Weekend Writing Prompt #92 – Woolgathering

Can’t resist these prompts, especially when the word count is under 50.  Thank you, Sammi, for challenging us weekly.  The spelling can be with or sans hyphen so, choose that which you prefer!

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

Wool-Gathering

Challenge

Woolgathering again, they accused

Wasting time, lost in daydreams

Didn’t they know?

Some of the greatest minds

Created masterpieces during their reveries

Jung, Kerouac, Dali, Nolan

Science, literature, art, theatre

Creativity’s muse

Takes many forms

Limitless

I Wanna Sleep With You in the Desert Tonight – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday, my Peeps!  It is time for this week’s episode of Friday Fictioneers.  I looked at this pic and many ideas floated around but none truly tickled me fancy.  So I asked my buddy Marc, over at Sorryless, his thoughts on this pic and he said, “Lotta ways to go with that one.” and I responded with “Gimme an idea or three”.  He responded:  “You got your Native American angle, of course. In which you go all Rochelle and add some history to the story. You got your Eagles (the band) angle”.  Oooooh.  I was sold.  Thank you, Marc!  And, of course, thank you to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party.  And thank you to Renee Heath for the use of her pretty picture.

©Renee Heath

 

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I Wanna Sleep With You in the Desert Tonight

“Whaddaya say, Carol, wanna spend the night in the desert?  You, me, a fire, the stars…”

“And whatever other beasties creep and crawl out there, just waiting to eat us up..”

“Nothing to worry about.  I’ll protect you.  Plus, I’ll bring a nice sturdy tent for when we wanna, yanno, go inside.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

Laughing, “Protect me?  Mr. Daryl, aka Bear Grylls?  Where did this crazy idea come from, anyway?”

“Don’t you think it would be romantic?”

“I do like the idea of the stars, you and me…  What inspired you?”

“That song by “The Eagles”…

From Dreams to Clutter

Earlier this afternoon, I was reading the lovely Na’ama Yehuda’s Tea Time poem which gave me the urge to make myself a cup of tea.  English Breakfast, to be precise.  The image she used to accompany her poem was taken by her niece, Smadar Halperin-Epshtein, and looks like part of a store specializing in tea paraphernalia, or at the very least all sorts of kitchen stuff.  My comment to her post was:

“If I could, I would include a picture of MY teapot collection.  And now, for some strange reason, I felt the need to plug in the kettle 😉”

I actually tried to insert a picture into my comment but knew it was for naught.  I told her I’d just have to do a post so she could see!  And well, dang it, here it is 😉

I wiped off the dust (what’s visible anyway) and took this picture.  I do have a couple more in my “store” as we call my sort of cold room, notably a Santa Claus…

I stared at my collection and reminisced about why I have so many teapots in the first place.  No, no, no, I was just collecting, like those who do spoons or plates from all over the world.  I once had a plan. These teapots would be put to use in my eventual tea house.  Family members, especially my sister, Lisa, started giving me them as gifts.  I don’t remember ever telling them to stop but eventually it became clear that they were just going to sit there.

Why, you ask?  Life got in the way.  First came the house, then the kids, then, when I started talking about starting my catering business, Mick announced he was going to leave his job and start his own business.  We couldn’t both take risks at the same time.  I believed in him and completely supported him all the way – his was a more lucrative business that could actually pay the bills rather than mine, which was an “unrealistic pipe dream”, anyway.  So I put mine aside.  And worked in offices as secretary/administrative assistant/supervisor, blah blah blah.  They can give it the title they want but it’s all the same difference.  I was good at it and paid decently so it lessened his stress.

Within a few years, Mick’s business was doing really well and I wanted to leave my abominable boss and boring-to-tears job and focus on my potential catering.  He balked.  I gave in.  Till I got myself liberated 😏.  Yessiree.  I made sure I was liberated.  Which was smart in the end, as I had a contract and they had to pay me five months’ salary.  I had done catering jobs here and there plus personalized birthday cakes, over the previous twenty years, but now I could focus on getting more contracts.  I started making meals for busy families.  I started working on my website (forget it, it’s shite, right now), I did corporate lunches here and there.  That dream was still in the back of my mind but growing dimmer.

And then Mick died.  And everything changed.  I still did meals for about a year after but that was just not lucrative enough.  I got offered the job at the golf club and slowly stopped catering.  The idea of owning my own little tea house has gone to the wayside.  I’m too old for that type of business now.  No, don’t argue.  I am at the stage in my life where I don’t want to be stuck to such a business.  And I don’t want to look into a partnership either as that brings its own headaches.

My house is for sale.  I want to downsize.  I want to travel, breathe, live.  I will find something else that will permit me to do just that.

Those teapots?  They are now officially clutter and need to be “Kon-maried”.

Ironically, as I was writing this post, Na’ama wrote another poem that arrived in my in-box bearing a message that spoke to me, effectively book-ending my little musing.  Do go read it, it is absolutely lovely, it ends with these words:

“You’ll find the path

To follow when you

Wake.”

— Na’ama Yehuda

Weekend Writing Prompt #91 – Helter-Skelter

I was in such a rush to publish, I forgot my preamble!!  Thank you, Sammi Cox for hosting this weekly challenge!

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

Helter-Skelter

Challenge

There are those who like their days organised, scheduled down to the last minute, no surprises.

Others like to fly by the seat of their pants, helter-skelter style, loathing regiment of any sort.

While I have my structured moments, I’m also a carpe diem woman.  What does that mean?  After my appointments on Friday, I received a text from my friend, Linda:  “OK. You, me at Industria in an hour.”

I looked at the time of the text, saw I had a half-hour to change and join her.  It was unexpectedly crowded.  Why?  Unbeknownst to us, it was “Singles Night”.

What did that mean for us?  Dinner, conversation, and a show!!

Morning and the Sun is Just Rising

I am awakened earlier than I want to.  It’s 6:45.  Zeke waited until Iain left for work to need to go out.  I get up, go downstairs and let him out.  On my way up, I see Aidan is awake, say good morning. I get a mumbled “good morning” back.  Excellent.  I return to my still warm bed, tuck and roll and snuggle.  And wait for sleep to come. But one ear is open, listening.  Will Aidan let Zeke back in?  I look at the time.  It is 7:10.  No such luck.  He gets up, dresses and leaves the house as he has an 8:00 class and will probably be late.  He doesn’t even grab a banana-chocolate muffin, made just last night.  There is no way I will be able to fall asleep now and on cue, less than fifteen minutes later,  Zeke is scratching at the door.  I take that as my sign to get up, open the curtains and start my day.

Plug in the kettle, measure out my coffee for my one-cup Melitta and turn on the computer.  Get a joke from Tracy who is back at work after a three-week African trip with her daughter.  She asks what the hell I am doing up so early when I don’t have to.  I fill her in on my crappy night:  asleep by 11:30, awakened at 1:30 by, who knows what, still not sleeping by 2 so I take a little aid and am back asleep by 2:30-ish and then the rest.  To which I get a sympathetic “Ugh. Sleep is overrated” response.  Smiling, I take my now-ready coffee into my office and check my emails, respond to comments, read blog posts while observing the goings on outside.

I can understand Mick’s joy at sitting at this same desk every morning.  He loved watching the neighbours getting ready to leave for work, or running for the bus, walking their dogs.  It was one-thousand fold better than his office in our old house, which was in the basement, a small window above his head, facing the backyard but under the balcony.  In an attempt to get more light, he ripped out the trellis that had been installed to keep out critters.  It was a depressing place to work for sure, and one of the main reasons we moved.  That, and my request that he build a second bathroom.  That was it!  The For Sale sign went up.  He was done with the renovations!

Hands wrapped around my cup for warmth, I watched my neighbours across the street.  The garage door was open and I could see the Toyota SUV was parked inside (so hubby took public transport to work).  The Audi was parked outside and running to warm it up and I watched the young daughter get into it.  Meanwhile her brother remained outside throwing snow chunks into the street.  Mom shuffled her way gingerly to the open garage door to collect salt to spread around.  Yesterday’s rain has made all of our walkways, driveways and streets dangerous ice rinks.  And not the smooth sort, either.  The previous dump of snow left bumps and ridges and ankle-breaking crevasses.  She sprinkles the salt in the necessary places and slip-slid her way back to her son.  Breaking off chunks of snow with her boot, she supplied him with more “snowballs” to throw.  She then grabbed him in a big hug, planting a kiss on the top of his head.  So sweet.

Just then the school “bus” (Dodge Grand Caravan) arrived and, with another hug, mom let him climb in, chit chatted with the driver a minute or so and, as soon as the minivan left, got into her car to drive the daughter to her school.  I now wonder why both kids are in different schools when they are so close in elementary school age… Inquiring minds want to know.  Our neighbourly relationship goes no further than:  “Hello, how’s it going?” so I’ll never know…

 

A Way Out – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday morning, my Readers!  Yep, it is snowing again.  The upside is, it is only -9°C (16°F), with barely a windchill of -11°C (12°F) – positively balmy compared to the past few days!  AmIright?  To keep us warm – those of us “enjoying” winter, how’s about a little story?  A thank you must go out to Rochelle for keeping this show going for nigh on seven years now, and to Ted Strutz, for sharing this wonderful photo.

Do join in on the fun why don’t ya!  Click on the blue frog below to add your link to your 100-word story.  G’head.  It’s fun!

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A Way Out

After days of walking in the woods, creating shelters out of twigs and leaves, Georgie was thrilled to see the old car.

“Hey, Fred! Looks like we found tonight’s shelter!”

“Yeah, well, I dunno.  If the windows are intact, it will be great, if not, we’ll be no better off than we’ve been so far.”

“Spoilsport.  Cushions for our poor hips!”

“Gotta hand it to you, Georgie; you are the most positive person I know.”

“You want positive?  How ’bout this?  Tomorrow, you MacGyver it and we get the hell outta here!”

“There’s positive, and there’s dreaming in Technicolor, Babe.”

Making the Best of It

There are those days when you want to throw your hands in the air and just say Fuck it!  Yesterday was one of those days.

As I prepared for my “date”, the skies were beautiful and so full of promise…

Why I don’t listen to my gut, is beyond me.  Must be that little naive bit of me that I refuse to let die.  Or maybe it’s the optimist that once and again shoves the realist out of the way because maybe, just maybe, you’ve got to give it a shot.

Well phooey! Gave it a shot.  Wasted my time.  Most of that time was spent idling in the insufferable traffic jam that is the island of Montreal.  For what?  To clean off my car in this sub-zero, digit-stealing, toe-numbing, nostril-freezing friggen blast of arctic cold we are going through this past week.  To thaw out in said car, heaters blasting, nose now running, fingers and toes now tingling, to sit through one log-jam to get onto the highway, to pass those who cannot seem to follow the speed-limit, to cross the bridge, then slow to a crawl to get to another highway, only to be redirected, to finally realise this has all been for naught.  To decide then and there to say Fuck It and to get off at my first chance.  (All this “Fuck It Attitude I am blaming on Grace and Frankie – gotta love this trailer, totally uncensored, by the way.)

To decide that this will not be a total waste of my time as I turn around and make my way to the Montreal Forum Cineplex and park inside where is is snow-free and warm. (Because really?  I am NOT gonna putz around looking for parking on the still-uncleaned streets from our latest dump of snow, only to actually find one and then have a snowplow (miraculously) completely box me in so that I now need to shovel to get out, after I have frozen my ass walking from the cinema).

Notre-Dame Street (Shhh… there was no one behind me and I stopped and snapped but still managed to have a blurry pic)

Driving up St. Marc Street, on my way to the Forum, I am struck by a beautiful mural (this is your fault, Resa McConaghy!) and wish I can pull over so I can take a proper picture but this street looks pretty much like the one above, plus I have someone right behind me.  Thankfully, I am stopped at a light and can open my window, brave the cold, and snap a quick pic.  I will definitely have to return to take some better shots without the bloody parking signs and do Resa proud 😉  I have to admit I’m surprised at just how nice and bright this did turn out.

I walk up to the main level of the forum, re-bundle up so I can then cross the street outside because, why is this the one non-underground connecting section of Montreal?  Fucks sake.  Or is there one and now I am even more of an eejit for not knowing it?  Goddamn! It’s cold.  The wind rendering my face instantly numb, I wait inside for the light to turn green, then hurriedly make my way to Roasters, a little BBQ Grill & Bar, because at this point, I’m gonna have me a Rickard’s Red with something decent to eat.  I have over half an hour before my movie starts and I am NOT having an A&W or McDonald’s burger after having wasted an hour and half to get here.

I am more than pleasantly surprised by my chicken wrap.

With almost ten minutes to spare, I re-bundled up just to cross the street.  I swear, this is not a day to leave your coat open and dash…  Upon Merril‘s recommendation, I purchased my ticket for “Cold War”, a beautiful 89-minute black and white escape into another world.

The movie is sent during the cold war in Poland, Wiktor and Irena are driving through Poland, recording various people singing old folk tunes.  They then want to create a choral ensemble to tour.  During these auditions, Zula appears.  Wiktor sees something in her and decides to accept her into the troupe.  They fall in love and so begins a most difficult relationship.  Can people be too in love with each other?  They go from bliss to separation, back together and apart.  Between all of these comings and goings is beautiful music and gorgeous cinematography.

I probably shouldn’t share this particular video with you but I really, REALLY wanted to share the whole choir singing “Two Hearts” because it is heart-breakingly beautiful.

Feeling warm and happy that my evening turned around, I got into my car and made my way home.  Of course the tunnel leading to the Jacques-Cartier bridge was closed.  Sigh.  Slowly forced to take an exit which is, of course, very slow going, and once I get up the hill, the bridge is not lit up in green or purple or whatever, as per usual.  I fear it might be closed I might be taking the long drive along Notre-Dame to the tunnel to get home but no.  Miracles of miracles, it was just a section of the tunnel being worked on which caused the redirect.  Through the thick snow I drive, across the bridge, onto properly moving traffic on the highway and back home before 10 pm.

I wash off my face, change into jammies, pour myself a glass of wine and I catch up on my blog readings.

That’s definitely what I call making the best of it.