Tale Weaver – #277 – Reading – 28th May

Posted on May 28, 2020 by Michael
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As Grandad aged it became obvious to us that his love of reading was beginning to fade.

It wasn’t he grew sick of reading but rather his eyesight was not getting any better and he struggled to stay awake when he tried to read.

He’d often be found sitting in his chair, a book on his chest, his eyes shut and a gentle snore would emit from his lips.

All his life he had been an avid reader, he had beside his bed a bookcase in which he stored the new books he’d purchase on line. He said he liked to know he had new novels to select from, and in fact it was the choice of novel he liked best.

Sometimes it would be crime fiction, sometimes some historic fiction he even delved into the occasional romantic account of some person’s life, as he’d say variety is the spice of life.

The source of many of the books he read was what he read on the senior’s book club sites. I’d pick up a new book and look at the cover and if he was watching he’d tell me he’d read several good reviews so was looking forward to finding out why it was so well recommended.

I knew he was struggling and so I offered to go to the library and find out about their audio book collection.

He wasn’t all that keen I have to say and I could tell it was because he liked the feel of a book in his hands and he knew he could just as easily drift off to sleep listening as he could reading.

I took to reading him the paper each day I visited; he liked to keep up to date with the goings on in the world. He had a great social conscious and was very interested in the political side of life.

The audio books he took to better than I anticipated and he’d be waiting for me to return from the library with what new text I was able to borrow. He had me scouring the Internet for them as well and before long had a subscription to several podcast sites. He actually loved the podcasts as they might be only an hour in length and he usually had something to say in support of a topic or was incensed by some ‘crackpot’ as he called them.

By the time he died he was all but blind and his source of information was via his ears. He accepted his fate as he knew his love of language and words could be maintained not just through his eyes but also from listening.

“Who ever would have thought I could be reading through my ears,” he would joke to me as he’d slip on his new headphones and settle back into his chair.

Written for:https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/05/28/tale-weaver-277-reading-28th-may/

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Photo Challenge #317 – Joan’s Grandad

Posted on May 26, 2020 by Michael

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Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

When Joan was little she knew she loved her Grandad. She also knew he loved her.

He had a habit of showing up at her place carrying a shopping bag within which he hid something sweet and something educational.

“Eccentric” is the word Granny used to describe him. “What’s he done this time?” she’d ask when Joan mentioned Grandad had been over to visit.

Grandad felt you were never too young or too old to learn and never too old to enjoy a lolly.

Joan’s mother was Grandad’s daughter, and was forever going on about him spoiling his granddaughter by giving her lollies when she was doing her best to feed Joan a healthy diet which didn’t include sugar in large amounts.

“You’re only young once,” he’d say as he slipped a jellybean into his mouth.

“Your blood sugars must be astronomically high,” remarked his daughter.

“Perfect,” he’d say, “my GP says I’m the fittest sixty-year-old he knows.”

Joan loved listening to Grandad’s stories, which were usually about fantastic things he said, lived in his garden. Joan soaked it all up and wandered about Grandad’s garden when she visited looking for the fairies he said lived in various parts of his yard.

She arrived one day not long before Christmas to find both Granny and Grandad in the kitchen, huge pots and pans on the stove and Granny shouting orders at him.

“It’s Granny’s witching time of the year,” he said to Joan as she stood mouth agape watching the frantic goings-on.

“Best stand back,” he said, “ Granny uses a lot of ‘double double toil and trouble’ at this time of year. Get too close and you might end up in the mix and we wouldn’t want that.”

So Joan stood back as Granny mixed the heavy dough and poured it into cloth bags, which she suspended over huge boiling vats on the stove. “Keep your eye on the water levels,” she barked at Grandad who winked at Joan and lifted her up to see the bags of dough floating in the vats.

“I’ve got to keep the water at a height just above the top of the bag or the mix will dry out and not cook properly. It’s an important job, so I’m glad you’re here to help keep an eye on them,” he said sounding very serious.

So Joan knowing her Grandad was serious watched the water levels as the vats bubbled away, telling Grandad the water needed topping up from time to time.

“She’s a powerful witch,” said Grandad to Joan, “she can turn a bag of flour into the most delicious cake and pudding, just watch what happens.”

“Don’t take any notice of the silly old fool,” said Granny, “I’m making Christmas cake and puddings is all. We do it each year and every time your Grandad makes up these wild stories about me being a witch.”

“She’s magical,” said Grandad lifting Joan up to see the puddings bubbling away.

Joan giggled with delight as Grandad and Granny set her down at the table later when the cooking was done. Granny had made a batch of scones and cutting one in half covered it with jam and cream, the perfect morning tea in Joan’s eyes.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/05/26/photo-challenge-317/

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What do you see # 31 -25 May 2020 – A Dark and Foggy Night.

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Michael

“There’s a light, over at the Frankenstein place” funny how I thought that as I trudged up the path towards the old house seeking help in the middle of the night.

It sucks breaking down on a country road miles from anywhere.

The fog had come in making the scene far more eerie than it probably should have been but I’d seen the Rocky Horror Show many times and the song just came to my mind.

There was no light over the front door; the room above the door was where the light shone.

I knocked feeling bad I was probably awakening someone and realising they would be as anxious about answering the door at this late hour.

The door was opened by a small-wizened lady carrying a lantern. She looked at me as I explained my situation and asked if I could use her phone, as I had no reception on my mobile.

“Oh course dear,” she said, “come through I was just mixing up a brew for the morning.”

It was then I became aware of the aroma within the house.  Wouldn’t say it was pungent but it was pretty close to being so.

“I’ll put the kettle on while you call, its cold out and you need a bit of a warming up,” she said shuffling down a dark corridor and out of sight.

I put in my call and organised help and put down the receiver. She was then back beside me, a cuppa in one hand a chocolate biscuit in the other. I was grateful for the hot coffee and more grateful for the biscuit.

My head began to swim, I felt unsteady and in the back of my mind the Eagles “Hotel California” was playing:

“You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/05/25/what-do-you-see-31-25may-2020/

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Thursday photo prompt: Painted #writephoto – Crossing the Bridge.

Posted on May 24, 2020 by Michael

Mum had always said not to go beyond the bridge.

Walk anywhere we wanted but don’t cross the bridge.

When we asked her why she’d say there were something’s better not known and certainly not explained.

So we grew up with that thought, and that mystery.

Years later I did venture across the bridge and on the other side was pretty much the some as was on the side I’d come from.

There was a difference, a subtle difference. Where the landscape on our side was flat across the bridge the landscape sloped down, and the further you went the steeper it got until eventually you realised if you kept going there would be no way back as the terrain grew more and more impassable.

It was nightmarish, as I soon found myself clinging to the sides to stop myself sliding uncontrollably into some abyss I was growing more and more terrified of.

Eventually there was a flat section where I could rest and a sign asking if I wanted to go on or return to the top. It was like a last change situation.

I decided to go back, it was a slow climb, treacherous, but not as long as I initially imagined.

Back at the bridge I now understood mum’s warning.

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2020/05/21/thursday-photo-prompt-painted-writephoto/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Uncontrollable Nonsense”

Posted on May 24, 2020 by Michael

It all came as such a surprise when he was notified that he had won. What was remarkable was he couldn’t remember entering the contest. He looked it up.

“Write your thoughts on the notion that most creative thought is really dressed up nonsense.”

He knew the topic was one close to his heart, after all most of his life he lived in a bubble as far from reality as he could manage and he’d been told on more than one occasion that his writing was little more than creative nonsense.

After all who in their right mind mind would write an entire novel, five hundred pages, centred around a man and a bath towel. But he had, he found his mind going there day in and day out. The towel took on a life of its own and he become obsessed with it giving it characterisations he knew it clearly didn’t deserve.

But here it was, a prize winner and wondered what that meant.

Another letter arrived congratulating him and offering to buy the rights to his novel in order to turn it into a movie. He initially thought it was the silliest of ideas, how could you sustain a film about a man and a towel and retain any sort of credility?

A week later and three days out from the presentation ceremony at the Opera House he received another letter from the film company with ideas and plans for a range of merchandise. This of course included a range of towels with smily faces similar to the one mentioned in the novel.

He had planned to ignore the film idea, he knew what he had written, and yes he began to agree his novel was well written but that didn’t elevate it to anything note worthy in his eyes, as far as he was concerned nonsense was nonsense and he’d passed off his novel as something more than nonsense and in his opinion that made the whole notion of an award even more ludicrous.

He received a call from the presentation people outlining the presentation and suggesting what he might wear, black tie was apparently the way to go, as the presentation, in the Opera House was considered a big deal and according to the caller there was a huge expectation from the committee for him to attend and say something pithy during the award ceremony.

He went back over his notes to see if and when he must have submitted the text to the contest. In the back of his mind he thought Mavis his cleaner who was always rooting around on his desk under the guise of cleaning and dusting may have taken matters into her own hands as she had stepped beyond her role on more that one occasion. He liked Mavis, she cleaned his house each Wednesday, she was eccentric and he liked her for that. If it was Mavis who sent in his novel would she expect a part of the reward as it was her initiative that resulted in his being recognised.

But Mavis, duster in hand, denied all knowledge of doing anything other than cleaning his house.

He sat a pondered his situation as the novel had now taken on an air of ‘uncontrollable nonsense’.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/05/24/sunday-writing-prompt-uncontrollable-nonsense/

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Tale Weaver – #276 – Books -21st May

Posted on May 21, 2020 by Michael

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He was surrounded by books of every type. Waiting patiently for him to finish one then select his next foray into escapism.

That’s the beauty of books, there doesn’t seem to be any end of them, and each one the product of a talent far greater than his own.

He read with great passion, exploring worlds separate from his own, marvelling at the imagination of authors who took him into the minds of criminals, to people living in towns or cities and coping with the everyday turmoil of life.

There didn’t seem to be a topic that wasn’t explored in one way or another. The loneliness of people, the violence of domestic situations which sometimes ended in a pleasing resolution and sometimes the writer allowed him to travel over a cliff and see the utter futility of the actions of one over another.

He was particularly drawn to local authors for no other reason than feeling he wanted to support local writers who were going about the business of providing him with entertainment. Apart from that many were excellent writers and he would have loved to write a book of his own, but he had come to understand he had the attention span of a goldfish meaning he could only concentrate of a topic for a limited amount of time before his mind wandered to something else and he grew tired of the topic he was at that time writing. Five hundred words and he was done though there had been times when he’d explored a subject for longer than he might normally do so.

As he aged, he grew content to read the works of others and let his own writing reflect their writing, after all, playing with words was in his mind such a fun thing to do. He wasn’t into copying the writings he read but rather to see if he could adopt one or two of their methods into his own writing. He’d certainly done it with some characters he repeatedly wrote, and that was fun.

So he looked over at his growing library and wondered which of the growing list of unread volumes he might be drawn to next.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/05/21/tale-weaver-276-books-21st-may/

 

 

 

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Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #66 – Arthur Durgs.

Posted on May 20, 2020 by Michael

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Each morning when Arthur Durgs rose from his bed, his first thought was what he might write about that day. He marvelled at the word processor he now possessed thanks to the generosity of his son Paul.

Now that he was confined to the nursing home and the threat of contracting the virus hung over his head he knew his days to write might well be limited as he’d seen so many of his fellow nursing home companions go down to the virus which once it took hold of you seemed to delight in bringing about your demise.

Like so many of his age, he liked his routines, and upon rising and completing his ablutions, he dressed in his suit with his favourite tie and began by going over the previous days writing. He normally had a good fifteen minutes for revision before the nurses would come to take him to breakfast.

He been working on a tale for his grandson, Cyrus, as the boy was a lively fellow and when he came to visit would give his parents merry hell as he raced around Arthur’s room and so Arthur had engaged him in the writing of a tale the boy was contributing to. So far there were apples, dinosaurs and a frog, which Arthur was trying to spin into some sort of tale. But he saw it as a challenge and was determined to finish it for Cyrus, at least leave him with something from his grandfather.

It was when he returned from breakfast that he opened another page on his computer to record the ever-dwindling numbers around him.

Gracie from room 4 was not there today, neither was Bill from room 15. The breakfast room was getting more and more sparse every day. On the wall outside the breakfast room was a growing list of those who had died.

But Arthur, as sobering as he found it all, sat back at his computer and started typing, the sense of urgency getting greater each day.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2020/05/18/fandangos-flash-fiction-challenge-66/

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #80 – Crisp’s School Days.

Posted on May 20, 2020 by Michael

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What do you see # 30 – 18 May 2020 – A Girl’s Space.

Posted on May 19, 2020 by Michael

It was a lot easier to stay behind the tree. They couldn’t see her there.

She liked nothing better than sitting on the seat, looking out over the fields, taking in the birds who lived there and just on the odd occasion a rabbit would hop across.

But she knew the danger of being seen. It had happened too often, and so now her ears were attuned to the sound of any approaching steps.

She’d stay behind the tree and watch, wait for them to move on, careful to make n sound.

If she was particularly spooked, she would hide up in the tree. She’d become very adept at shimmying up into the tree where amongst the thick foliage she could hide for long as was necessary.

This was her place, and she guarded it closely. If they found her and took her away, what would she have then?

There was always the bush, plenty of places to hide in there, but nothing moved her soul as did the tree and the open field. She felt as one here, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone to take it from her.

 

 

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/05/18/what-do-you-see-30-18-may-2020/

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Thursday photo prompt: Dance #writephoto – The School Dance

Posted on May 17, 2020 by Michael

I was reminded of the days of the old school dance.

They were strictly supervised by Brother Kevin and Sister Mary. The dances brought together the two catholic schools, and for both boys and girls, it was not only a treat but also a novelty like no other.

Brother Kevin and Sister Mary saw it as their responsibility to maintain a sense, at least in their eyes, of some decorum as our teenage hormones raged rampant.

Brother Kevin carried a piece of two-by-one timber about a metre in length, which he used to keep couples at a respectable distance. He was also not backward in hitting any boy he thought needed a swift reminder of his own responsibility even though we didn’t hold to having any such responsibilities on a night like this.

Their problems were exacerbated when the old-time dances were initiated. It was then we got to actually take hold of the girls, and they looked forward to it too.

The arms-length became arbitrary, and I saw Sister Mary particularly agitated as she skirted the dance floor urging couples to maintain a safe distance, which they did until she turned away and they resumed their respective close encounters.

It was clear from the behaviour of both teachers that the 10.30 finish of the dance couldn’t come fast enough. By the end of the night, they were both exhausted, happy to say good night to us all and both praying that in the coming weeks there would be no phone-calls from worried parents about the biological state of their respective daughters.

Us, on the other hand, went home fired up with lust and desire, phone numbers exchanged and secret rendezvous arranged.

 

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2020/05/14/thursday-photo-prompt-dance-writephoto/

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