Weekly Wordle #135: Goodbye

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I tug at the fabric of my blouse with impatience. All this gloss and glam really is not my thing for travelling, but a gal’s gotta do, you know?  I’m more a jackboots, jeans and t-shirt type of gal, but I can’t lie; I do look seriously good in this silky top and slacks. Yeah, I definitely learned how to dress better from all this, I’ll give it that much. I frown at my reflection turning my face at different angles in the light. It was a stroke of luck that I have my gear with me instead of having it shipped as I first wanted to do. Luck my ass! The goddesses-that-be who look over foolish gals like me knew I would need my good makeup to fix my face, so I thank you dolls! I ply on a little more foundation, to hide the discoloration trying to peek through. Sonavabitch!  The mirror in here sucks like a mutha for this, but I work with what I have. It’s an airport terminal after all, not like there is going to be a Hollywood dressing table in here.

Hollywood. L.A.

Who knew a chance meeting in the ladies’ room, a fist-fight, an emergency make-up session and some word of mouth would get me a call to go on a world tour with the crew for one of my favorite singers for an eighteen-month run. Eighteen. Months. World. Tour. I knew he was not going to like it at all, but it was an opportunity of a life time. There was no way in hell I was ever turning it down. Mama didn’t raise no fool, well, not too much of one anyway. He’s cheating on his wife with me and she knew it. I had no illusions about him faithfully waiting for my return. Still, he’s not the type of man you just walk away from. I had to make him do it.

“Baby, we knew from the beginning that I was not going to be here for a long-term thing.”

It really knifed him, my saying goodbye. He wasn’t expecting it and I wasn’t expecting him to come at me like that, but he did.

“You think you can just leave me! Leave me like a, like a, a fucking rum cull! You guttersnipe bitch!”

As soon as the words left his mouth I knew he regretted it, as I would immediately regret mine. I mean, I knew my role in his life, but I was furious! He had never said anything like that to me before, so I dropped a bomb in kind.

“But that’s all you ever were to me. Didn’t you understand that?”

He fell to his knees, staring in disbelief, as if it were all something alien to him. Maybe it was, I don’t know. I guess I should not have been surprised it happened, but I was. Hell, I was stunned. We both were. I expected to hurt, but Lord knows I didn’t expect to hurt so much. Not like this!

I hear the chime sound over the PA system and listen for the message; yes, it’s my flight preparing to board. The bruise on my cheek was now a ghastly faded yellow; my eyes were still a little red-rimmed from all the crying, but the swelling had gone down and the contouring hid everything else. I check one more time to make sure I got it all covered before I grab my satchel to join the passel of travelers like me heading for the west coast.

And I try not to think of the completely crushed look on his face, as I held mine. He knew better than to try to stop me as I quietly stood and walked out.

The backhand was easier to bear than that.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #135

wordle-135

Sound, Terminal, Rum Cull (A rich fool, easily cheated, particularly by his mistress.) Knife, Gutter, Fabric, Discolor, Gloss, Jackboot, Passel (a group or lot of indeterminate number) Stroke, Impatience

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

52 Weeks Photo Challenge: Week 20 – Coffee

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coffee

In this weekly photo challenge the theme is coffee!! But to make it more interesting we’re asked to show our best coffee mug at the moment.  Taken today, this is my favorite coffee mug at work.  Colleagues who know me know to check that I am down to Now you may speak before asking me anything first thing in the morning. Those who know me well will ask if it is my first or second coffee first.

Coffee in Naples, Italy
This magnificent cup of mocha was taken at a lovely cafe in Naples, Italy. It was one of the best cups of coffee to even cross my lips. A grand coffee indeed!

52 Weeks Photo Challenge: Week 20 – Coffee

As Long As You Believe…

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So this happened …

I am sitting on the train on my way to work, listening to my iPod, when a little hand pats me on the arm getting my attention.  I look to the adorable tyke standing in front me. I am bad at children’s ages because they are all so big now, but I was guessing about six years old. Colorful red and white barrettes peeking out from under a snow-white and purple knit hat that coordinated with the purple parka she wore.  The mother, fussing with a little boy in her lap -clearly her son- hadn’t realized her daughter had moved until the child in all her wide, pretty half-moon, long lashed, wonder filled brown eyes looks up at me and asks:

“Hi. Do you know Santa Claus? Is he real?”

I’ll take this moment to explain that, as I do each year the week or so before Christmas, weather permitting, I am wearing my bright red, double-breasted ¾ length wool coat with a wide black leather belt. I’m also wearing an off-white scarf wrapped around my neck and a bright red wool hat, with a nice snowy white fluffy pompom on top.  My nod to the holiday season as it were. Thus why she felt she could come to me with such a question.  The mother smiles apologetically, getting ready to tell her not to bother me, but I speak right over her in that voice we adults reserve for little children as I remove my ear buds.

“What in the candy canes makes you ask a question like that, sweetie?”  I smile.

Hey, dressed as I am, it does kind of require I toe the party line – don’t judge!

“Patty in my class says there’s no Santa Claus.” And I can see the plea in her eyes still wanting to believe.

“Oh honey, Santa Claus is magical. He’s only real to those who really believe he is. Someone mean probably told Patty that Santa isn’t real and she believes them.  And now because she really believes them, there is no Santa Claus for her anymore.  That doesn’t mean Santa won’t be there for you. And what do you believe?”

“I think he’s real, but now I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

Because we are on the train, I didn’t want her to be in the way as people enter and exit, so I look at the mother and ask if it’s okay, before I pick the child up and put her on my knee.

I know. I know. But really, where else was I going to put her?

“Well, Patty says I don’t have to be good for Santa because there ain’t one…”

“Say there isn’t one, not there ain’t one” I interrupt, correcting her without thinking.

“That’s what Miss Jackson says, too! But I keep forgetting.” She smiles, the veracity of her teacher now confirmed, as she keeps on going. “Patty says there isn’t one.  She says I have to be good and nice only because Mama won’t get me nothing if I don’t.”

I bite my lip, from correcting her again, but she’s a smart little cookie and sees my face.

“Oops! Mama won’t get me anything?”  She corrects herself unsure.  I grin giving her an approving squeeze.

“Well I can’t speak for your Mama. Mamas have their own rules separate from Santa’s that you should to listen to. I will say that you should be good, not just for Christmas or around your birthday, because you think you’re going to get a present.  You should try to be good always because it’s the right thing to do.  It makes everyone around feel nice when you do and don’t you feel nice when you do good things even when you know you’re not going to get a present for it?”

“Yes.”

“Well there you go!”

“But even nice to Nicky?” She whines, pointing at her younger brother still squirming in her mother’s lap.  I laugh.

“Nicky is going to get on your nerves a lot while you’re little, and you’re going to get on his. That’s what happens sometimes with siblings. I am sure he won’t seem quite so bad to you when you’re both much older.  Not even Santa expects kids to be perfect all the time. Still, you should do your very best to be good always, and be nice, even to him, okay? ”

“Okay,” She sighs reluctantly, “I’ll try.”

“Claudia, we have to go.” Her mother stands with Nicky, who starts whining loudly.

As she slides from my lap, Claudia looks at me as if to say See?

“I know little brothers can be such doo-doo heads sometimes, right?” I whisper making her giggle in surprise, winking as she returns to her mother.

“Say Merry Christmas to the nice lady, Claudia.” The mother also mouths a grateful thank you to me.

Claudia runs to back to me with her arms open, so I lean forward for the hug.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Claudia.”  I give her a quick squeeze and send her to her mother.

Ladies and gentlemen that is my last good deed of this crazy year. I now aim to misbehave and reserve the right to be as much of a pain in the ass as I want to be for these last few days of 2016.

Merry! Happy! Joyous!

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Let’s see how others are slicing it up as we race toward Christmas and Hanukkah.

sol

Slice of Life Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

Beaned

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hello_darkness

The bean’s the scene, potency gleaned
It’s the dark daily grind by far, har- har!
A buck’s a deer, yet scales appear,
What do mermaids have to do with stars?

Now I do insist on non-instant
For getting into hot water is tough
And granted thirty will leave me quite quirky
But a venti is never enough.

It’s derision, this double vision
To work uphold, I must first upend
It’s a blip, a drip, a tip, a sip
Hello darkness my old friend!
starbucks-logo

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Hmmm, maybe I do need more coffee…

dverse
dVerse Poet’s Pub – Open Link Night # 186

Tale Weaver # 96: The Front Door

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There is very little sound at this time of day. The slight wind brushing against the brick my building. The clicks of the changing traffic lights at the corner. The wheels of the passing car on the asphalt. I can even hear the intake of my own breath through my nose before I audibly exhale in a yawn. I look outside again.

The gabled and hip roofs of the Victorian and mini-colonial style houses across the street are all but dwarfed by the raised turrets that mark the roof of the cathedral at one corner of the long street and the flat squat roof line of the multi-storied tenement at the other. It is all but one dark shadowed mass as I peer through glass window of the front door of my building. In this very early dawn there is very little difference in shade between the dark concrete of the sidewalk and the blacktop of the asphalt streets save for the intermittent pools of light from street lamps. The sepia light, a dull gleam off the chrome and glass of the parked cars lining the curb. The lumens providing just enough visibility to guide you from one glowing sphere to the next giving only the simplest of details to keep one from tripping over a crack, or slipping off the curb. It has a film noir vibe. I feel as though I should be in a trench coat, instead of a winter one. The red, yellow, green of the stop light at the near corner is almost garish in comparison. The bright headlight of the sole car passing by, whose owner dares to be up and about even earlier than I, is near blinding in turn.

But this is the block on which I live; I know this block well. Even in the early morning dark I know the car in the driveway of the second Victorian from the left is maroon in color and has not moved in years from the rust I’ve seen on it. On the first floor in the colonial nearest to the corner a light turns on as someone wakes. Standing just inside the front door of the vestibule of my building I am warm in my favorite winter coat. I adjust my hat, scarf and gloves in preparation as I peer through the window yet again, on watch for one light in particular. As I spy the glowing marquee coming forth I open the door to the non-silence that is my street on an early winter’s dawn to catch my bus and head to work.

My day begins.

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Written for Mindlovemisery Menagerie’s Tale Weaver

Tale Weaver # 96 – December 15th – What you see out your front door.

Weekly Wordle #133 – Irrevocable

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With an annoyed gnash of teeth, he swept the flower from the table. He heard her gasp at the door, saw her crushed face as the bloom sailed through the air.

Too late he remembered…

Knowing nothing could be done, they watch the snowy edelweiss float for the briefest moment, like birdseed tossed into the air, then seemingly hurtled towards the uncovered lantern for a curl of fire to capture it.

A sudden hollowness fills him – and he knows – his heart is gone.

He had scoffed at the old gypsy woman a year ago he rode away with his prize, her granddaughter.

Not anymore.

With an askance glance the charred remains of what could have been, the descendent simply turned walked away. It was his third warning. They both know, this time, it is irrevocable.

Smoky whorls landed oh so softly in his palms, soft like a kiss. Like the kiss of love he will never get to know.

…when her heart is gone, you will lose yours –  forever.

He stood there transfixed for a long time. A ludic Narcissus, staring into his tear-stained hands long after the ashes were gone.

That was his curse.
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week-133
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #133 “December 12th, 2016”

Gnash, Lantern, Edelweiss, Birdseed, Capture, Heart, Askance, Descendent, Irrevocable, Ludic, Ashes, Curse

You can use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

I challenged myself to a- use all twelve words b- use them in order given and c- write a story in under 200 words

 

In Step

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1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!
1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!

Her booted stilettoes are a forte staccato on the polished wood
Counter point to the allegro of the snapping castanets in her hands

1-2-3-4,
1-2-3-4,

Kitten heeled pumps are andante, in the diminuendo chords
Arms ebb and flow evoking waves, foliage that caters to a wind’s bend

1, 2, 3,

1, 2, 3

While soft soled flats give a dolce presence to the calando of the tune
Her fingers doloroso wiping imagined tears in the final longa before applause

1 and 2 and

Bare toes touch floor at last

Finite

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At Real Toads I am given inspiration to write a poem on shoes for Susi.

While at dVerse I Meet the Bar by giving some elements of music for Victoria.

FOF: It’s Time!

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hay
Overnight, giant snowballs of hay appeared in the field.

Well, maybe not overnight, but as a kid who didn’t have to do the work, it felt that way each harvest season.

There’s something in the annual sighting of those stacks. It’s a visual nod to that the family has made it through another growing season; that the farm animals will make it through the coming winter. Most important, once the last bale was done, Papa would walk into Mama’s kitchen looking like a scarecrow and announce “It is done!” Somehow my young mind associated those giant bales of hay as a harbinger of the coming holiday season, all the joy they bring, and would ask “Is it Christmas yet?”

Now, it is my job. My wife and kids smile annually when I step onto the back porch, brush off hay and shout “It’s Christmas Time!”

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Written for:

Finish Off Fridays #3: Snowballs of Hay & Garden Gargoyles (09.12.16)

A Recipe for Hygge

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A large dose of merriment in the holidays that herald the coming of winter, regardless of hemisphere.

Delight in the dashes of Joy that are the a blanc beauty of fresh fallen snow.

Dollops of peace in enjoying the solitude of a good book or movie, new or old.

On a snowbound night – nothing re-hydrates like hot cocoa if cold; a chilled chardonnay if warm.

Dole heaps of compassion and goodwill for humanity’s less fortunate.

Whisk together friendship where the pot luck results in a smorgasbord of laughter and love.

Keep an extra roux of wisdom and strength on hand for rejuvenation to reduce the doldrums that may appear. Serve yourself and others liberally as needed in remembering it is only a season, and like all seasons, this too shall pass.

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What is Hygge? If you were to try to translate it, hygge (pronounced hoo-guh), like duende, it is more of a feeling than a word. It’s sort of a full-on embrace of all things toasty, cozy, and restorative to the soul, especially in wintertime.

Today at dVerse Michelle (Mish) tends the pub for Poetics and challenges us to create our own “recipe poem”, but not of the culinary kind. To instead, write about something more abstract such as “a recipe for love”.  Thus, for those of us, like myself – who are not major fans of cold weather –  I present my recipe for getting through the winter season quickly encroaching on the northern hemisphere.

dverse
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics | Recipe Poems

 

We are in the first full week of December and several of my northern friends are already facing snow. It seemed a good time to get this recipe going.

 

sol

Slice of Life Tuesday Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

real-toads-buton

Imaginary Garden – The Tuesday Platform