Tale Weaver prompt – Substance – Joey

Posted on February 19, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Sunday Skeleton – Lucas Grogan

When Joey was born his dad looked at him and thought this boy is going to grow into a man of substance.

He didn’t mean his son would become the Prime Minister, or a captain of industry but rather that his son would grow and develop into an all round good and focused human being.

As a small boy they encouraged him to play in the dirt, they let him fall over, watched as he got himself up, dusted himself down and tried again. They gave him toys to play with and were fascinated by his interest in trucks and cars. They introduced him to animals and laughed at the conversations he had with the family dog.

Like all children Joey liked to experiment, push boundaries and explore the world around him. As he aged and passed from primary school to high school like all teenagers he went places he shouldn’t have gone, he made sometimes not the best of friends, he found like most kids substances he was warned against a temptation.

But his parents were always beside him.

Joey being a smart boy, found learning came easily to him and his parents sent him to the best schools they could afford.

By the time his high school days came to an end and Joey had discovered the final year of high school a combination girls, parties, sport and school.

University opened another world to him. The social life was hectic and on a number of occasions his father rescued his son from parties where Joey’s sorry self would be gathered in the wee small hours, taken home and made to sleep it off before sitting down with him to talk about the night before and the substance he may have abused this time.

Joey’s parents decided their son needed to learn about life.

They sent him out to find a job, made him pay board, placed restrictions around his use of the family car and encouraged him to adopt a more positive attitude to his studies.

It was hard going and they often wondered whether or not they were doing the right thing by their son.

As the years passed they saw their son grow in maturity. Such was the change that by the time Joey completed his University he had his own car, considerable savings and was planning overseas travel.

On graduation day came the news that he had been offered a job with an engineering company. It would mean leaving home and living inter-state.

Around the kitchen table that night they discussed this substantial change in their lives.

The parents knew they would miss their son, Joey knew he would miss them.

At the nights end after plans had been chewed over Joey said: “ I remember when I went to Uni you said: ‘whatever you do always be a man of substance, someone people will respect.’ I think I’m ready to be that man.”

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/02/19/dreamweaver-prompt-substance/

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Creative Expressions #10: Snow

Posted on February 18, 2015 by Michael

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When the first snow arrived there was great excitement.

Children rushed to the windows to watch in silence as the white flakes fluttered to the ground.

Being from the northern climes my family saw the snow as a novelty. We witnessed great frosts in the weeks before; whole trees silver each morning, the river frozen over and spectacular icicles hanging from the fences.

By the time the snow came it was the beginning of spring. The peach and apple trees had begun to bud and the wonder of the snow settling upon the blossoms was one I shall always remember.

The southern winter was new to us. That it lasted nine months of the year was a challenge. The babies’ nappies hung out over night would often be frozen solid and there were a few days when I would come home during the day to flush the toilet because the water pipes had been frozen.

On only a few days in the years we lived there was there a snowfall to talk about. One time people built snowmen, a mate and his kids built an igloo, and the kids at the school rolled a snowball a metre plus in diameter.

For me snow is a distant thing, it happens in other places, I see it on the TV, I read bloggers complaining about shovelling it.

I’ll settle back in my shorts and singlet and appreciate the world I live in, hot, muggy with occasional rain.

Written for: https://penntonic.wordpress.com/2015/02/17/creative-expressions-10-snow/

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100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#168 – The Blue was Sapphire

Posted on February 17, 2015 by Michael

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This weeks prompt: …the blue was sapphire…

 

‘You are adult undertaking an adult orientated writing task so there is an expectation that you will conduct yourself appropriately.’

I received this comment and realised my writing was under scrutiny and that flippant would no longer cut the mustard.

This week’s task was on ‘things nautical’ and it wasn’t enough my wife said to me to describe the ocean as having a nice smell.

I consulted my thesaurus.

Words, rich words spewed forth.

After editing and research I came upon the perfect description. The blue of the ocean,I said as the audience rose as one, was of sapphire.

 

Written for: https://jfb57.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week168/

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Mondays Finish the Story – February 16th, 2015 – One Note

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Barbara W Beacham

Finish the story begins with: “Little did they know when the photographer took their picture that they would find themselves trapped in a painting.”

It’s the most awful feeling.

‘There’s nowhere to go,’ said one.

‘There’s nowhere back,’ said another.

‘Could you move that umbrella a little my way my instrument is getting wet.’

‘You can’t get wet in a painting,’ said the umbrella annoyed at his pettiness. ‘ Suck it up we’re here forever.’

‘Forever?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a long time.’

‘My lips are blistering,’ said one whose lips were stuck to his instrument.

‘My lips will never be the same,’ said the other realising he and his instrument were glued intimately.

At that moment the man behind remarked that he should be so lucky. ‘You three will be seen, but I will be the top of a head, my drumming will never be appreciated.’

Contemplating that thought all four settled down to repeat the one note they had, being frozen in time.

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Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/mondays-finish-the-story-february-16th-2015/

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Wordle #48 – February 16, 2015 – Kevin the Masticator.

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s fun words to play with: Altitude Plunge Leather Vision Justify Chime Combustible Masticate (chew) Straddle Trundle (to roll along, to travel in a wheeled vehicle) Alliance Crevice

Kevin was an habitual masticator. His mother worried about him all the time. ‘You’ll go blind she said.’ ‘You’ll wear them out, said his dad.’

But Kevin was unfazed by such comments. Masticating was a way of life for him and he was never going to listen to any logical justification for his ceasing his behaviour.

Despite what many saw as an affliction, Kevin went about his day clad in his favourite leather attire doing the job he most loved in life, adjusting the chimes on the Town Hall clock. This was a life long passion for clocks and Kevin’s vision of being an old man still working his passion sustained him through every working day. He was always very conscious of the previous chime adjuster who sadly plunged to his death when he unfortunately tried to change a tick to a tock and as every one knows that foolish action only meant a chime was out of kilter and caused him to over balance and well as they later said, he had ticked his last tock.

Kevin as time went on developed an alliance with a certain Juliette who being a member of the local Assassins guild had sought Kevin out as a possible source of an assassination location. Altitude was what many assassins thought of as a fairly safe working tool. A fall from the right altitude brought about swift and permanent results and the hapless victim when last seen straddling the tower steps could have been forgiven for taking that one last step, over balancing and becoming an entry in the next days obituary column. As it was the gentle assassin’s nudge at that precise moment would never show up in the autopsy report.

Life was a bed of roses for Kevin, he was employed in a job he liked, people liked him and his mum had not long since bought him a trundle bed. What more he thought could I want in life?

But there were dark clouds on his horizon. In a small crevice in the Town Hall clock tower a terrible discovery was made. Packed in combustible materials was Kevin’s best mate and fellow masticator Joe the Chewy. Joe had been missing for a few days. Suspicion, as it should, found Kevin.

It appears the heinous act had come from a heated argument between Kevin and Joe as to the best vantage point to see the beautiful vision of Juliette’s apartment. Kevin was protective of Juliette and argued with Joe who then ridiculed Kevin’s interest in the cold-blooded assassin.

With one thing leading to another, neither being able to justify the others reasoning, Joe had brushed Kevin’s leather vest with his fist as he straddled the last steps to the clock tower, as his hand slid off the smooth leather his momentum caused him to trundle head first into the crevice that was to become his final resting place.

All this happened on the midday chime.

Kevin still masticating like there was no tomorrow considered plunging into the crevice to join his friend but realised he had an appointment with Juliette to well and truly cement their alliance.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/wordle-48-february-16-2015/

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“Love Is In Da Blog” ~ Mothers

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Michael

MUM

Hi Mum

I cleaned out the old cupboard today

The one where stuff from over the years

Has been had been dumped and forgotten.

In an old Sunbeam iron box I found your sympathy cards

Stored away but not forgotten by dad

I was surprised by how many and from whom.

He didn’t want to part with them,

So they’ve stayed safe and secure

These past thirty years.

Words that stated love and affection

That told me you were highly thought of

And the shock of your untimely death.

I looked at each card trying to remember

The names, the people who lived in your life

So many sadly are no longer here.

I decided after all this time and with so many

No longer alive it was time to return them to the earth

As a final act of closure.

But it generated so many memories

So many regrets, I never felt I took time to know you

You were in so many ways an enigma to us all.

But I do remember your letters, the one phone call,

The one I made to see how you were

A week before you left me.

You helped mould me as the person I am

Imbued me with generosity and charity,

A love of people and family.

It’s sad to think of what you missed

Your children getting older, the grandchildren who arrived,

Dad growing into the beautiful old man he became.

All the amazing grandkids who have been deprived

Of knowing you, and you them

I know they would have loved their Nanna.

Like me, you would have been so proud of them,

All twelve of them are remarkable people,

So amazing in their own special ways.

And after all these years, your photo still adorns this house

Those photos of the young you, forever smiling back at me

Will stay where they are, as long as I am here.

I can say now I wish I had been a better son

It’s easy in hindsight, to see where I could have been better

That I might have given you more time.

But I have only lovely memories of you

Of feeding clothing and sheltering me

Life’s information you so readily shared.

World events, the famous dying, the tennis on the radio

The evenings where you imposed the rosary on us

On our knees night after night, never a reprieve.

And now all these years later,

I know you cared for me,

Knew me much better than I did you,

I love you Mum.

I first wrote a version of this poem in 2014.

Today’s prompt gave me reason to edit and revise my original effort.

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Written for: https://justfoolingaroundwithbee.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/love-is-in-da-blog-mothers/

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Writing Prompt #94 – We are all crazy – February 15, 2015 – Revelations

Posted on February 15, 2015 by Michael

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It’s not everyday that you are invited to discuss your peculiarities.

Now its important to note that in the limited space I have here to, in some cases, state my particular quirk or fetish, I shall summarise said situation so as not to incriminate nor create a false or in some cases possibly true life account of myself.

Quirks I have many. Who doesn’t?

I like to wear a particular type of cap when I drive and feel quite naked when I don’t. I have worn one out after becoming more attached to it than I should.

I washed it one day only to discover it was so old the machine wash resulted in holes in my cap that weren’t there before which led to my daughter threatening to throw it in the bin if I didn’t get rid of it. It was a sensible suggestion I just don’t like parting with things.

When I write I like to do so at my kitchen table with music playing. The TV is turned off and music will play while I compose. It just seems the right place to be when I write.

As for fetishes well where to begin. I have a foot fetish, I really do, I look at people’s feet. It doesn’t matter whether or not they have polish on them or not it’s the shape I am looking at.

Like most things some people have better looking feet than others. Males seem to have square feet and women come in a variety of shapes and sizes. I do find women’s feet far more attractive than male feet, but of course you could argue it’s all in the eye of the beholder and all that.

So should you see me in the street and notice I am looking down its just me checking out your feet. Don’t worry I wont fall to my knees and start touching or caressing them, that would just be weird, right?

As for conversations with friends, well so often they are absurd conversations, which probably suggests something in terms of the number of friends I have.

G’day.

G’day.

You’re looking well.

Thanks. You?

Ok, bit of a twinge.

I had a twinge once.

You did?

Yes.

Where?

In my back.

Behind you now?

Oh yes, all good.

Think it will rain?

Probably.

When?

When what?

Do you think it will rain?

Soon.

Soon?

Yes soon.

Not today?

Could be.

I brought my umbrella.

I had an umbrella once.

Once?

Yes a crocodile ate it.

They’ll do that.

They will.

Lunch?

At 2pm.

Good.

I’ll see you then.

Good.

I am good at these in-depth conversations. My mates and I can go on for hours discussing world issues and not only that but solving them.

So you can see I am a person of diversifications.

As my mum used to say: “You don’t have to be mad to part of this family. But it sure helps.”

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/02/15/writing-prompt-94-we-are-all-crazy-february-15-2015/

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Eclectic Corner #6 Story & Photography Prompt

Posted on February 15, 2015 by Michael

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This week Justine has asked us to consider the story below and do one or both of the following:

  1. To take a photograph that to  you encompasses something about what you have just read, a depiction of a part or all of the story.  If you could then write a little bit about how the photo links to the text, what it means to you.
  2. I would like you to continue the story, there is no length limit on the text, I leave it up to your imagination, can be one short sentence or a novel – LOL.  I would love to see how someone might finish this off.

I have chosen to write the next part of the story.

The easel stood proudly before her, placed exactly where the artist’s eye would get the best view.  The empty canvass would have wriggled in excitement if it could, waiting for just one splash of colour to take away its starkness.

The woman rested back a moment in her chair.  The garden ahead gave its own glorious canvass of colour as the forest and fields behind created a nice backdrop, a small sigh escaped recently moisturised lips.

Mossy green eyes now took a leisurely look upon the multitude of squeezed tubes, brushes and array of artist’s tools, her slender pale fingers twitching, eager to start.  There was just the twitter of birds interrupted by the snore of a lazy house dog as the cat meandered back and forth between her legs.

The sun peeked its rays through the haze of branches, splintering in to more rays to dust upon the petals and grass, a smile creasing upon her lips as the warmth radiated through clement veins.  A splash of gold and russet found itself being placed upon the canvass, the emerging of what, she was not sure at this precise time, her art always morphing as the day went on.

Resting a moment after a few brushstrokes the wooden handle found itself twiddling and twisting between fingers like a baton, the clouds making an eager appearance nudging against the toasty rays,  drowning them out.

Saturated greenery suddenly became lacklustre as a shiver ran down her spine, the hairs of the brush now coated in darker and deeper shades, sweeping across  now wetter and more colourful canvas.

There was a tussle and a ruffle as the sun fought its way back, today was going to be one of those days.  Resting back in to her chair lids closed a moment, distractions always trying to pry her away from intended task as the warmth kissed her lips.

Memories floating back to that bar, the hustle and bustle of urban life, the opposite of her now rural existence.  That kiss, so different to the kiss of sunshine, that kiss that tasted of whisky and cigars, the stubble burning her skin as she gasped, surprising herself at the memory, it invoking tingles to rage through her body, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

Breathing in deeply, she resisted the necessity to open her eyes, enjoying the memory, though it had faded, another sigh, this one of disappointment.  Sadness swept through her veins, lashes lifting to survey rural surroundings once more.

A jolt went through her body at the crude sharp sound of a trilling bell, the phone, it obliterating any vestiges of memory, any moment of calm as she lifted up to go and answer it…..

© Justine Nagaur Eclecticoddsnsods.com

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Part 2 – The Envelope

As she walked across the room away from her easel she felt a momentary irritation that her quiet had been so easily interrupted. Who could it be she thought as very few people ever rang and if it was one of those telephone call centre people she would be hanging up.

As it turned to be Andrew Latham from the Art School. Andrew had been a student of hers in the past and was now head of the art School and was now interested in bringing her back to do some teaching.

Her first thought was those days are over, I am way past all that stress and bother. She had moved to the country for a very good reason, to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

She’d been here for six months now and loved every minute of deciding each morning if she would paint, draw or sculptor. It was wonderful having that choice.

But Andrew sounded desperate and was pleading with her to consider his proposal: a three day a week commitment for six months until the teacher she was to replace returned from maternity leave.

She knew the curriculum and knew it would be no issue teaching the course and she did have a wealth of experience to offer but there was one nagging thought in her mind, what if I don’t want to.

She ended up asking Andrew for a few days to consider his proposal.

There was so much to consider in this, the teaching as she’d decided wouldn’t be an issue but having to pack up and move back to the city for any length of time was a factor she needed to give serious thought to.

Retirement brought many advantages the main one being the thought of not working.

She didn’t need the money as she had a healthy pension and was able to live very comfortably. Her house in the country glade offered everything she had ever wanted. Privacy, seclusion and a small village at the end of the road who sold everything she needed to eat healthily and keep herself fit, as it was a lovely walk littered with small farm houses and the most likeable people she had ever met.

All thoughts of continuing her art that day had gone out of the window. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat beside the window that looked out over the farms below her house.

The tranquillity and serenity excited her each day she took in this sight.

In her mind a debate raged: she had done her time in the classroom, there were more things in life than going to work, Andrew sounded like he really needed her, she hated to disappoint people.

After an hour of serious intellectual debate sprinkled with some serious emotional outbursts she came to a decision.

There was one deciding factor in all this.

She had she determined moved to the country for a reason and that reason over rode every other consideration.

Looking back over the room she had come to love being in these passed months her eyes fell on the envelope sitting upon the mantle above the fire.

The envelope held her destiny, her next six months, her creative output. Sipping the last of her wine she looked down at her hands, hands that had taken her to new depths of creativity, had allowed her to explore her own version of artistic expression.

Like her they were tired and worn.

She glanced again at the envelope and reached for the phone.

Written for: http://eclecticoddsnsods.com/2015/02/10/eclectic-corner-6-story-photography-prompt/

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Maro Reĝo (Fairy Tale) – February 13, 2015 – Useless

Posted on February 14, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Hans Baldung. Study of a Unicorn, 1544. WikiArt.

There’s a sea unicorn living in the creek behind my house.

His name is Eustace.

He keeps a very low profile as he is in hiding.

From what I asked?

Life in the ocean was his response, its all chaos and mayhem. He went to tell me that the popular myth of them creating havoc among the dolphins is a beat up.

In actual fact, if he is to be believed, he blames the sea fairies for all the trouble and bad press the unicorns have been receiving.

The sea fairies he says are hideous creatures, living in the deepest parts of the ocean and being the most self centred and manipulative beings you could imagine.

If truth be told the sea fairies would have rounded up all the unicorns and corralled them for their own sordid pleasures. One such pleasure was to cut off the tip of the unicorn’s horns, grind them into a fine powder, mix it with their own saliva and rub it into their bodies to give them added sexual strength.

‘An aroused sea fairy is a sight to grotesque to think about.’ said Eustace shuddering and breathing deeply.

Now Eustace, or Useless as he is affectionately known around here, maintains he narrowly escaped the sea fairies and made his way into the harbour and then up the river and eventually into the creek behind my house.

He still is very cautious when coming out of the river. He is not so concerned about anyone seeing him but more so he is quite paranoid of the sea fairies venturing up the river to find him.

I think he is very safe where he is, he has many friends among the ducks who share the creek with him and they keep a lookout for anything suspicious.

He is no bother except one must be careful in getting too close as he does like to swish his head around and there is, as I tell him, a ever good chance he could take an eye out with his horn.

Most days he hides in the shallows of the creek, is very camera shy and prefers to eat at night along the creek bank.

He is old now, doesn’t get around as he once did. Once he could dive to great depths but now days a soft paddle along the creek bed and a wallow in the refreshing mud is about all he can manage.

I’m not sure how old he is but he has been in the creek for a long time, I know because my grandfather on his death bed asked me to keep an eye on Eustace, said he’d appreciate the attention, which is true. I’ve discovered that Useless loves nothing more than a good rub down and a bit of the old furniture polish applied to his horn.

We’ll continue to sit by the creek of an afternoon, watching the sun set across the way as he tells me tales of his adventures in the sea and land. He knows he is the last of his kind and doubts very much that a lady unicorn is going to wander by looking for a life partner. He did consider the farmers draught horse at one stage but realised it was his fading hormones talking to him and on second glance not only was the draught horse as thick as a plank it was also among life’s ugliest creatures.

The reality of a celibate life hit Useless hard, but when you are only twelve inches tall, with a horn six inches long, you have to be careful where you stick your nose.

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The creek behind my house and if you look carefully beyond the duck in the foreground you can just catch a glimpse of Useless’s horn sticking out of the water.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/02/14/maro-rego-fairy-tale-february-13-2015/

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SoCS February 14/15 – Attach/ Attachment

Posted on February 13, 2015 by Michael

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Today in Australia it is February 14 Valentines Day.

This morning at the shops there was a huge Valentines Day display with flowers all highly priced but packaged appropriately for the occasion.

I couldn’t help but notice one man who was wandering round the display trying to decide which was the most appropriate and which one was his tended receiver of said flowers deserving of.

My first thought was that I am glad I don’t have that pressure any more.

I am not attached to Valentine’s day, its just another day for me as I don’t receive any and now days I don’t have to think about it in trepidation when considering the expectations put upon me in past years.

You could say I was attached for a long time. Then unattached then attached and shortly there after unattached again.

I feel I have had my moments in the sun, though for me more with a looming storm on the horizon, and no longer crave such things.

Well I could say that but I would be lying.

I think we all have a need for attachment in one form or other. Be it through lovers or family or friends we find it hard to go through life unattached, it goes against our basic human need for attachment.

I am lucky to be attached to a wonderful family, I have children who call and chat with me over all sorts of things, who invite me places, who come and have dinner with me, who ring up, quite often, asking me to get stuff for them.

Love is what makes life so worthwhile. Being with a lover is a wonderful feeling. I do recall such an attachment.

But I would enjoy even more telling them that I loved them every day not just singling out one day in the year to make some sort of effort in that regard.

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Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/02/13/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-february-1415/

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