Wordless Wednesday – Special Addition for Sorryless

Every Wednesday (usually much earlier than this), I post a Wordless Wednesday over on Sorryless. I have been doing a Church series of sorts and was lucky enough to decide to photograph the Ste-Anne Basilica in Varennes at noon on a Saturday.

Sainte Anne Basilica of Varennes

I was leaving after my photo session and realised it was noon when the church bells started. I quickly (okay, I missed four beats) decided to record them.

And then, a whole ‘nother bit of bell-work started so I tried to get most of that too!

 

Remembrance Day

I don’t usually post anything particular on this day.  There are no vets in my family on either side. It almost feels weird that is it so. Not a one? That does not mean, however, that I do not purchase my poppy every year, that I do not respect what all our vets have done; that I do not feel pain that so many find themselves pushed aside, suffering from PTSD and other malaises.

I do, however, have friends currently in the military or who have retired from service so for them as well, I share this beautiful song by Trevor Guthrie. Proceeds to this song go towards raising funds for Wounded Warriors of Canada

Everywhere and Nowhere – Weekend Writing Prompt #131

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.

Word Prompt

Liminal

Challenge

A huge thank you to Sammi for hosting this special challenge. I am always pushed to find some way to bring her chosen word to life. Not always an easy task!

 

Everywhere and Nowhere

She was quite convinced

It was impossible to arrive

At that delicious point

Between sleep

and wake

Intentionally

Surely it was a gift from the Universe

To find oneself at that liminal point

Aware of our surroundings

Yet feeling the dream slowly

Take hold so that we find ourselves

Not here, nor there

But everywhere and nowhere

 

 

Highs and Lows

Highs and Lows

You crash every party

Your body not present

But your aura hovers, waiting

And then it starts

One memory begets another

Each one adding their part

In their story of you

Soon all are are laughing

Myself included

‘Til I drive home, alone

Lost for a little while

 

The Journey – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #52

Crimson’s Creative Challenge has been going on for a whole year, already.  Can you believe that? I did not partake in all of them but quite a few. Thank you, Crispina for hosting such a fun and open challenge.  There is no way I could NOT write a little something to commemorate this auspicious occasion and include a few “matching, not matching” pics 😉  I may have cheated a tad with the timeline, for the purposes of my story.

The Journey

 

We are to take a journey

Will it be a long one?

It will start late in the summer

And then we will arrive?

No, we must keep moving forward

All through autumn?

And once the leaves have fallen?

We must keep on through the snows of winter

This journey will take forever!

No, you shall see, before you know it, 52 weeks will have gone by

A whole year?

Yes! But you’ll have enjoyed the journey for all it has brought you

What about the challenges?

They were the reason this journey began

I am so very glad for it

I am too.

 

 

Chopped! – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morn, my peeps!  Rochelle has given us a most interesting picture to use today. It is thanks to Ronda Del Boccio that I found myself immediately sent in the direction I went. Sometimes we just have to let it go, eh? To play along, just click on the frog below and you’ll be taking to the squares where you can add your own story to the mix.  G’head, you know you wanna….

      G’head, Try me!

Chopped

“What the hell, Mom?”

“What?” Mom’s voice was muffled as her head was deep into the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for one more ingredient.”

“For what?”

“I am challenging you to create a dish with the black olives and the peach jelly and something else.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“You’ve seen the show. Made your snarky comments. Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Who’s gonna judge?”

“Jeff. He’s in town.”

“How about some beef? And we can use the pantry, right?”

“There’s the spirit!”

“Prepare to be chopped, Lady!”

“I think not.”

 

 

 

 

The Hands Have It

I’ve been binge-watching “Call the Midwife” – I swear, if you have not seen this one, check it out. It’s fantabulous. It starts in 1957, and takes place in East End London, more specifically in the town of Poplar. This is a very poor area of London and the residents count on the midwives of Nonnatus House, a convent run by nuns and housing both the sisters and nurses, all of whom are midwives. It is based on the memoirs of Jennifer Worth. For once, nuns are shown in a beautifully positive light. The relationship between the young nurses and the nuns is a lovely and symbiotic one.

Where am I going with this?  One of the characters, Sister Julienne, played by Jenny Agutter, has the kindest eyes, the gentlest voice and most beautiful and expressive hands.  Which got me to thinking…

I am a ‘hands’ person. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a fetish but I will notice if you bite your nails or not, if your nails are well-manicured or not. Too-long nails on a man turns me right off, even if they are buffed and polished or, heaven help me, filed just so. I have come to the conclusion that I could never date a guitarist who doesn’t use a pick.  With one long finger-nailed hand to pluck the strings and the other one “normal”, I find myself shuddering. Sorry to my guitarist friends in this situation. It’s not you, it’s me…

And, obviously, as I have begun this post, it’s not just about the men’s hands, though I will definitely go into detail just below 😉

Have you seen Jane Fonda’s hands? Her fingers are so long and slim and arthritic-bump-free considering her age. Yes, they are old hands but they are still elegant.

I have a friend whose hands fascinate me. They are smooth, blemish and bump free. They are beautifully shaped and I cannot lie, I am a tad jealous. She keeps her nails short and natural and are just as nice as one who spends a fortune on manicures. I, on the other hand, have sadly inherited my mother’s and my grandmother’s hands, though my fingers are much longer (for which I am grateful). I wanted to think the bumps and marks were from years of misuse but alas, they are aflicted with arthritic joints. My index fingers, mostly. Crept up on me unnoticed ’til the day I banged my finger against something hard and shooting pain had me blinking back tears. As if that is not enough, I suffer from Raynaud’s Syndrome which is basically an allergic reaction to the cold.  This, too, has been a slowly creeping thing. If I hold anything cold for too long, I can feel my fingers start tingling and am usually too late to stop it. I end up with a few of my fingers looking like they belong on a cadaver! Two to three fingers per hand are affected so don’t be surprised to see me driving with ski mitts come November. That steering wheel causes me serious grief. And is one of the main reasons I have not opened my own restaurant or worked in a kitchen.  I cut a large piece of cold fish and every few minutes, I needs must run my hands under warm water.

Now, that said, when it comes to male hands, I take special note 🙂 I like a big strong hand with long fingers (nails kept short – and not by chewing, please).  A nice ring with a wide band enhances as well.  Where does this come from?  I cannot say.  Or can I?

My father had wonderful hands. They were exactly as I’ve described above: big, strong, long-fingered, capable… He wore a size 12 on his ring finger!  Even when he was ill and becoming ever more frail his hands still held a certain strength and could engulf mind in his. Those hands could build things yet could be gentle. They were eloquent yet stern.  A finger pointed in your direction when you did wrong was one thing and I got one smack from them that I’ll never forget! And he regretted it the second he did it.

They were always warm and I cannot say how many times he took my hands in his hands and warmed them.  Why, even in the days when we would snowmobile, he would switch mittens with each of us, warming them up and returning them when done. How he managed to squeeze those paws into our children-sized mitts is beyond me, but he did.

If I’m to psychoanalyse myself, I guess there is a comfort in knowing that strong hands mean I will be taken care of.  It’s silly, really. I know plenty of man who were not endowed with large hands but who are strong and very much take care of their significant others. The size of the hand does not measure it’s strength.  But I’ll still

Maybe This no doubt has influenced how I judge men’s hands today. I used to work with a man whom I’d tease every time I got a chance. At a Christmas party I told his wife he had the most beautiful hands ever – she laughed and said “Don’t I know it!” Richard just pshawed us, blushed and walked away, muttering “You ladies are weird.”  We ladies looked at each other and smiled. We knew what we were talking about.

A funny thing happened after Mick passed away. I put his wedding ring next to my father’s. Exactly the same size.  Although his hand was a worker’s hand, strong and big, his fingers were not as long…go figure

Comparing Zeke’s paw to Mick’s hand

 

Keeping me safe