Giving Thanks… and Pie?

I do this to myself all. the. time.  I get a prompt in my inbox and I think, “Oh yeah, baby, I know what I’m gonna write”. And then some annoying person comes and asks me for a stupid pen or lead for their pencil or whatever. And so I have to put it aside.  And then two days pass by, nothing written, and a new prompt shows up and I think, “Oh yeah, baby. I know exactly what I’m gonna write…” And then. I gotta send out a box… Well, you get the idea. I have come to realise that work is getting in the way of me doing what I really want to do. And it is NOT fetching office supplies (supplies, by the way, that they could get all by their own damn selves if they just walked into the supply room room which is not ten paces from where I sit).  But I digress with my impromptu mini-rant.

So Last Monday, dVerse was Haibun Monday – Giving Thanks.  I know where I’m going with that one.

And then on the Thursday that followed, dVerse was Pie Poetry – didn’t have to be related to Thanksgiving, though it was the ‘Murican Thanksgiving, of course.  I gots me pie stories to tell…

So here I am the following week, having written three (four?) other posts with this one still hanging out in drafts.  I almost left it in drafts to die a slow death but then decided, nope. Let’s go crazy and actually finish it!  So I decided to mush the two prompts together, somehow.

Giving Thanks With My Family Pie

My family means the world to me.  And I’m talking the whole gang:  from my grandmother, to my parents, to my aunts and uncles, to my sisters, my cousins, down to nieces and nephews, and my children.

Many are sadly gone now but they left their mark and they deserve a place at this table, in this peculiar pie.

No matter the situation, either one of us is a phone call and a drive-past-the speeding-limit drive away, urgency dependent, of course.

The birth of a baby, the death of one.  An injury sustained by a saw or a skull-cracking fall takes but one phone call, and the invisible director has called “Action!”.

It’s not only in moments of distress that we come together.  We join in celebrations: shopping for prom/wedding dresses, attending each other’s children’s recitals and games. And yes, we can even travel together!

They’ll call me on my shit, tell me I look like shit, give me shit, tell me my decision was shit.  But here’s the thing; so will I when they merit it.

They’ll celebrate my victories, tell me I look fabulous and let the world know they are proud of me.  Just like I will for them.

My family is a complex pie (it’s not even round) made up of varying slices (they’re not even, even) that you might think shouldn’t work together, but do.  Maybe they don’t all belong on the same plate, (some are savoury, some are sweet, some are spicy; all of them tart and not a few of them nutty) but they definitely belong in the same meal.

Holidays are fine

To give thanks to those we love

But every day’s best

 

 

 

The Things You Do For Love – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Wednesday! You know what that means!  It means Friday Fictioneers where we try to fool you into thinking it’s the wrong day!  Our fellow FriFic buddy, Ted Strutz is recuperating enough to start snapping pictures again, so our lovely leader Rochelle has shown her support to his recovery by using his photo this week as prompt.   Do play along by clicking on the frog below and adding your 100-word story, with beginning, middle and end.

©Ted Strutz

Illustration of a Merry Frog on a Boat in the Sea by brux | GraphicRiver

Nicki leaned over the rail, arms spread out as if trying to capture the wind, the mountains, delighting in the salty spray misting her face. Her eyes sparkled, “Isn’t this absolutely beautiful?”

Tony stared straight ahead, wishing for death or at least terra firma. “Would you step away from the railing, please?” he gritted through his teeth. “Makes me nervous.”

“Oh, pooh! Stop worrying! Oh. My. Are the bands not working? I so hoped they would. We’re almost there. Do you know how much I love you for doing this?”

“When I can breathe without heaving, you can show me.”

Missing Zeke – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #156

When I saw this week’s Crimson Creative Challenge Prompt, I thought, hmmm… reminds me of another we had done, awhile ago.  So I went searching and was surprised to find that the prompt, no. 108, was issued on December 3, 2020, and I responded, as I often do, the next day, so on the 4th.  Exactly five months later, my boy Zeke was with the angels.  And now?  It is six months, to the day of his passing. I guess sometimes there is a numerical thing that goes on. This time with the number 4.  Anyway. I digress and blather on. A little poem, for Zeke

Eleven months to the day I wrote about you

How you had slowed down and we had switched places

Where once you waited for me,

I now waited for you

Five months to the day, you slowed to a stop

Passing over the Rainbow Bridge

Such a lovely expression, isn’t it?

 

My walks still take place in various woods around me

And each time I think how much you would

have loved this one, or that one

I sometimes think I see you out yonder

And I wait and I wait and I wait

But I know, deep in my heart

it is naught but wishful thinking

Our Special Place – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday, my peeps!  It’s been a while since I played Friday Fictioneer.  I was inspired by the book I am reading.  A special thank you to Penny Gadd for the use of her photo and to our hostess with the mostest, Rochelle for being there through thick and thin.  Should you wish to play, just click on the frogs below and add the link to your own one-hundred-word story!  G’head! It’s fun!

Two green frogs swimming in the water of a little lake, between the water plants. The larger male is following the female during mating time. Seen fro Stock Photo - Alamy

Click to play!

Our Special Place

From the first weekend after school ended until the weekend it started up again, we lived at great-grandpa’s cottage.  Though he was long gone, we refused to call it anything else.  It felt disrespectful to rename it since he is the one who built it.

I remember the summer Bill arrived.  We were ten and twelve.  Though he was younger than I, we hit it off from the get.  Our days were spent lazing in “my” hidden pool, away from all the other cottages.

Summer after summer, our friendship grew.  Who knew I would end up marrying my best friend?

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #222 – Glow

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 was going somewhere totally different had I done this yesterday. But yesterday, I decided to not play in the blogosphere.  And today was a day that deserved a mention.

wk 222 glow

One yearyear ago today your life was snuffed out.  You were but twenty-two years old.  So much living ahead of you. It is so hard not to ask the question “Why?”  But then, why not? We are not in control of these things.

We move forward without the physical you. And we congregate with your parents and your loved ones; all the people your glowing persona touched in one way or another.

We raise a glass to you and consider ourselves blessed that your light touched us, no matter how briefly.

To you, Pat.

Weekend Writing Prompt #220 – Oasis

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.  Thank you, Sammi!

wk 220 oasis

It can be found

in a tropical paradise

a cabin in the woods

even, within the walls of your home

We each have our own vision of where to find it

My oasis?

Is within the circle of your arms

Petite Rivière Rouge

De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo hosted dVerse Quadrille yesterday.  Took me some finagling to get my 44 words to where I was willing to share them.  I shoulda chosen another subject because now my memories have come flooding in and this limitation is causing me grief!

 

Petite Rivière Rouge

where childhood memories were made

 

Pépère¹ bulldozed river rocks;

a sandy cove to protect our feet

 

When not being fished,

crapet-soleil² nibbled our toes

 

Rocks have since rolled back

and the river seems more

like a stream to our adult eyes

 


¹Pépère means “Gramps”

²Crapet-soleil is a fish, that, I just learned, is called Pumpkinseed fish – we are never too old to learn 🙂

MFFP - Poissons du Québec - Crapet-soleil

Making the Rounds – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Wednesday and you know what that means, right?  That’s right!  It’s Friday Fictioneers time!  This week, thanks go to the lovely Na’ama Yehuda, who may or may not know that it is her picture being used this week. 😉  No worries, she’ll find out soon enough, eh?  As always, thanks to Rochelle for hosting this weekly shindig!  If you want to play along, add your link to your own 100-word story by click on the frog below.

Personalized Hand Painted Frog Christmas Ornament | Etsy

For God sakes Emma, did you see what the Richardson’s did to their yard?  They’ve put fake snow and decorated their outside trees.  I’m pretty sure I saw a Christmas tree in their living room window!

Yes, that’s right.  Glad to see your eyes are working

Why the hell for?  It’s July for Christ’s sake.

Their daughter Bessie doesn’t have long with this world and they want her to have one last Christmas.

Oh damn, that is so sad.  I’ve an idea!

What are you doing?

Call the neighbours and put on your coat, hat and mitts, we’re going carolling!

 

 

Resiliency, Thy Name is Noëlla

It was prosery (144 words max, not including the title and no poetry allowed) Monday yesterday for dVerse. I’m late but hey, c’est la vie, I say… Lisa at Tao-Talk is hosting and went down a rabbit hole that started with Alice Walker and her interest in Zora Neale Hurston.  So, Lisa landed on the following quote, which we must use:

No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.

                                      ~Zora Neale Hurston, from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928).

Reading that phrase immediately brought to mind my grandmother, who was also my godmother, and to whom I have been compared (it thrills me).  No, she never used this phrase but its essence is definitely Noëlla to me.

You were my hero from the moment I was old enough to understand the stories. How you were the eldest of fifteen children and had you a choice, would have had none of your own – yet birthed seven.  How you lived in lumberjack shacks where the sun shone through the cracks and the water froze in the kettle overnight. How you had the strength to leave your alcoholic husband to raise your kids on your own – and were judged for it by the Nuns who taught your kids.  How you survived the death of all three of your sons over the years.  How you became a businesswoman, despite a grade-three education.

“No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”

I know you were saying it’s up to you to make or break your life.

I Will Wait – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #139

I haven’t participated in a Crimson’s Creative Challenge in eons.  I saw this image yesterday and had a great idea and a “matchy-matchy” photo.  But then, this morning, I read David Kanigan’s post and it just fit with the image so I decided to totally steal from him, and then had to use another photo. After all, Crispina says anything goes:  answering photo, caption, quote… so, quote it is!  Thank you, David 😉

But then, this is not really my thing. While I feel this was a nice way to respond to the challenge, I still felt I should write a little something of my own, so my two cents’ worth, inspired by Merwin’s poem and yet another image, is after;)

If we are separated I will
try to wait for you
on your side of things

your side of the wall and the water
and of the light moving at its own speed
even on leaves that we have seen
I will wait on one side

while a side is there

— W.S. Merwin, “Travelling Together”  from The Rain in the Trees

While we are separated, I will
think of you
from my side of things

I will walk the dappled paths
that meander along the water
knowing that time and light will do their thing
until the day we can
hand in hand
play with the shadows

trying to hold time still