet cloths), to vomiting, to losing consciousness. Keeping him awake by slapping his chest and calling out to him to stay with us made the less-than thirty-minute ordeal feel like hours.  Hopefully, the first and last time I am witness to such.