Tale Weaver – #275 – Fairytale – The Frog Prince – 14th May

Posted on May 14, 2020 by Michael

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Stan had lived on the lily pad for as long as he could remember.

As the years passed more and more young frogs, found they were being kissed and turned into handsome princes Stan maintained his belief that one-day he too might transform into the handsome prince he knew lay beneath the warty exterior of his aging self.

He couldn’t quite remember the circumstances that bought him to the pond. Time he found was like that, it took on a form where the present was all that mattered, the yesterdays faded but not the desire for he was sure he had once enjoyed a much more luxurious life, if not dryer than his present one.

Day in and day out he sat in the pond watching the world go by. Beautiful princesses came and went, his neighbourhood princes were selected and disappeared into the realm of the humans, and Stan stayed on, knowing as each day passed his chances of getting away from the pond were less and less likely.

It was a Tuesday, Stan liked Tuesday’s, though he was never sure why there was a certain ring about a Tuesday and he heard the approach of voices. The voices materialised into the form of a young lady, with beautiful dark hair but her body was bent, and she walked with the aid of a stick. Her companion was her nurse and was arguing the futility of being near the pond.

“I’m telling you there are only old crusty frogs here and I wouldn’t be touching any of them for you never know where they might have been,” Stan heard the nurse say.

“The sage told me if I found the right frog I would find my Prince,” replied the young lady in what Stan took to be the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

Being an old frog on a lily pad didn’t leave Stan with a lot of room for looking his best. But he was taken by the young lady’s voice and did all be could, at least in his head to look his best, should she glance his way.

To his surprise, she came close and reaching down, she scooped him up and held him in her hand.

“Oh look,” she said to her nurse, “ this one looks so cute, and I wonder what might happen when I kiss him.”

Stan wasn’t sure either, he’d seen it happen to others, and the transformations were always spectacular, but he imagined, in his case, there’d be a few cobwebs to clear away and a few wrinkles to be ironed out if any change was to occur.

Her lips when they touched on his own, were enough to melt his heart. There was a flash of light, stars shone; he felt his soul leaving his body as everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, he was laying on the bank of the pond, dressed in handsome Prince’s clothing. Beside him on the bank was the young lady who as she awoke looked at him in wonder.

Stan found himself standing in front of the young lady; she was no longer bent but was now tall and elegant.

“I was told if I found the right frog he would not only transform himself but me also, “ said the young lady. “Thank you, my Prince.”

Taking Stan’s arm, for he was a tad unsteady after so long crouching on the lily pad, and ignoring all his instincts to stick out his tongue for a fly or two, she led him away towards her castle where her nurse had hurried off to in readiness for the great announcement.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/05/14/tale-weaver-275-fairytale-the-frog-prince-14th-may/

 

 

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #79 – Crisp and the Water Slide

Posted on May 13, 2020 by Michael

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Tale Weaver – #273 – I Remember Once…April 30th – When Life was Simpler.

Posted on April 30, 2020 by Michael

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I remember once when life was much simpler. We lived on a street where we knew our neighbours; we didn’t always get on with them all, but that was how life was.

Home was mum and dad, my brothers and sister and our knowledge of the world came through the daily newspaper and radio news.

Our circle of friends rotated around school friends and the relatives who lived near to us. If you had an overseas pen friend that was as close to the bigger world as you ever got.

I remember once when I came out for breakfast, it was in the winter and mum would have a pot of porridge cooking on the fuel stove and serve it up as the morning news came on the radio. Porridge was always followed by something on toast usually left overs from the previous night’s dinner. My mother was very good at manufacturing left overs which in hindsight was remarkable considering she had my dad and three boys to feed each night.

I remember once when we were approaching our teenage years and trying to find some sense of identity, we older boys decided we had had enough of dad’s haircutting methods and wanted to grow our hair in the emerging fashion at the time. Let’s say it was a battle for some time to convince dad the world would not end if he didn’t cut our hair.

I remember once when our weekends would consist of the Saturday morning shopping. Mum would go off to do whatever it was she did, and I would accompany my father in a walk along High Street. My dad was a carpenter, and he would find the only shop in the street selling hardware and stand in front of it looking at the multitude of tools on display. It used to drive me nuts!

There is so much to remember now; life is more and more full of memories, like our Sunday mornings, being roused at 6.30 for 7am Mass and of our reluctance to drag ourselves out of bed on winter mornings.

Life was much different then, it was our world, one in which we played and grew into the people we are today.

I remember once thinking that a lot of years would have to pass before I grew old, like my parents. Now I’m here, and it’s not so bad, it could be worse, I have a quality of life, food to eat and a roof over my head, albeit the same one I lived under as a kid.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/04/30/tale-weaver-273-i-remember-onceapril-30th/

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What do you see # 27 – 27 April 2020 – Was I Dreaming?

Posted on April 29, 2020 by Michael

What a nightmare or was it?

Was I the one inside, or was I the one outside looking in?

Either way, it was disturbing for if I was on the outside looking in who was it that was on the inside looking out. If this was the case, then it was obvious the person inside was somewhat distressed about the whole notion of being stuck inside.

I was sympathetic to their predicament, after all, who liked the idea of being stuck inside anywhere in these current times.

It was when the person spoke to me that I knew where it was I was standing. “Can you help me? I’m stuck inside and I long to get out.”

As I was the only person standing beside the tree, it was plain as day the voice was speaking to me. This must be a joke I thought; there must be a back door in. But there wasn’t.

I didn’t know what to say as the eyes within told me of the frantic nature the person must have been feeling. My first thought was a chainsaw, but that could prove tricky.

My next thought was to move away and pretend none of this was happening. Which is precisely the course of action I took causing me to wake up when I hit the floor.

I took a moment before realising this whole social distancing/ staying at home was really getting to me.

 

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/04/27/what-do-you-see-27-27-april-2020/

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #77 – Crisp and the Gingerbread House

Posted on April 29, 2020 by Michael

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #76 – Crisp and Hide n Seek

Posted on April 23, 2020 by Michael

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Three Things Challenge #191

Posted on April 23, 2020 by Michael

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HUMOUR
PIECE
NOSE

His humour was on the nose. His latest joke was tedious even though for a piece of comedy it left a lot to be desired.

A horse walks into a bar and the barman says: “Hey why the long face?”

He stood there waiting for his humour to sink in. I thought I had a nose for humour but this piece was just plain lame.

 

Written for: https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2020/03/31/three-things-challenge-191/

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What do you see # 26- 20 April 2020 – Seasick.

Posted on April 23, 2020 by Michael

Seasick.

From the get-go, the constant rolling of the ship,

The wet, the vomit, the wish for death

The never-ending expanse of water, and this was only the end of the first day.

Six weeks of this, they said. The food rationed out, tasteless,

Disgusting, boiled, best eaten with your eyes shut.

They said the rounding of the cape would be the test of the ship’s captain, a ruddy-faced man, given to obscenity and aloofness but his handling of the ship when the going got tough had to be admired.

Health wasn’t an issue on the ship, survival was all that mattered, and when Charlie died, they dumped his body over the side, said a few words and sailed on.

We sighted land finally, and what a welcome sight, some dropped to their knees to give thanks, others rolled over in their bunks and wondered how much longer they had to endure.

Then we were in a harbour more beautiful than anything we’d ever imagined.

The Captain shouted orders, his crew jumped to it; we hung off the rails watching what was purported to be civilisation come more into focus.

It didn’t matter how crude the place appeared to be, it had to be better than the previous six weeks.

 

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/04/20/what-do-you-see-25-13-april-2020-2/

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Tale Weaver – #272 – Making Sense of Nonsense – Dyrpirh.

Posted on April 23, 2020 by Michael

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Dyrpirh was one of the tiny villages you drove through on your way to the city.

As it faded into the distance behind you, so did all memory of it.

The locals liked it that was for that meant their precious village was theirs and they didn’t have to share it with anyone.

Not that there was much to share. A few scattered houses remained from what history suggested was a thriving mining town boasting ten pubs in its day.

It was a place the locals struggled to say anything about mainly because there was nothing to say about Dyrpirh other than it existed. Like all small villages, the locals were very good at discussing each other. Gossip and rumour were the village’s main assets. And they were good at it. Which was good when you consider there was not else to talk about.

The village had one shop, which served as newsagent, café, bottle shop and delicatessen. In the eyes of the villagers, the fact the village had a designated delicatessen set it apart from other villages. You could buy any array of cold meats and the occasional cheese, though if you left it till Friday, the cheese was usually sold out. The biggest breakthrough in sales came when the owner discovered the art of shaved cold meat. The locals flocked in their one’s, and two’s eager to buy something different for the harsh reality of a place like Dyrpirh was it had become stuck in its ways, and the expression ‘same old same old’ came to symbolise daily life in the village.

At one time the shop owner tried to sell fresh flowers, but the locals poked fun at him and called him names like ‘pansy boy’ and then ordered a half kilo of sliced corned meat and a loaf of white toast bread then went home put the toaster on and rang the neighbours to tell them about the cracked ideas the shop owner was having. Pretty soon, the story spread around the village, and the shop owner discovered he was being vilified. Which in itself was something different.

This would last a week until they were all hungry and so back to the shop they would go pretending it wasn’t them who had said anything nasty about the shop owner.

Usually, this went with sitting in the café section, ordering a pot of tea and a lamington and discussing the weather and the upcoming Dyrpirh Fete and Fair. This was an annual event; the only time the village came together to celebrate the uniqueness of Dyrpirh. This year promised to be a big one in much the same way every year was touted to be.

It broke the monotony, it gave the locals something to look forward to, and this year the shop owner was thinking of a cheese display, which excited everyone, as they all believed you couldn’t get better than a mild, sliced cheddar usually sold out by Friday.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/04/23/tale-weaver-272-making-sense-of-nonsense-dyrpirh/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Collage” – Mum and Dad

Posted on April 19, 2020 by Michael

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My dad was a dreamer, which was at odds with the fact he didn’t sleep all that well.

In the middle of the night, he’d be awake and would often go into the shed and tinker with his car. He loved trying to understand how it worked and what each component was for and what happened when you removed one bit. Usually, it meant the car didn’t run.

That didn’t stop him speculating about what might happen if he exchanged bit for another. Mum was always on at him to leave the car alone as she was afraid there’d be an emergency and the car would be in pieces, and one of us might die because she couldn’t get us to the hospital.

Mum and dad had a real love affair. They loved each other with a passion. They gave each other little gifts and often left notes around the house professing their love. Looking back, it was very sweet the way they interacted, one minute critical of each other, the next bestowing love and affection.

Mum had a bike she rode everywhere, it was old but reliable and didn’t need dad’s input to keep it going.

She had a habit of ringing the rusty bell on the handlebars as she rode into our driveway. I think to warn us she was home and to stop doing whatever it was that she’d find irritating and tidy the kitchen if we’d been making any sort of mess.

This happened most afternoons as she’d ride down to the butchers to get some meat for dinner, a few vegetables from the supermarket and a good chin wag with Mrs Gorring at the wool shop.

Once home, it was all hands on deck as she prepared the dinner. We each had a role to play, peeling, chopping, and stoking the fire. With the production of the evening meal under way she’d send out a message to dad to leave the car alone, it was going fine yesterday, but he’d discovered a knock in the engine today, wash up and get ready to eat.

Dad would come in all enthusiastic for dinner and at the same time start telling mum about his dream to get a new car, one that was automatic, easy to drive and wouldn’t need as much attention as his current one.

Mum would listen and say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’d have that one in pieces the first night, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

Dad would take on board her criticism and reluctantly agree. The subject would be put aside, grace said and dinner began with us kids telling them about our day, our teachers and the dreams we had.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/sunday-writing-prompt-collage-2/

 

 

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