Already stores are setting out Christmas decor. No more ghosts or witches haunt stores. Halloween night is a few hours away, so best hurry, get the good candy (chocolate for yourself, and Jolly Rogers) before ragged monsters and fairy princesses knock at your door.
But, for little children, there is no bigger joy than sitting
on one’s first pumpkin. And we adults
are awed by their smiles. Oh, sure, they like the candy, but sitting on a pumpkin will always be a photo op, a fond memory.
It takes just one pumpkin experience to remind us how
marvelous creation is and how utterly awesome is God who created it all.
There were two types of people crammed in an elevator heading to fifth floor:
those who smiled, nodding; and those who huffed with condemnation.
Stuffed tightly as in a jar like a jar of pickles, people were heading to the top where a conference on “Passion for Christ” was being held. A grandmother holding her grandson’s hand was
also attending. The huffing group glared
at her tattoo of an angel
wrapping up her arm.
In actuality
only a few held that passion
for Christ, Grandmother being one of them. The above underlined words were given as an encouragement to writers to take a leap at different genre. The Wed Word meme was started by Delores who is now writing her own blog, and handing off the word challenge to other bloggers. Currently, Elephant's Child is providing words to encourage writers to write. Post your own Wed Word take in her comment section, or at your own site, inviting other bloggers to read.
One knows that Halloween is at its end when all Halloween stuff has left Lowe's, and Christmas stuff is in its place. So, as a last homage to Halloween, this is given to you:
To you and Halloween monsters knocking at your door, Happy Hallowed 'eve.
There she was, crossing safely in the pedestrian
walk. While I sat, idling in my
conservative car, I found little to do, except to watch this woman make her way
slowly to the curb, leaving her car a few houses up.
She was someone no one could ignore, including a car
beside me.
Wearing stiletto shoes, glossy black with red soles and
heels, she understood how to wear these shoes.
She strutted, proudly so. Legs were white--almost un-naturally white—and
they were long and lean.
Legs led up to short black skirt, so short that her butt
cheeks peeked out below. They were white, skin was white even there. And she wore a clinging red sweater outlining
full breasts. No fat hung off her, a
black patent leather belt cinched an already tiny waist.
Her face, oh that face. It was white, so white, with
blood red lipstick spread on heavily on full thick lips. That was when she
turned her head to gaze defiantly at me and other moms watching from their
cars.
She tossed black glossy hair, teased high and out. Midnight black eye shadow with massacre framed
pale blue eyes.
Carrying a metal storage clipboard, she glanced down at a
paper, then at the street sign. Finally,
she reached the sidewalk, and strode down into a residential area, walking past
family homes.
We all drove on, heading to pick up our school children.
Catching each other’s eyes, we realized what we had seen: a street walker,
walking down the street.
1950s was an amazing time in every sense. My parents and all that generation witnessed growth beyond their expectations. What remains unchanging is fascination with Rock 'n Roll, its beginning and growth. The following video is about 7 minutes long, but watch some of it and smile. Awesome interjections by preachers and judges.
From YouTube
Do you remember any of this? How old were you then? What did your parents say?
There were too many lobster vendors to count. Lobster mac & cheese? You got it, over there. Lobster with butter? Cajun Lobster? Over there, buddy. Lobster gumbo? Same place
Everywhere.
And, what was impressive, was the huge steam tank into which live
lobsters were dumped. And then young men carried tubs of freshly steamed
lobster over to the vendors. For more info, please access this site, Web site.
Granddaughter Lily was ready for it all. “Just don’t get in my way…” Granddaughter Clara was “Ah. I’ve had enough of it all.”
Somehow a petting zoo was worked into the festivities,
and was ringed with children. Clara’s
time finally came. Clara petted goats,
sheep, pigs, chickens—all the usual. Chickens were amazing. I have never seen a chicken stand quietly,
let alone be touched. I believed firmly that those animals had had a dose of
sedatives.
Lily returned, saying, “Steer Clara away from here,
before she sees…” the dancing chickens
on Hawaiian Dancing Chicken Grill BBQ.
It was too late, Clara was there, sobbing. “They killed them! They murdered innocent
chickens.”
Veronica Darling: About Me: Hi! Welcome to my blog, where I write about sewing, crafting, DIY-ing and living in Shanghai! I'm an Australian, living in China's...
You have to check out this site if you sew. Which I do. Love this.
Caravan Parks following WW11 were immensely popular. After a time of rationing and doing-without, a
park providing comfortable housing and entertainment along a river or ocean was
welcome. Families visited these parks in droves.
An English mystery, George
Gently, had an episode that centered around a death in one of these
parks. The time period of this episode was in the late 1960s, when cars were more available, allowing families to drive themselves to
all sorts of places. This particular
park was on the down slide.
In Ireland, Hazel and her family had a standing reservation, year
after year, at one park...only no murders were part of the holiday experience. While her children and husband enjoyed this park,
Hazel was not/is not as woman who sits around tea and gossips. Mindless conversation is not/was not her
interest.
In 1984, our family was traveling around Ireland, Wales, and England. We spent one week at a simlar camp in Wales. Compact holiday houses (not caravans) were comfortable with all the facilities available.
Later in 1987, we visited another such park in Ireland, Trabolgan Cork. (You must access that site, by clicking on the underlined words. You will love the advertisement!). Great times there. Just the break we needed.
A cheerful
welcome representative of “Sunny Side Caravan
Park” escorted the Phillips family to their favorite trailer, so darn cheerful Hazel
wanted to choke her. Then she cheerfully bounced off to greet another group while Hazel wished obesity
in her future.
Jimmy Phillips was already in his swim shorts, snagging some biscuits from his mom’s food
supply on his way to the brisk northwestern English beach.
Hazel stood in this worn moldy caravan where her family trudged every single summer holiday
for the past 15 years, and wished to be under sunny skies, somewhere, anywhere but here.
Already gossip
from Greta and Dorothy had begun whose caravans were on either side of hers. Same old, same old. From the beach, boys
were arguing, with her own son caught in the crossfire of insults.
Husband Roddy was already at the “Bully Bar”, into his
second pint. Same old, same old. Hazel
pulled a bottle of Jamison from her bag.
As sunset folded into dusk, Hazel strolled down to the beach while
tea/supper was being served. A first sip
eased through her, Hazel smiled. Same
old, same old.
My friend Hazel and family went to a park like this every summer. While the drinking was not park of her life, this comes close.
Wednesday Words was established by Delores who has handed over to other bloggers to create words and photo prompts for bloggers to break their molds, and enjoy playing. This week's words are provided by Elephant's Child and use them to write from those prompts!! Visits her site, and you may post your take in her comment section or at your own blog.
You are waitingin a Dr.'s consultingroom, surroundedby posters of body parts. There are interesting brochures about diabetes, prostrate exams, and flu shots. Generic muted watercolor paintings hang somewhere. You have a cell phone to use with no restrictions. Candy Crush is delightful. Time will pass.
Oh, but find yourself in a specialist's room.
My last appointment with my neurologist showed me a huge difference. Gray-ish walls in a barren room, with no visual stimulation at all, suffocation drops heavily. No cell phone usage, either. Too many electronic machines, absolutely important machines. No clock, time will seize up.
There is an implicit message: Do Not Touch. Interesting canisters, holding interesting stuff, cabinets are locked:Do not touch.
These are activities I have used:
Tap
dancing, sit on that plastic chair and make your feet fly. Fix a song in your head and have at it. Tusk from the album, Tusk by Fleetwood Mac is a favorite. Be original. Go with it.
Make
sure
to not touch any paper covered space on that rolling cart, staff gets ready pissy about that. Instead, roll that cart (which is holding a few
instruments) around the room. Slowly, of
course, but you could make several passes in five minutes. Don't touch the paper.
That
rolling stool? That
thing is fast, amazingly fast. It swivels rapidly, so you have to be careful
with that one. Be sure to lift your feet
up, so you don’t get tangled up with the rollers. Don't touch any paper, even casually .
Pretend
to use that grey and hard table to play an imaginary drum.
Avoid the paper. This is good for arm muscles. Be sure to drum with convincing force.
Search
for studs
in the wall. Odd, but trying to hang
pictures in plaster board often leaves a row of nail holes. Stud finding is an art. There is no danger of paper-touching.
I can’t think of anything else, as the doctor entered gray prison room when I was still checking for studs.
I had found one possible stud, but lacking a hammer and nail, this could
not be confirmed.
After I married and left my rural hometown, distance
between my memories and actuality expanded, creating a hazy bubble
of sweet recollections, locked in a warmth of happiness.
Wading in
cold creeks, climbing up to the hay loft, and throwing bizarre mixtures of manure and mud at each other were all
part of curious times at farm
childhood.
After years of absence, driving through my hometown,
reality was brutal as degeneration
of home and stores collided with visions of childhood.
“Over
there, that rubble…Evans and Vernice Franklin lived there…their house had a big
porch…! And there…that was the post
office where we visited with Patty Chamberlain…the windows are boarded up!...”
We turned left at the cemetery and drove up a mile or so
to where my folks lived. I was filled with adrenaline
when we pulled into that familiar driveway.
Mom opened the screen door, waving a dishtowel. Dad walked from his old barn, his hat tilted
to the side.
Kitchen porch
Here, at least, a bubble still remained, unburst.
Since that time, my folks are dead and the farm is owned by another farmer. The house is gone, replaced by a new house, which is good. Our old house was very old, built in the mid-1800s. Time moves on.
The underlined word above may be found at Elephant's Child site. Every Wednesday, different bloggers each month provide this word challenge. Please check her site, leap out of your comfort zone, and post either in the comment section or at your own blogsite.
