Friday, November 29, 2013

Alma

old chair dumped in a field (not a picture of the chair in question)
Source
I cannot do this today.  That was the single thought that roamed through Alma’s mind.  Not today.

Her frequent falls had led her to this moment of distress, with her ankle wrapped and restrained, up on a cassock.  Alma had not told anyone of her ‘spells’ where her vision filled with sparkling dots and lines, then turning to black.  Where she opened her eyes to discover she was lying on the floor.

“What mischief have we been up to lately?” the visiting home nurse had asked Alma, after checking all the vitals and settling her into her comfortable chair.  “Oh, we see your niece has brought us donuts again.  We cannot have that, can we, not with your sugar levels…”

The donuts went out the door, along with the nurse, who promised to return in two hours.  “We’ll be here soon.  Doctor will want to see that  ankle. We wouldn't want to do anything to make it worse, would we?”

I don’t want this today. Alma gazed out the window at the nurse as she drove away.  I don’t want them to find out… 

Snow began to float outside, while the sparkling dots and lines again filled her vision.

P.S.  A dark turn, I know. Migraines do that to me.  Anyways....
Many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light  for providing six intriguing words for participants to enjoy and write.  Please go to her site!  where a list of bloggers are in the right site bar.  You will not regret it!!

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

CAPTCHA gotcha

captcha2.ashx
Death to evil CATCHA
For those who find themselves sighing when a comment section has a CAPTCHA, this is for you.

Just WHO has the job of photographing the house addresses? Let’s all say a silent prayer for him/her…done.

And, who works to screw up the non-words with artistic slants, bold letters, condensed letters that share a common wall?  Is it some aspiring graphic artist?  He/she must be blind by now.  Let’s all give him/her some  encouraging thoughts regarding this effort.  Finding employment is difficult.

And what deviant programmer created a way to identify or deny the typed answer?  What went wrong in this life?  Let us hope he/she moves up the ladder to something else. You can do it!  Keep trying!


This is the day before T-giving, and I do not believe that many of you are typing and not cooking.  Do not feel any guilt about not commenting on this blog.  It was a random thought after muttering under my breath for the last few blogs.


Source

Monday, November 25, 2013

Dinosaurs per Metapictures

This week one needs a reason to laugh--I mean really laugh, gut laugh, giggle out of control.

My daughter sent this to me.  Good job, beloved daughter!

To see more, click on the above image.

Hope you enjoy.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Wednesday Words: Seth

Under the Porch Light photo prompt


Seth was relieved to complete the near vertical climb through deserted stretches of trails overlooking Las Vegas.  Seth cleaned his dusty spectacles and gazed at blinking lights below.

Ha!  And Dave said I couldn’t do it!  Seth smiled as he thought of his brother’s derision as he loaned his camp gear to novice camper Seth.  But his gloat was fleeting as he realized the sun was almost behind distant mountains, and he had yet to set up camp.  The full moon was moving behind heavy clouds and it would soon be completely dark.

Frantically Seth tried to find a suitable patch of ground that wasn’t rock hard.  He tumbled down into a trench where the softer ground made hammering spikes easier.  The tent was up in minutes with the Coleman lantern blazing.   Ha! He said again, as he dropped trousers to urinate into the dry ground.  Indecent of me, but it's camping…

As he dozed off warm and cozy within Dave's tent, he heard the thunder in the mountains and enjoyed the sound of rain falling upon the tent. 


When the ground rumbled and shook, Seth leaped outside the tent just in time to see the wall of water and mud roaring toward him along the gully.  His last thoughts were, ‘Dave is gonna be really pissed about the tent….’


Please check out of Wednesday Words and Prompts from Delores at  Under the Porch Light.  Awesome writers participate in this weekly event!  You can access her site by clicking on the peaceful stream on the right side bar.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Why are we here?

Photo from Washington, Illinois, and posted on Donna's site
Welcome to all who know how I write and my style!

Welcome to all whom I have just met!

Normally, this blog plays with words and characters.  But today?  Today I find myself humbled by some posts I have read, and want to share with you.

Donna O’Shaughnessy of Midlife Farmer shared a post about an E4 tornado that ripped through and all but destroyed Washington, Illinois.  Please visit her post at http://midlifefarmwife.blogspot.com/

Where she writes about the panic, the absolute terror she experienced trying to reach her sister who lives in that area is palatable.  There can be nothing like the gripping of the heart she felt being unable to find out IF she is okay, IF she and her family survived such a tornado.


Then there is this Friko in Friko’s Word.  It is difficult to put into words.  Please go to her site at http://frikosmusings.blogspot.com/  and read her post, “Let’s stop minding our own business”.  Child abuse, children abused and tortured to death---not for the faint of heart.

What happened?
Child abuse is a world-wide problem, involving the most surprising pedophiles.  If you have a strong stomach, this site is valuable.


But it needs to be part of each individual’s awareness and, more importantly, action.  Whether is it a child next door or an elderly person living alone, we need to be aware and be proactive.


This is a topic people of “my” age generally avoid.  But after witnessing Mylie Cyrus on some award show and feeling outrage, I started being aware.  Then I read John’s World at John's World .




The video may be shocking, but it speaks volumes about the world of young women (and men) who want to be famous or at the very least, noticed.  The artist is Lily Allen, and read her words at the beginning of her song, Fear.
  
I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taking over by The Fear


 If this is the only video or site you have time to see, this one is very appropriate to today's lack of morals and values.



Please note that there is a precaution before the video.  But the words used are part of the times.


In this world and this time of political ping-pong, and harangues from news agencies, we need to ask ourselves, “Why and what are we put on earth to be doing?”

What do you think?


Friday, November 15, 2013

Wednesday Words: Gwynneth

chain Heavy chain disease
Source
Everything about Gwynneth was superb, absolutely superb.  Former model, elegant, able to pull together magnificent events with seeming ease.  Superb.

Then her world came plummeting about her.  She discovered Geoff, her successful and wealthy husband, between Gynneth’s own satin sheets with her middle-aged maid.  “It’s not what you think…it won’t happen again…I swear this is the first time I have ever…”

But “it” did happen many times, each time with Geoff plying lie after lie.

At the final time, Gwynneth threw his expensive collection of exquisite art at Geoff, as he tried to bluster his way from her rage.  Holding Geoff’s favorite Rodin bronze and venting her anger, Gwynneth brought it crashing down on his head.   It was a glancing blow that knocked him cold. 

Gwynneth made her decision quickly—faster than a lie from her cheating husband.

When Geoff came to consciousness, he saw two pair of glittering eyes looking down at him: His recently disenfranchised business partner, Joe, and Gwynneth.  “You spurious bastard!” Joe snarled.  “You stole everything from me!

Gwynneth purred in her nasal Texas twang as she tugged on the chains around Geoff’s ankles.  “You won’t lie your way out of this one!”

Together Joe and Gynneth released the hold on the heavy chains, sending a screaming Geoff to his watery death.


Geoff now lies for eternity.

Bubbles rising through a fan coral
Source: messersmith
If you enjoyed this post, it is inspired by Delores @ Under the Porch Light.  Each week this clever woman supplies participants with a list of words and a sentence prompt.  You may access other excellent bloggers by clicking on the photo of a stream in the right sidebar!  Enjoy!

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Change of the Seasons

Overlooking the Mississippi River.  Illinois on the left, Missouri on the right.
On a bright October afternoon, my brother Don took us on a drive along country roads that Mom had traveled many times over her 82 years.  The sky was glorious, one of those brilliant skies that changes tones of blue throughout the day.  The leaves had begun the magic that seeped from green to red and gold. 

...right there!
Everything held the sense of being so temporary.  The leaves and all their beauty would be a sodden mound of brown mulch in a few weeks.   

The sky would be filled with winter clouds.  And my mother—where and what would she be in weeks or months?  That was an unsaid question that floated over us along this drive along country roads and past harvested fields.

“I used to wade in the stream right there!” Mom exclaimed as we pulled off the road and down to the gravel stream bed.  Don and I ambled over to the water, talking in low tones about Mom, while she stayed in the car.  Don picked up a stone and skimmed it along a shadowy deep drop in the stream. 

“No, not there!  Further down…” Mom called out.  As fragile as she was and no matter how much each breath cost her, Mom would tell us the right way to go.
...you used to play there, Susie....

Later, we drove by a faded ancient house, one that leaned whichever way the wind was blowing.  The whole house gave the illusion that it was held up by the fact that the window frames were still square, and the front door was shut.  Other than that, the poor place was a lost cause.  

 “Oh, you used to play there, Susie,” Mom sighed.  Her hand pointed out the window.  “Over there Anna had a picnic table and we used to watch you kids while we…”  

 I looked at the hand with its transparent paper-thin skin, bulging blue veins, and bones.  So gnarled and painful now, those hands had held mine all my life.


After driving along back roads I never knew existed and hearing about the people who had once farmed that field, people who had lived in a house now a heap of rubble, we took Mom back to her home. 
Country road, goes on forever

While she napped in her recliner, I looked out her kitchen window, seeing some rain clouds moving in from the west.  The color of the air itself had transformed to gray.  I took a photo of a tree outside the kitchen window. 

“I wonder how many more times I will look out this window?”

The clouds moved in, the rain was almost weeping, and my mother slept for the rest of the afternoon.  I stood at the window, watching the leaves fall, and listening to the sound of the clock ticking on the piano.


P.S.  This was posted two years ago.  My daughter is having surgery and I will be busy this week. I thought this deserved a re-visit.  Susan Kane

Monday, November 11, 2013

Smoke Always Rises


Grandpa is old, real old.  

Nancy knew that, he fought in The Great War, the war he said was so big that it would end all wars.  Then her pa went to fight another Great War, called WW2.  Nancy wondered if there would be a WW3 someday. 

Nancy watched as Grandpa spread out his left hand.  He had big old wrinkly hands, with rough callouses and gnarled fingers, like any old man.  But she had never noticed the drawn white scars of burns, horrible burns. 
  
Wwi stereo195
1917-1918
He lay a thin paper on the white scars, opening it with his other hand.  Again, she stared at it, in awe of the stripes and crude stitching it bore from wounds earned long ago.  That must have hurt, hurt worse than any scraped knee ever.

Grandpa reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, retrieving a drawstring bag.  Fingers moved slowly, easing open the drawstring, and then pouring a line of tobacco.  
Grandpa
Copyright Susan Kane

His hands never shook, not for one second.  They held steady and still as Grandpa licked the edge of the paper.  Hands so badly scarred had continued for fifty years, working, caressing, holding hands, living. Fascinated, Nancy watched as Grandpa placed the cigarette on a lip.  

Oh my, Grandpa! Scars ran down the arms, but she had never seen them before. His arms were always hidden by flannel sleeves, obscuring a torturous horror experienced a lifetime ago.  


He struck a match and lit up, breathing deeply.  She stared at his thoughtful expression and troubled eyes.

An old man walked by, tipped his hat to Grandpa.  Grandpa just nodded back, not even looking at him.  “Who’s he?” Nancy asked.

Grandpa blew out a ring of smoke.  “He’s a Goddamn coward.  His pa paid some other man to go fight instead of his own son.  Sonofabitch, Goddamn coward…”  Grandpa stuck in some other words that Nancy didn’t understand.


A charge by Naval Division on the Gallipoli Peninsula on January 6th 1916.
Over the top

“What’d you do in the war, Grandpa?” Nancywhispered, fearing the answer.


He glanced sadly down at Nancy.  Turning his face away and  taking another deep drag, Grandpa mumbled, “I killed a whole bunch of men.  Too many men…”

Nancy nodded.  The two sat there, one smoking and the other gazing as the smoke disappeared around them.

Copyright Susan Kane
Grandpa, age 55

Friday, November 8, 2013

Wednesday Words: Natalia


Source: Wikipedia...White House tree
As Papa carved a wooden doll, he muttered, “She will be as stiff as last year’s Christmas tree…”

Mama laughed.  “That is because this trunk is from last year’s tree!  From the church!” 

It had been a huge tree, nearly twenty feet tall.  The trunk revealed itself to be large and well-formed.  Papa could see a doll in the wood for his precious daughter, Natalia.

Mama fashioned a gown from Papa’s crimson flannel shirt, now mottled with time.  She had spent weeks spinning and weaving a blanket with a border of lines resembling railroad tracks.   This would cover a little girl, holding her new doll.

Antique Schoenhut 15
Source: on ebay...interesting site!
To some people, such a small gift would appear to be insignificant.  To a little girl named Natalia, it would mean everything.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Dance, I say!

party-like-its-1979-poster
Source  We did not attend this event.
Being able to dance is a wonderful.  Being able to dance skillfully and gracefully is truly a gift.  

Manzanita used her skill and love of dancing for the 2013 A-to-Z Blogfest.  Every day she shared a new dance and her experiences.  They were marvelous.

For one whose dreams alone allow me to dance, I confess that I am rhythmically impaired.  Two steps and I am lost.

But that does not take away the joy of dancing, of watching dancing.  The best dance ever done took place on New Year’s Eve, 1979. 

Our daughter was about 4 ½ and our son “Johnny” had just turned one.  We always threw a ‘big’ party with our small children on that day.  We let them stay up until almost 10 PM and eat all manner of party foods.  We put on our favorite music albums and artists, cranked the music up loud, and we danced.  We danced all over the house.

It was the Fleetwood Mac album when the real dance began. 



While still not too steady on his feet and clothed in a simple diaper, Johnny was stunned by “Tusk”.  He held onto the coffee table, and he danced.  And boy, did he dance!  Perfect rhythm, into the music, shaking his head, singing as only a toddler can!


When the  sorta-free form drum solo kicked in, he stopped and waited for it to be over.  Then the music started again.  And Johnny broke into dance.

I have never looked at dancing the same.  And I still like the Tusk album.


p.s.  Johnny is now a man, a talented pianist, with perfect pitch and rhythm.

Monday, November 4, 2013

New Christmas Carol Proposal

insane christmas deocrations
You really should see this site....
Halloween is over—Thanks Be to God.

Now the stores will start running a loop of synthesized Christmas music through the overhead speakers.  Over and over.  Shoppers will unknowingly be inspired to shop “in the spirit of the season”.  Or perhaps, they will quickly shop simply to escape the store ; their decision making skills will be affected by the thoroughly slaughtered versions of old favorites, and junk will fly off the shelves.

I would like to propose a new Christmas song.

When my oldest daughter was about four years old, she would ask for everything and anything she saw.  We almost always said “no” and told her that she could not have everything she saw.  (She really hated when we did that.)

So here is my suggestion for a new Christmas classic:





Yes, I know.

We sang only the chorus to our four year old.  So edit the rest out and burn the chorus into the store music, and I think it could be acceptable.

Note:  Do you know how many YouTube videos of Rolling Stones with Mick Jaggers singing this song exist?  Culling through them was like watching a time continuum, with Mick and the band aging visually.

It is a Saturday and this somehow hung in my mind until I put it into a blog post.  As John Gray@ Going Gently would say:  Hey-ho.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Wednesday Words: Sock Drawer Annual Conference

Source
It was time for the Annual Sock Drawer Conference.  Halloween was over, and now it was time to settle down to business.  Mated socks sorted out the un-mated.  Static held them all together.

New socks had joined the Drawer, with holidays ahead.  Some Turkey Socks and many new Christmas socks had been welcomed, mantled labels removed.  Again, language was limited to their country of origin.  “Made in China, 50% cotton and 45% polyester, with 5% spandex!”  

The Sock Drawer philosophy needed to be explained.

The mantra of the Drawer was to serve the Wearer, pure and simple.  No matter the inclement weather or the racing around the owner might do, the Socks were there to assist tractor, the shoes who propelled the Wearer to the desired destiny.

As a precursor to the meeting, the Sock Drawer sang its national anthem.  

Heel and cuff, instep and toe.  We welcome you to our Land.  Gusset and heel, tightly wove.  Cotton or whatever. The threads of socks that have gone before,  join us in homage to you with our voice. Static and lint  all abound, We welcome you to our Land.” ***

With that, the Sage Surgical Sock with chevron rubber footing cleared its throat, pounding the stump of a pencil, and announced, “Let us begin.”

*** Sung to the tune of “Oh, Tannenbaum”.


Oh that Delores @ Under the Porch Light!  Again, she has delighted the blog world with choice words.  Go to her site to see what other delights have been written!!!