It’s Wednesday and I woke up early. Rather than toss and turn to get sleep that surely wouldn’t come, what better than to write a Friday Fictioneers while having my first cuppa? This was stream of consciousness all the way. Now excuse me whilst I return to my memories… and while I do that, you g’head and click on the frog to add your own 100-word story or read others, if ya like, that is!
Lost in the Box
Hey, Mom! Hello? Earth to Dale, you there?
Sorry! I got lost in the box for a moment there.
Rochelle gave us this prompt this week. A photo by Ted Strutz.
Lame. Besides the cremated remains, that is. Ewww. Could you imagine receiving that in the mail?
Never mind that. When I saw the prompt I knew I had to go find mine.
So? What’s in it?
Old letters and cards.
So. Junk, then.
So. Not. Junk. I just randomly picked up a letter from my late friend Roxanne. My goodness, I was seventeen again. Just like that!
Is it still Wednesday? Why yes, it is. Does it matter? Why no, it doesn’t! It is, however, time for Friday Fictioneers and I needs must thank Rochelle for being such a wonderful hostess and this week, thanks to go Alicia Jamtaas for her wonderful photo. If you want to play along, or simply read other submissions, just click on the frog below!
The Whistle Blows
Fred shuffled to his rocking chair set up on the wrap-around porch and sighed as he settled into it.
The breeze tickled his cheek and he swore carried with it the whistle of the five o’clock train. He was ten and running out to meet it, counting how many freight cars there were. Sometimes the train was so long, he got lost in the numbers. One thing was for sure and certain. The last car was always the caboose and the conductor always leaned out and waved back. Never failed to make him smile.
Who you waving at, Grandpa?…. Grandpa?
Lilian is hosting prosery Monday on dVerse – yeah, yeah, it’s Tuesday. We are to use the phrase: “Reading what I have just written, I now believe”. December, no matter how much I try, gets rather consumed with memories. I figure it’s not worth fighting with them.
It’s December, we reminisce.
In ten days you would have been 57. And three days after that, it’ll be six years since you took your leave. I don’t want to say where does the time go, but, bloody hell, where? Your light shone so damn bright, you’ve left a glow within everyone who met you. I wonder if you ever realised what power you had? Why friends of yours, family of mine, acquaintances met along your path always, ALWAYS bring you up at some point in our “How are you? Great to see you. What’s new?” conversations. We all fell under your spell and miss you.
Lotsa love, Rog
Reading what I have just written, I now believe that it’s okay to allow myself a moment to miss him, that it doesn’t mean I’m stuck in the past and life is still beautiful.
Lisa, over at Tao Talk is hosting (well, started yesterday) dVerse and has challenged us to use abide in a quadrille. So I did! Because, I can’t resist using only 44 words.
There are those memories that
bring a fond smile to your lips
They come, they go, you move on
And then there are those that abide
evoking the exact same feelings
as when you lived it
weaving their way into your present
Couldn’t decide on which pic so put both!
De from Whimsygizmo is hosting dVerse (okay, it was yesterday and I’m late!) and has told us the sky is the limit for this week’s quadrille. Now, many of you know I’m partial to clouds and sky so choosing just one photo from my rather large collection was difficult. And probably the reason I couldn’t focus on what to write! Na’ama assured me the sky was not falling (she checked) and that I could always post today. Seems she was right, so here I am, after all!
Thoughts and memories
stretch like clouds across the blue sky
Try as you might
to hang on to them
(the good ones)
some will dissipate
gone forever, leaving no trace
Others refuse to let go;
remain part of your story
Would you look at that! This week’s Friday Fictioneers is a repeat and actually one that I participated in back on April 10, 2015. I thought that I would not play but a new thought popped in my head and here I am. Thank you, Miss Vacationer, Rochelle, for hosting this party even while you are playing on the beach. If you are so inspired, click on the frog below and add your own 100-word story!
Sitting on my porch, I watch the freight train pass by at top speed. Time that went so slow as I was living it has now blurred into a speed impossible.
Between each boxcar, a scene from my life flashes, proving a lifetime of memories is but a blip on the whole. Playing tag in the park, necking in the backseat of a car, celebrations of weddings, births and deaths of loved ones; each memory is given the same allotment in time.
More cars are ahead than are behind now, and I realise that it is so, too, for me.
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
‘Til I drive home, alone
Lost for a little while
It’s a glorious Wednesday out there, I’m not working and I’m on slo-mo. Zeke is not pleased with me so before he decides I am no longer his buddy, I better send this out into the ether, grab his leash and get a move on before the sun disappears! Thanks always to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party and thank you to Ted Strutz for sending most of us down memory lane. (I assume, which is not smart, but I never claimed to be.)
Click me! Click me!
I’ve since gone digital, but I still prefer the old pictures. In all their glorious mess. You know what I mean, don’t you?
Most of us have them. Boxes of old photographs. I have Dad’s, with so few pictures of him as a kid. My aunt has my grandmother’s. Mom has “gifted’ me with hers, as she wants me to scan each one into digital form ~ I must start before it’s too late. And I have my own. Filled with memories, still to be sorted.
In all those boxes, dates and names are a scarcity.
And this is what’s left.
Good Wednesday morning my readers! You know what day it is? Yep… hump day AND Friday Fictioneers day! Today’s photo of a synagogue reminded me of my dad and his many stories of growing up in Montreal. Thank you, Rochelle, for keeping this challenge interesting week after week. And thank you Roger Bultot for allowing us to use your photo.
To join in the fun, click the blue frog below. Not sure how? Click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs. Fun and teaches you to use your words sparingly!
Stories My Father Told Me
Dad always said he was a “goyim mit a Yiddishe kopf” (sic).¹ Grew up in the same ‘hood as Mordecai Richler, and considered himself a real Duddy Kravitz. Loved to talk about “Shtunks”² — real name, Stringer — owners of the general store that he and his buddies used to torment in their youth. He sure respected the tattoo on their arms, though. Was so pleased to introduce me to Mrs. Stringer before she passed. “Such a bad boy was your father!” she scolded and laughed. We finished our tour with a Wilensky Special.
Why did I not write these stories down?
¹Men with a Jewish head (goy would be singular 😉 )