Picture Perfect – Friday Fictioneers

Wednesday is here already. Is it me or is time flying? Seems like it, doesn’t it? Some days are slow as snails but somehow those days become a week gone by in a flash.  OK, enough blah, blah.  Thanks always, to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers so diligently and this week, thanks to Ted Strutz for this quirky photo.  To play along, just click on the frog below and add your link.

©Ted Strutz

Picture Perfect

Are you gonna eat that or take pictures of it all day?

My Instagram followers expect me to keep them entertained.

Pffft! Stupidest thing I ever heard.  How the hell did taking a picture of your lunch become a thing?

I dunno, now you mention it. Did you know some people make a living at it?

Seriously? Here, take a picture of mine!

There’s almost nothing left! Did you even taste it?

Yeah, I did. While it was hot. Tell your fans the proof is in the picture.

Haha.  Funny guy.

Can I have a chip?

Whatsamatter? Eat too fast?

Ponte Vecchio – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #81

Good Thursday afternoon, my peeps!  I haven’t played in a while but when I saw this photo and knew I would this week.  Crispina is most generous in her rules and regulations and to find out just what she expects of those of us who participate, just click here. You’ll see, just about the only thing she stresses is not more than 150 words, which I, phew! did not surpass.

Ponte Vecchio

Diana and Anne sat on the wall beside the river, under the bridge, and watched the slow flow of the river.  Anne was regaling Diana with her stories filled with imagination.

“Let’s pretend we are in Florence, or, like they say in Italy, Firenze!  We are walking along the Arno River and come upon the Ponte Vecchio.  Isn’t it just the most romantic thing, Diana?”

Diana could only nod her head, unable to add a thing.

“You’d have your beau and I’d have mine—”

“Gilbert Blythe!”

“Bite your tongue, Diana! He’s vile and I’ll have nothing to do with him!” Anne’s eyes flashed.

“You doth protest too much, my friend. But please, do continue with your story.”

“Hmph! As I was saying, you have your beau and I have,” she looked at Diana with warning, “mine.  We would secure our love forever with padlocks.”

“What a silly thing to do!”

 

Word count: 150

The above picture is the central part of one of the bridges crossing the Arno, and the one that inspired my little visit with Anne of Green Gables.  (Don’t ask, it’s a mystery what goes on up in my noggin, at times.  For those unfamiliar, Diana is Anne’s best and bosom friend and kindred spirit.)  The story went in a whole ‘nother direction than planned.  As can happen, right?

Below are two pictures of the real Ponte Vecchio I took during my dream trip in 2016 and I cannot believe I have NONE with all the locks!  There were so many people in front of it, I thought I’d pass by later but guess I didn’t. Oh well. Thought you’d enjoy nevertheless.

 

 

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #158 – Downpour

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.

I almost didn’t play this week, then remembered an August evening in 2018…  Even though I wrote about it here, I figured it was worth a little redo.  Thanks for hosting Sammi!

 

Who Needs an Umbrella?

The two friends walked twenty blocks from the restaurant to the theatre.  Summer in Montreal meant Ste. Catherine Street was closed to cars and filled with pedestrians enjoying the warm summer evening.

After the show, they made their way to the exits, talking about their favourite parts, stepped out…

It was not a drizzle, nor a sprinkle. It was a veritable downpour!

“You game?”

“Absolutely!”

Laughing, they walked and skipped like young girls, arriving completely soaked.

“You know, I have an umbrella in my car.”

“So do I!”

 

Come For the Music, Stay for the Beer – Friday Fictioneers

Wednesday evening and a story finally came to me.  A kinda-sorta story, anyway. Montreal hosts a slew of festivals of many genres so, why not? Thanks to c.e. ayr for the use of his photo and to Rochelle for keeping the home fires burning week after week.  Should you wish to share your 100-word story inspired by the photo, click on the frogs and add your link!

©c.e. ayr

 

     Click Me!

Come for the Music, Stay for the Beer

“This place is really buzzing.  Check out all the different booths!  Gonna have fun sampling beverages and bites.”

“And we get to listen to good music, to boot, right?  Ever heard of the band on the roster?”

“Nope.  Don’t care.  All I wanted was to spend the afternoon with you and if the music’s good, bonus!”

“Gotta love a guy with an open mind.

“And an empty stomach.”

Oh, look. Here comes the band.”

Screeching guitar riffs filled the air.

“Good God!  What the hell was that?”

“The sound of us leaving the stage area and heading for the beers…”

 

 

 

 

 

Leave Your Hat On – Friday Fictioneers

Welome to Wednesday! Here at Friday Fictioneers, we fit right in with the confusion on what day it is.  Our lovely leader, Rochelle, has provided us with her hubby, Jan Wayne Fields’, fun picture this week. Feel inspired?  G’head. Write your own 100-word story with a beginning, middle and end and add your link by clicking the lovely frog below. It’s fun and addictive.

©Jan Wayne Fields

 

Click me

Leave Your Hat On

Jamison sat in his comfy chair, reading a book when his quiet was disturbed by Joe Cocker’s unmistakable “Leave Your Hat On”.

“Shanna! I—” His jaw dropped as his wife danced into the room, wearing an overcoat, high heels and a hat. “Oooohhh… baby…” He tossed his book and gave her his full attention.

She danced around him, obeying the lyrics as she dropped her coat.  She shimmied up to him, kicked off one shoe and extended her other leg. He complied, smiling wickedly. Shoeless, she grinned, touched her hat and, continued her striptease.

Who said lockdown was boring?

Weekend Writing Prompt #156 – Home

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.

Wow. Congrats to Sammi for doing this prompt for three years already!  Looking forward to what’s to come!

There is always that one house on the block where people congregate. As kids, it is the meet-up or the hang-out place – if the mom says it is okay – and if she says ‘no’ today, it will not stop you from coming back tomorrow. There is nothing obviously special about this house. It is like everyone else’s in size and shape and number of rooms. And yet, the kids know. Here, they are welcome. Here, they can be kids, and whether related or not, will be yelled at if they get too much. Here, they feel like they belong, part of a family. Here, this is not a house. It is a home.

Mine.

 

 

I’m Sorry, But, We’re Done

That’s right, Sourdough.  You and me? We’re done. Finito. Kaput.  No matter how much love I give you, you refuse to do your thing.  I had to bring in Janet into the situation for one-on-one consultations and STILL, you gave me grief.  Janet asked me what I had named you and I apologise; I had no idea.  So I gave you my favourite name:  Charlotte.  And what did you do? NOTHING.

But let me go to the beginning.  When I first decided to try my hand at sourdough – yeast having become more impossible to get than toilet paper – (and like every other Tom, Dick and Harry during the great Sit-In – so unoriginal and such a follower, am I) I followed Janet’s instructions to the letter. 50g flour, 50 g water (filtered), mix, set aside, covered, room temp. Days 5, 7, 9, I did the 50g sour, 50g flour, 50g water – keeping the discard for future waffles (which were rather good, I might add).

Days 10, 11, 12, I left you alone.  When I uncovered you, your stink made me recoil.  “It should smell pleasantly like cheesy beer.”  Ummmm. No… this was closer to vomit.  I threw you out.  Oh wait… this would not be YOU, you.  But let’s call him/her your late cousin, who shall remain nameless as well, I didn’t know.  Plus there was an orange tint to it so, I took no chances. Of course, once I posted my failure on FB, everyone who could chimed in with a NOOO don’t chuck it!  Too late. NEXT!

We decide, Janet and I, to start fresh and do a double-feed per day for three days and then bake.  Let’s see…  You looked nice

So I did my kneading (stretch, pull over, eight “corners”) every half-hour for three hours.  Followed the video, EXACTLY, the bowls, the cloth, the flour.  I was not impressed with the rise at all. But I went with it anyhoo. My boules looked nice though not huge. (Haha! I wish!)  Used my special Dutch oven, preheated, baked and… phooey.

“Looks acidified,” says Janet.  Well hell and damnation.  The crust was nice, as you can see but the crumb?  To the bin with ya.

We start over.

We do the double feed, for three days to speed up the process with the intention of trying just one loaf.  At one point Janet said you looked cold, Charlotte,

so I gave you the oven with the light on.  Barely a bubble.  We tried all sorts of feedings. Nothing.  I left you alone for a few days, figuring you were in a mood.  All you gave me was a thin crust of hardened – something.  I think my oven lights are too hot.  Skimmed off the goo. Oh! But you did smell wonderful and guess what?  Yeah. You made FABULOUS pancakes.

Will I ever try this sourdough thing again?  Maybe. I dunno that I have the patience for this type of endeavour, to tell the truth.  Ironically, I was on Twitter when I caught Lesley Chesterman’s tweet (she was a food critic for the Montreal Gazette):  “I think I’m ready to break up with my sourdough starter. Too moody, too needy, too high-maintenance, sure to let me down in the end. And a bit stinky.”  Yep. Pretty much covers my feelings.

Nota bene (or post scriptum):  Since last Monday… I have yeast, so…

****

Running Diary

For those of you who ready my post where I shared my new “love” of running… ok, ok… I don’t love it. Yet. I thought I’d bring you up to date on the last two.

Saturday was a gorgeous day and there were way too many people out.  Some were being good, some, not so much but all of them I kept my distance from. That said, off I went, enthusiastically, for my 10 X 2/2.   I made it all the way to the park where I discovered a beautiful field of flowers last year. By the looks of it, there will be more this year – Yay! Plus I ran into a couple from the golf club – chit chatted for 30 seconds, luckily during my walk part. Soon as the bell rang, I was off.

On my way back I was feeling like there was no way in hell I would complete my ten sets.  I fudged a little on the times, cutting the run parts twice by 10-15 seconds in an attempt to catch my breath.  By the time I was just past my Willow the guilt set in so I added a rep and a half to make up.  I was glad it was over.

Today was another story. Like a recalcitrant child who doesn’t want to go to bed, I dug my heels into the entry rug.  It was cold outside with a light wind and rain was threatening. Really? Do I have to? I don’t know what force pushed me out the door but it worked.  And you are right, B… nothing more satisfactory than pushing yourself to do that thing you don’t feel like.  Not only did I do my ten sets, but after the first two, I felt I could actually control my breath.  And then, after walking for four minutes, I thought… why not? And I added three more!  Woot!  My knee felt a slight twinge just as I finished the third so I made sure my stretching session was properly done.  Extremely pleased with myself today.  Oh, and, following a discussion with Monika over at Tails Around the Ranch, about her lack of belief there is anything good about running (my former belief, as well), and did I ever notice that runners never smile?  Well, guess what Monika!  I kept thinking about you and put a smile on my face every time I heard the alarm that yet another set was completed 😀

Itty-bitty magnolia