Big Guys at the top

 After work, after the business of life, the team had been eager to settle at the nearest watering hole. It had been a rough day.

Hey, Jim. How did the office manage all that blow back from the big guys up at the top?
   

"Well, you can imagine, Tom. It blew them all away. I mean, what did they expect when the stink settled down after the clean-up crew took care of the rot?"

Again, all nodded. The fifth co-worker, Kevin piped up. "I'm exhausted. We complain every day. Can't do anything about them. They can take us down without a thought."

 
  "Big guys at top? They live well, really well. I mean they go to work in their spiffy black suits,

 

"Big guys at top? They could eat us alive, or dead."

 

 

 

They grumbled and took off for home where family and friends lived. Come sunup, they would be at work. At sundown, they would be lined up again. 

The big bosses were already singing together their raucous out-of-tune songs. In their black suits and ties, they smiled at their success.

Silently, the crew left, singing songs of their own,

sweet songs.

Bosses of the sky, bosses of the trees 

They stayed.

The bosses in black suits

Singing raucous songs, non-stop songs

 

This is a repost of 2019 post. The blackbirds are swarming about, singing. I wonder what they are saying.

When the man comes around

 

Johnny Cash had a way of shaving away all the unnecessary surroundings and get to the heart of the matter.

There are so many recordings that tell the story of his life as a solo voice.

 Wayfaring stranger: His voice, oh my, his voice.  No one can duplicate or match his voice.

When the Man comes around...

Johnny Cash sang to every person, meeting them with his voice and welcoming them to sit down and listen.  

What the witch saw...

 From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.....

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by, remembering sadly her lovely forest home.  A forest fire had raged and taken her ancient house, with the only safe place to hide was behind an old iron stove.

Sigh, so many memories…

Today Wanda was waiting for the painter, whom she had hired from a town 200 miles away, to come and cover the hideous pale blue kitchen walls with bright swirls and stripes. How can anyone stand such blandness, no excitement, no taste?

Wanda rocked and gazed through the screened in-balcony, seeing neighbors was along the street in front of what was now her home.  A jogger, who was drinking bottle water…well, he's a bit stringy! Tsk. Tsk. 

Then a muscular man walking his miniature poodle strolled by.  My, he’s burned off every bit of fat…  He waved at Wanda, as she called out, “Hello, dearie!”

Then the mailman who walked briskly, no time to linger…then the old woman with walker, skin sagging from her bones…

Finally, a rusty truck braked in front of her house, and “Painter Pete” stepped out.  “Howdy there, Mz Wanda!  I’m runnin’ a bit late, but…”  Wanda had ceased listening to his prattle.  She was instead noticing fat buttocks, portly love handles, a pudgy gut, and massive possibilities. 

“Come right in, Mr. Pete!  I have been waiting for you!”

Yes, Wanda had been waiting.  The oven was hot, the cleaver sharpened, and a hypodermic heavy duty sedative waiting.  Knocking someone out with an iron shovel was so old school.

Don't you just love Cloris Leachman?

 

Wednesday words took a slow turn May 2015 when a photo prompt (see yellow house with balcony) was the assignment.

 

On the road.....

 Being a driver is always interesting. Being a passenger can be frightening.

BUT to be an observer? That is the best ever.

Time waits for....

 

That is the big question of the day:  Where did the time go?

We all moan about not having enough of time.  I used to tell my children that they had too much time on their hands if they were getting into fights.  

 

My husband always has big plans for projects he will do over the weekend, but on Sunday night, we look at each other and ask, “Where did the time go?”

It is not as though it slipped behind the bookcase, or joined the lost remote in the sofa cushions.  It certainly isn’t hiding with dirty tissues.  Time seems to run away from us, like a small child who has just discovered he can outrun his parents.

Time is a fire in which we all burn.

In “Star Trek: Generations” with Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean Luc Picard (sighJ), he is confronted by Dr. Tolian Soran, played by Malcolm McDowell, who says, “Time is the fire in which we all burn.”  Picard has just learned that his brother and nephew have perished in a fire, and this statement hits him rather brutally. 

Is Dr. Soran correct?  Is this the view that most people accept? 

 

I don’t believe, or can’t believe that it is. 

Time is the ticking of some form of clock, to be sure, but it is also an accumulation of life experiences, memories, events, and closely held loved ones.  Time is a steady revolution of the earth around the sun, a myriad of glorious sunrises and sunsets, the rushing of the foamy tides.  

 

Time is holding the hand of my husband on our wedding day, and still holding his hand when we are old. 

Jean Luc Picard, at the end of the movie when all action is said and done, concludes that time is much like an old friend who moves along slowly with us through our life time.  I really like that conclusion.  “Do not go gentle into that good night!  Rage, rage, against the dying of the light!”  as proposed by the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas is certainly an option.  

 

But, as for me, knowing that the closing of my eyes as a mortal being, and the opening of them to behold God for all eternity, I prefer that measurement of time.

 

  

Fairy life sucks

 

                                                                         Fairy life

Sleep sweet fairy? Really? 

I am a man fairy, a guy who slogs through life, miserable at every minute of it.

While all those cutie flower fairies are curled up in their teacup flowers, here I am trudging along, guarding them from some unknown terror. Like anyone is going to attack our little piece of unreal heaven in the middle of the night.

What did I do before? I used to be a fairy who crafted little stuff. You need a box? I can do that. Just give me a walnut, and it's done.

But when age shut that down, well, here I am, just a bent over old fairy with crumbling wings, cursing every step.

 

                                                                         Fireflies

Life sucks. So here I am...chasing after blinking bugs in the middle of the night.

Catching lightning bugs to blink-blink-blink a bumpy path? That is a life no one never ever should have to do. Those damn bugs have no brains. Their only gift to the fairy world is their shiny butts. They die at the end of night, new bugs pop out and I, a former artisan in fairy art, have to catch 'em, lock 'em up. Mindless buggers.

When the sun comes up, those damn flower fairies will practice their songs. I'll head on to my shabby home, where my old fairy wife will make my life hell. 

Thank you, dear Fairy Goddess, for the fairy nectar fermenting into a healing liquid in my dreary house.

 
I need every drop.

                                                              old fairy couple

I wrote another fairy story, using Wednesday Words as the base, back in 2017.  This is one I never published, from 2020.

Earlier "Fairy in Mud Hell" can be found thecontemplativecat.blogspot.com . 

What people do when a car and driver got beat up

old ladies in road rage     

I don't know about you, but some people have no sense of what is right and what is stupid.  

We can recognize this when people make wrong choices in life, especially in driving.

This is one of those choices.      

Abandoned mine in Arizona

 

10 mines can be toured

Mind gone dry,

Mined too many times.

Rocks crumble

From inside the hill.

Nothing left to pick 

With a broken tool.

Wind echoes

Through empty caverns,

Taking wisps of ideas

Leaving dry husks

In which

Only a throbbing sound

Is heard.

 

by Susan Kane 

 

 

DeSoto mine 

 

DeSoto mine interior 

Music Fills the Air

 Choirs! All around us, music soars.

  

Kentucky choir of 3,000 students in Hilton Hotel 

 

Ottawa children's choir

Vienna Boys' Choir singing Ode to Joy at Petra

Sunshine Sentinels, Safari Media 

 We have been fortunate to visit and hear the choirs all around. 

 Vienna Boys' Choir in Vienna...We attended a rehearsal from a balcony, where the boys were 20 feet away from us.  They were boys, teasing each other, picking noses, etc. in between glorious music.

 Mormon Tabernacle choir...Oh my. We heard it in the main sanctuary and it took our breaths away.

Choirs in Cork, Ireland...from the Cork Music Academy.  Memories.

Children's Choir groups are amazing for many reasons.  I always wondered where these precious children/now adults are. 

Golf is a deadly serious game.

 

 best golf balls 2024

 

When Evan dropped dead in front of his golfing foursome, Frank responded quickly.

With his brand new Foot Joy shoes, he nudged Evan, and turned him over.  “Damn!” Frank cursed, “Now I have grass stains.  Damn.”

Clem interrupted. “Well, you did insist on a morning tee-off time.”

All looked down at Evan’s still body.

Jack spoke up. “Who will be our fourth?!  It isn’t likely Evan will be regenerated anytime soon.”

Frank shook his head.  “No help for it.  Let’s head back to the clubhouse.  We’ll tell the Front Desk about Evan.” He nudged Evan once more with a heavy sigh.

This was a Wednesday Words Post, posts July 2015. Was reposted in 2018

 

 

Under Armour HOVR Drive 2 

East or West?

 

I will be kind…I will smile…were Brenda’s thoughts, as she sat in the family pew, hands folded in her lap, back straight, and eyes focused on Pastor Ben.  No one will know my thoughts.  No one will suspect what I am thinking.

On her left side, her father was ‘amening’ almost in a rhythm, and Brenda had to to keep from tapping 1…2…3 and hold…1…2…  Her grandmother was waving her hankie in a show of agreement.

Show?  Brenda pondered that word, looking around at other old ladies with their gray hair and dressy hats.  They too were waving their hankies, and some even dabbed at their eyes.

All the other young people were sitting in the back, passing notes, and giggling.  Their heads were bowed, but Brenda knew they weren't praying.   The young families were in the middle of the church, with their children.  Brenda could smell the Cheerios and Fruit Loops.

 

Her mother sat, quietly folding and unfolding the church bulletin.  Fold...2...3..  Her mother's hands were red and worn; she had to prepare another dinner for the pastor and family.  Every Sunday, it was dinner for someone. 

Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact.

That was when Brenda knew.  Her mother wanted to blast out of this church just as badly as Brenda. To escape.

What’ll we do?  Mom, what will we do? 

Her mother wrote a note to her father, which read about checking on the roast and get dinner ready for the pastor, and Brenda had to help.   Her father nodded, not breaking rhythm one bit.

Source: saavem

They tore out of the parking lot.  As they drove past their house, Brenda turned to her mother.  Mom?  Mom?

Her mother smiled, lit up a cigarette, and sped up.  “We’re goin’ to Vegas, girl. I am done fixing dinners every single Sunday for every preacher passing through town.”  Then they headed to the West, the whole 1,000 mile trip. 

Not much good can be said about August

 

The exhibition celebrates the history of an old candle making factory which was based on Bankside more than 100 years ago  

 

 

 

It is August 10 and the day will be roasting hot by noon. Temperatures of our area may reach 108 deg. today. 

Just when the inside feels like I could bake cookies on the counter, a magical thing happens.

Source: livia-maria

 

Our local energy company SDG & E electric employs the FLEX energy plan to keep the electrical grids from overloading.  That means they can turn my A/C off.  Off!! with the fan still running. I had enrolled in this when I was gone at work much of the day.  However, those days were over, and I needed cold air.

 After settling that issue with the representatives, I waited and waited. 

Source

 

Off, with the interior thermometer rising slowly up the scale.  82º?  That is nothing.  86º, and it keeps rising.  I stop looking.

Outside?  Thermometer past 95 and still going...

The A/C returned.  God bless it.

Truth is: Summer makes me cranky.  Life sucks.  Leave me alone.

This is a re-post from 2014 or 2013.  It doesn't matter; hot one year or the other doesn't matter.

 

The Curse of the Blue Screen

 

                                                                                

Blue screen of death

Bob gasped, gaping at his computer and at the dreaded blue screen. What the heck?!

His second thoughts were, Oh no!  My dashboard, my blogs!

The previous re-bootings and warnings had seemed inconsequential at the time. Then, blue screen panic appeared to be more TV and its tendency toward sensationalism than truth.

All the bloggers' mayhem and panic about the hackers who called themselves “the Atomic Crashers” had finally hit his precious computer. Damn them!

Humbled, Bob considered the options.  Being non-denominational when it came to tech repair stores, he tossed a coin:  Heads—Best Buy.  Tails—Staples.

Every Wednesday, Delores at Under the Porch Light provided bloggers with six challenging words with which to create a short story, poem, prose, or whatever. The underlined words above were August Wednesday week's challenge.  Let me just say, these were not easy.

 

Delores handed the baton over to other bloggers. The Wed. Words  are a challenge now continued by:

River /riverdriftingthroughlife.blogspot.com/

 

Elephant's Child  myjustsostory.blogspot.com/ ,