Photo Challenge #393 – Sitting by the Window

It’s what she did most days. Sit by the window.

Outside the sun shone or it rained, didn’t matter much to her, as she liked to watch. Life was happening out there. Birds fluttered about, sang loudly in the mornings, and on some cloudy evenings, she’d hear the frogs croaking suggesting there was rain on the way.

Last week the grandkids came round and she watched them playing in the yard while her daughter complained about her husband. ‘Why did she stay with him when he made her life a misery?’

She was disappointed when they went home, not for her daughter but for the grandkids. The youthful exuberance of them invaded her and she remembered playing in the yard just like them, with her brother and sister.

Where did all that go?

Now she was confined to a room, thank goodness for the window and her memories.

Tomorrow was Friday and the shower nurse would round early, to help her shower, change the bed, and most importantly share a cuppa with her.

Life was so much routine nowadays. Her life was ordered. She didn’t go much for the health nurse who came in the check her legs and spent the whole time giving advice as to what she should be doing, how often and when. The woman was always too busy to have a cuppa, in and out, as quick as she could. She had no heart, just doing a job.

Spring brought out the blossoms on the apple tree in the yard. Mr Parkinson came round every few weeks to mow and prune the shrubs, which meant her yard; looked okay much of the time and that pleased her. Gave the grandkids a tidy place in which to play.

Looking out she remembered when it snowed; the blossoms took a sheen she’d never seen before. It had only happened once.

She sighed recalling that magic day. They said it was climate change.

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #160 – The Way Home

“Do you know the way?” she asked?

“It’s the same way as every other time,” I replied trying not to get frustrated. I was asked this question every time we got to the crossroad.

“I’m never sure, I feel as though I should know but my mind is a fog and I’m unsure of which way to go.”

“Take my hand and trust me that I know the way,” I said taking her wrinkled old hand in mine.

“I’m glad you are here, I feel safe with you.”

“It’s all okay, just a few more steps and we’ll be home.”

“Home? We’re home? But what about the shopping, we were supposed to go to the shops. There’s things I need to buy, soap, wash-up, pegs.”

“They’re in the bag you’re carrying.”

“Oh! They are? You’re such a help. Where would I be without you?”

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Reena’s Xploration Challenge #209 – Not Enough Tabs.

My brain has too many tabs open.

I like this topic for no other reason than what if the opposite applied, in that, I didn’t have enough tabs open?

I don’t think I have overload, more so it’s underload for me.

I think it’s always been that way for me, look for the easiest way to solve a problem rather than spend hours trying to nut it out.

Somehow or other I have managed to get myself through life, fumbling my way along, more often than not conning people into believing I know what I am doing.

Right from the word go I recall my teachers telling me I was lazy. That I had to make a bigger effort, apply myself to the tasks given but what they didn’t know was that for the most part, I was working to my capacity, as inquisitive as I was, there were limitations as to what I could achieve and so in many ways, I suffered through childhood weighed down by expectation.

We didn’t know about tabs in those days, when you didn’t live up to it then you were thought of as not having a go, in other words, bone lazy.

So my brain has worked on minimal tabs open at any one time, I mean why overtax it when it’s limited anyway.

And so I have come to this stage in life where I am happy with an inquiring mind, I can make my own decision as to what to do, what to believe and what to say.

If I opened too many tabs then I know my brain would hurt and I wouldn’t want that.

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #159 – The Long and Difficult Path.

It has been getting worse. My aged companion Crisp is not herself these days. It seems like a long straight path we are going on from which there is no reprieve, no designated rest stops and so we keep going on.

We trudge, through each day taking what lands in our way, deciding to challenge it or simply step past.

Its difficult for her as she knows there is something not right but whether it’s denial or her stubbornness she seems relentless in pressing on.

It means at times she is a cranky old cow, as I tell her when I’m feeling exasperated, other times she can be her normal self but then something triggers her and the fires of hell rush through her and shower me with accusation and blame I never knew she was capable of.

Always on settling down she is remorseful, “Did I say that? Doesn’t sound like me at all?”

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#Writephoto – Shopping

Off I go list in hand, I’ve checked it twice, underlined the really important items and still I know there is something I have forgotten.

That’s how it is.

You get into the shop and there is so much that greets your eye. We are spoiled I tell myself as I wander through the fruit and veg, so many varieties, so much choice but I put it down to a necessary evil.

We have to eat, we like to be clothed in what we think is acceptable and what makes us look our best.

I know I have become somewhat institutionalised to wandering the aisles each Saturday morning picking up the things we need for the next week.

When Covid restrictions were in place I tried home delivery and click and collect. But it just wasn’t the same as meandering around the shop looking at stuff you either would never buy or at stuff for your own health you’d never put in your trolley.

I think in the end I preferred to risk it during Covid, mask on, phone at the ready to use the QR code, hand sanitiser and off I’d go.

Going to the shop in person meant there was always the possibility of finding bargain you’d miss if you weren’t there.

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #158 – The Seat of All Wisdom

“It’s the seat of all wisdom.”

“Are you sure?”

“You know I am always right. Just look at it. Many a bottom has perched upon it and many a splinter has inserted itself in said bottom. That act alone is the source of wisdom, is it not?”

“It’s a painful way to acquire wisdom.”

“That is the point, wisdom comes from experience. A splinter in the bottom is enough to remind you the next time you sit on such a seat that a splinter could be a stinging outcome. So you are now wise to the fact and circumspect when you contemplate sitting on one such seat.”

“I’d still like one. It would look good in the garden. All that ornate carving and what have you.”

“Isn’t it enough that you hate splinters and that I would delight in extracting one from your sorry bottom?”

“Yes, good point.”

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Photo Challenge #391 – Spirals

My life has been a series of spirals.

In the beginning, it was full of promise,

The whole world was there for the taking.

As I look back I wish I had taken more of it.

I lived in a small community,

My town was my life.

Very little interest happened outside of it.

In fact, the outside world was more held in fear than awe.

As a result, my life went in circles. Around I went oblivious to the fact that’s what I was doing, never noticing it was my tail I was chasing.

In between childhood and adolescence, I gravitated in a dream world where so much of what I took in was a mystery.

In my teenage years, I began to fanaticise, mostly about girls whom I found puzzling and so far above me as human beings, not subject to the same urgings of the flesh.

Later in life I discovered they were subject to urgings of the flesh, just different ones to me.

After school I went back home. Lived with mum and dad until forced out by employment in a distant town.

Employment took me to places new and situations different.

But eventually, it was back home I went.

Aging parents, sudden deaths, growing children, and so I was once again back where I started.

Then marriage became unbearable so to my family home I went. And stayed.

It’s odd when you think of life in such a way. You stumble from one dream to another but each one is rooted in one spot.

The spirals are shrinking,


Soon there will be little wiggle room, you might say.

But I’m still fascinated when I reach the apex of each spiral as to where it might plunge me to next.

It’s about learning, isn’t it?

Like writing this little piece!

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #157 – The Fence.

It was hard to believe that there was danger beyond the fence. But there was.

People crossed over and didn’t return. Vanished. Gone.

It became a shunned place.

A place where after consuming enough beers you dared each other to go beyond the broken fence.

The fence itself was a warning. Bent and broken from the fury of families who had lost loved ones.

We sent a drone over the fence, high above filming the area.

There was nothing but bush and scrub, but on occasion articles of clothing could be seen hanging from branches. That was small compensation for the families.

More so was the feeling that as the drone circled it was being watched and even worse was the feeling that as we watched, whatever was down there was watching us.

We took a collective breath of air and decided to leave well enough alone, for now.

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Tale Weaver – Mistake

I once heard that mistakes were what made the world go round.

 I don’t I was one; at least I don’t recall my mother telling me that I was.

It wasn’t until I became a father that I began to understand and appreciate what I had.

There were moments, usually at 2am on a work night when walking the floor that I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I could certainly say that none of my children were mistakes, as such. Rather when asked why I had so many my cheeky response was to say, “Well they just kept turning up and I didn’t have the heart to turn them away.”

I would say there were times when I was upset that some came too close to the previous one. That was definitely a challenge. I felt I’d just sorted out number 2 when number three burst into the world and it felt like I was starting all over again. Initially that was frustrating and I recall a feeling of resentment about the arrival of a third child as we drove to the hospital to give birth.

But as with every baby, suddenly there is a tiny living person in your arms, and you look down to see her looking into you eyes and instantly you fall in love with her. It was like she sensed that I was apprehensive about her birth and was assuring me that everything was going to be ok.

As it turned out, compared to her older brother, she was a dream of a child.

I would never use the word mistake in reference to my children, ‘inconvenience’ was more my call. Only because each child put a strain on our financial situation. Basically we were permanently poor, and when we did buy a house, big enough to house them, we lived with a mortgage that seemed to increase rather than decrease.

Then as a parent I made more than my fair share of mistakes. In my day, like with most new parents, I thought I knew everything. There were no books to read on parenting, our role models were our parents and they made mistakes with us. We plodded along, reacting more often than not.

Later when they became teenagers and developed intelligence far out reaching my own, so they thought, they made mistakes, and hopefully learnt from those mistakes.

Somehow or other, despite all the mistakes, so clearly seen in hindsight, we have all turned into reasonable people, we still talk with each other, our past mistakes forgotten, forgiven or put down as ‘He didn’t know any better.”

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Reena’s Xploration Challenge #205

Do I believe in ghosts?”

There was an odd sensation in the middle of the night.

I thought there was someone hovering over me.

Don’t be silly I thought, there’s no one there.

One night I heard the sound of footsteps across the lounge room.

My son I thought on his way to the bathroom.

He said he didn’t go that night.

I noted the time, 3am.

I heard it again another night.

My house is old; it creaks and groans as the weather changes.

It’s been here a long time.

I think of the people who lived here, grandparents, parents, a cousins and friends.

My daughter stayed here one time, says she saw an old lady at the end of her bed,

Long white hair, a flowing white bed dress.

She told my dad, asked him to tell her to go away.

I think for the most part the spirits who live her are content.

They don’t complain, rattle chains, moan or get in my way.

We exist side by side, each to his own.

I’m reminded of the line I once read,

“The dead are with us, they just exist in another room.”

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