Wed. Words: Same old, same old

UK Caravan park

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.

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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.

Things to Do in a Doctor's Consulting Room

comes in three colors

You are waiting in a Dr.'s consulting room, surrounded by 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.

Good luck.

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Wed.Words...Tracing Home

Home

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.