Strange Beginnings

Struggling Writer, Writing September 8, 2014

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Daily Prompt;You’re sitting at a Café when a stranger approaches you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

Strange Beginnings

The outdoor Café, was busy with after dinner customers, I had ordered a decaf cappuccino and waited, people watching; when the stranger appeared in the corner of my eye. His hat and turn upped collar a little dramatic for West New York, New Jersey. He stopped alongside my table, put his gloved hand on the back of the empty metal chair and said, “I’ve been looking for you, Mariah.”

“Me? Mariah Doherty? That can’t be? Why would you be looking for me?” The shadow from his hat concealed his identity, and made it impossible to determine if I knew him, so asked, ” Do I know you?”

“Mind if I sit,” was his reply; a statement not question, because he pulled out the chair and arranged his six-foot frame on the seat and his legs under the table. He removed his hat and starred, before announing “Your mother told me where I could find you.”

“Really, my mother? Now why would she do that?” I was growing more apprehensive by his arrogance and assumption and laughed a nervous laugh.

“Mariah, I’m your father.”

The waitress arrived with my coffee, I thanked her and then remained speechless, filled with anger for this  stranger.

 

. . . Seriously just saying

 

 

 

 

The Mean Wife

#humor/laughter, Struggling Writer September 4, 2014

 

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The Good Wife

Well, I do not want to be the director. Really, I would rather be Alicia, “The Good Wife”. She always looks great and never, never once shopped. Let us not pretend, in real life she probably has, as well as screamed at her kids.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

However if I had to replace her with a family member it would have to be a Mother-in-law, not my mother-in-law. She recently died and  I will not speak ill of the dead, but no one cried for her.

We need not be maudlin, but have some fun.

Episode One:

Alicia drives to her kid’s school crying hysterically at dismissal and tells them their father, Peter,  is having an affair and she is going home to kill herself.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

Dig Deeper

#humor/laughter, Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing September 3, 2014 Comments: 2

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Digging Up Your Digs

500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long-buried underground. What will she learn about early 21st century humans by going through (what remains) of your stuff?

Dig Deeper

Terran 48 removed her head shell and spoke directly into the drone, “Contact the Archaeology Ministry, we unearthed a digital picture frame, manufactured by Kodak with humans of all ages laughing,smiling and dancing; evidence that Homo-sapiens were programmed for happiness as early as 1970. ”

. . . Seriously just saying

Not Happening!

#humor/laughter, Uncategorized, Writing September 2, 2014

Zoltar’s Revenge

In a reversal of Big, the Tom Hanks classic from the 80s, your adult self is suddenly locked in the body of a 12-year-old kid. How do you survive your first day back in school?

Not Happening!

I shake and shutter at the thought. The year would be 1960 and I’d be going into the seventh grade in WAJ Central.

You cannot make me do it, I am not going back.

I am, in fact, missing on the reunion list, although my name appears with the caption “Do you know where this graduate is?”

But I am not returning.

The school is named WAJ, after the sending towns; Windham, Ashland and Jewett. You can  locate it on a map, by looking for Green County above Kingston, New York. If you ski, perhaps you’ve been to the sloops of “Windham Mountain Resort.“

WAJ is a small rural school with kindergarten through twelfth grade housed in one building. There were thirty-five students in my 1966 graduating class, one of which was my brother, because although older, he was left back twice.

Our move from Long Island to the Northern Catskills was a middle of the night move, motivated by our father’s belief it was better that constructing a bomb shelter.

Anyway, why go back as an adult, I was one of the few adults way back than.

Well I could go back and tell the science teacher, Mr. Christman, not to throw a frog reeking of formaldehyde out the window and comfort to Ms. Lazare, the French teacher, who after hearing a loud pop believed she’d been shot and fell to the ground clutching her chest. 

But I am not going back and you cannot make me!

. . . Seriously just saying

 

 

 

Black Cherry Berry

Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing August 22, 2014

Pick Your Potion
Captain Picard was into Earl Grey tea; mention the Dude and we think: White Russians. What’s your signature beverage — and how did it achieve that status?
(Thanks, Bea Patricia, for inspiring this prompt!)

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Black Cherry Berry

He who likes cherries soon learns to climb!” German Proverb

May stood in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, reminding herself not to forget she had turn on the damn stove. She examined the package of herbal tea called “Black Cherry Berry,” to kill time. This was the only beverage she drank.

The box top showed a picture of a 1969 Ford pickup truck driving a dirt road with cherry trees in the backdrop. A wooden basket filled with cherries filled a bottom corner. White cherry blossoms decorated the adjacent corner. It was pretty.

Celestial Teas marked the bottom of the box along with the boast, “We’ve blended healthy teas with environmental consciousness since 1969.” The environmental consciousness pleased May.

Her arthritic hands struggled to remove the clear cellophane, open the cardboard, and unwrap the parchment paper. The message, “The famous cherry blossom trees of Washington DC, given as a gift by Japan in 1912, are ornamental trees and don’t produce cherries,” was printed across the box lip.

Good to know thought May. 

She turned off the stove, poured hot water into a two-cup Pyrex measuring cup and deposited two bags of Black Cherry Berry tea.

She would wait until the tea reached room temperature then pour the liquid into a plastic pitcher add the rest of the boiled water deposit the container in the refrigerator to chill. She had prepared her chilled drink of choice everyday for the past five years.

May glanced at the clock, it was eight o’clock in the morning.

. . . Seriously Just Saying

Money Money

Struggling Writer, Writing August 21, 2014

 

Daily Prompt Work? Optional!
If money were out of the equation, would you still work? If yes, why, and how much? If not, what would you do with your free time?

 Money Money

Yes! Yes! Yes! But we need to define work.

If you mean out the door, dressed, hair, makeup done by seven or eight than; I don’t think so.
If you mean to “sustain physical or mental effort to overcome obstacles and achieve an objective or results,” than I’m in.

The question poises more about value and purpose than a job. Once a person has enough money to live the life style they are comfortable with, what are they going to do?

Really, what makes you happy?

In my case, with enough money not to work, I planned to party in retirement. I had followed the rules:

• Put others before yourself
• Volunteer to work long hours
• Spend less than you make
• Never take any sick days

Now good times and travel here I come.

Then my husband got sick, and a writing bug bit me.

Today, Bob is enjoying good health and we are traveling but, I like to write, damn I just enjoy it!

. . . Seriously Just Saying

Dyslexia of The Mouth

#humor/laughter, Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing August 19, 2014

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 Uncanned Laughter
A misused word, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally funny.

Dyslexia of the Mouth

Talk about hitting the hammer on the head or nailing the head of a hammer, well you hit the nail on the head. This is me and I blame my brother. In childhood, Victor hit me on the head with a baseball bat and on another happy occasion, a lead pipe. I hear him laughing now, and the laughter follows me.

Like a stroke victim, I think I am saying circumference, my mouth says circumcise and people laugh. “What? What’s so funny about a circumference?” I’m listening to my mind unaware my mouth is not cooperating.

This dyslexia of the mouth was brought to my attention by my boyfriend. We were twenty and playing the word game Geography. A graduate of private school, Iona Prep, he had a true advantage. I graduated from Windham Ashland Jewett Central and had traveled only once outside New York to Rhode Island.

We’d been through all the states and working on Countries. I was doing okay; until the letter, O.

Stumped to name a European City that began with O, Bob helped me saying, “It’s a city in Norway.”

I scream excitedly, “I know Openhagen!”

LOL, Openhagen? LOL,Openhagen?

Oslo is a city in Norway that begins with the letter O. Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark is close by. If the c is  scratched you have a European city that begins with O.

I wish I had a dollar for every time he has retold the story laughing very out loud.

We’ve been married for forty-three years.

. . . Seriously just saying

Betty Boop, My New Best Friend

Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing August 14, 2014

 

The Name’s The Thing

Have you ever named an inanimate object? (Your car? Your laptop? The volleyball that kept you company while you were stranded in the ocean?) Share the story of at least one object with which you’re on a first-name basis.

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You ask writers to “Share the story of at least one object with which you’re on a first-name basis,” sounds kinky and similar to “Fifty Shades of Grey”.

I have never read the book, have no desire to have a relationship with an object, and have stopped apologizing for not owning a pet. However, the concept of having a low maintenance friend is appealing.

I glance around and focus on a favorite inanimate object on my desk, a Betty Boop coffee mug. Perhaps I will give her some life, make her my writing buddy, someone to laugh and encourage me as I struggle to write.

As a child, cartoons that featured ants running around and characters getting bopped on the head infuriated me. Betty Boop, the flapper with more than brains, made me laugh. The cartoons have a message and Betty solves problems.

In “The Practical Joker” Irving is annoying and prevents Betty from icing a cake, she asks Prof. Grampy “What can I do?”

Prof. Grampy says, “Send him to me!” and gets out his Bag of Tools to outsmart the practical joker.

I glance at Betty Boop and she says, “Now let’s write for an hour and we can eat donuts and drink coffee while Prof Grampy makes revisions.”

“Boop-Oop-A-Doop” I have a new best friend.

                                                                        . . .  Seriously Just Saying

 

More Betty Boop Cartoons

New Wrinkles and Prunes

Struggling Writer, Writing August 11, 2014 1 Comment

Word Press Prompt New Wrinkles

You wake up one day and realize you’re ten years older than you were the previous night. Beyond the initial shock, how does this development change your life plans?

 

New Wrinkles & Prunes

Seriously?

If I was twenty and woke-up thirty, no big difference. Actually I might be happier. Similarly at forty, saying “good morning” to fifty would be a piece of cake.

However, I am sixty-six and my life expectancy is eighty-one, so probably have about fifteen more good years. Fast-foward ten years, I am seventy-six and would have five.

So the questions becomes; how would I spend the next five years?

For starters, I would stop fretting about commas, and my latest obsession; reusing typed letters to form new words.

What am I talking about?

Here is an example; I type there instead of their. Rather than delete the word, there, I delete the last e (ther) and use the left side arrow to insert the letter i. It is time-consuming.

I also save periods for later use.  

At seventy-six I would sell all my belongs then write and travel for the five years.

Which prompts another question; Why not do that at sixty-six?

                                            . . . Seriously Just Saying

Daily Prompt Flash Fiction

 

Blogging School Drop-Out

#humor/laughter, Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing April 27, 2014 Comments: 2

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April 24, 2014
It’s 6:45AM and I’m sitting at my desk wearing a pink fuzzy robe and slippers that are too big. The music from “Beauty School Drop-out” is swirling through my head only, blogging has replaced beauty.

Seriously, I’m considering dropping out or taking a medical leave from Blogging University. I don’t know if today is day ten, eleven or twelve. I haven’t completed assignments from day six through whatever we’re up to and I’m having dreams about failing.

It’s the day of the final, every seat in the classroom is filled, except mine. I wonder the room looking for a different seat and a pencil with an eraser. The exam will include reading aloud from Oliver Twist, and I never bought the book. A pencil holder is on the front desk, I check its content and none of the pencils have points. There are several Papermate Sharp Writers, but they are broken.

The professor, wearing jeans and shoes without socks, sneaks up behind me. He’s never been  to class before, and I’m surprised by his looks; a spitting image of Tom Scary, my first high school crush., except his  nose is much pointer.

He frowns, cracks his neck, and says, “Looking for something?”

I mumble, “A pencil.” Then continue to confess, “I’m unprepared. I never read Oliver Twist or Catcher in the Rye and can’t understand Shakespeare.” Tears are forming in my eyes.

He reaches in his pocket for a pen he hands me, saying; “Use this!”

Then turns to the class, and says, “Who wants to read first?”

I woke up in a cold sweat.

It took ten minutes to write this, an hour and fifteen minutes to edit, and two days to select an image header.

I’m getting dressed. It’s hard for me to think when my boobs are touching my waist, and besides I have dryer lint on my mind.

 

. . . . Seriously, what’s on your writing mind?

7 Golden Rules of Blogging