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Monthly Archives: July 2013

We are waiting…

101_8630Dear Royal Baby,

We are not amused.

Your tardiness is infringing on our royal summer holiday. Our bags are packed, and we are most anxious to depart for Balmoral. We fear we would appear cold and uncaring if we were to leave for Scotland before your birth–the press were scandalized enough by our joking (mostly) comment today that we did not mind whether you were a boy or a girl, just so long as you arrived soon.

Besides, it would be damned inconvenient to drive eight and a half hours up the M6 just to find out that you had finally appeared, and that we were expected to rush back to Paddington for the requisite oohing and ahhing. In actual fact, we would be most content to meet you privately when you travel with your parents to visit Balmoral later in the summer.

We are hot, we are sweaty, and we are getting cranky. We long for the cool, green hills of Scotland so that we might escape the hottest London summer in seven years. You are urged, most respectfully, to hurry the hell up.

I have the honour to be (someday),
Your loving great-grandmother,
HM Queen Elizabeth II

At the risk of upsetting Her Majesty, I am secretly hoping the baby holds out for eight more days…then I can say I share my birthday with the future British monarch!

 

A time for her

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While the rest of the house slept, she silently sipped her coffee and eyeballed the bag waiting by the door. Mentally, she inventoried its contents as she crossed the kitchen; she hoped she had not forgotten anything vitally important.

She grabbed the pen and notepad off the fridge and padded barefoot to the old pine table where she hastily scribbled a goodbye note to her family. Normally, she was the one left behind, as one by one as they departed each day for school and work. But today she was the one leaving.

The kids were old enough—they’d be fine on their own. Her husband—well, he had his work and he’d never even notice her absence.

She anchored the note to the table with a box of corn flakes, rinsed her cup in the sink, scratched the cat’s ears one last time. Opening the back door a crack, she drank deeply of the warm late-August air and prayed that this was the right decision, that in finally considering her own needs she was not neglecting those of her loved ones.

She stepped into her shoes, reciting a silent mantra: “You can do this, you deserve this.” Grabbing her bag from the floor and the car keys from the counter, she squared her shoulders and stepped out into the early morning, a sense of freedom and empowerment replacing doubt as she closed the door quietly behind her.

Today, she knew, would be the hardest. New starts were never easy, but surely if she could make it through today, the days ahead would get easier. Just as her children had each survived their first days of elementary then middle then high school, she reassured herself that, as a grown woman, she could survive this, her first day of college.

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Today’s flash fiction inspiration comes from Trifecta: Week Eighty-Six, a challenge to use the third definition of the word crack in a piece of 33 to 333 words (mine is 299).

3a : a narrow break : fissure <a crack in the ice>
  b : a narrow opening <leave the door open a crack><cracks between floorboards>   —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out <a player who fell through the cracks in the college draft> <children slipping through the cracks of available youth services>

Today’s photo, other than the fact that it IS a crack, has nothing whatsoever to do with the story. I took the picture on my walk yesterday, oblivious to Trifecta’s challenge, because I was frankly stunned that after all the rain we had between April 2012 and April 2013 the fields could possibly be dry enough to crack so deeply. Guess that’s clay soil for you.

 
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Posted by on July 16, 2013 in Challenges, Fiction, Tuesday Tales

 

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Travel theme: Simplicity

I am frantically trying to get the house ready for the movers who are coming next week, so I could do with a bit of simplicity about now. This week, Ailsa’s photo challenge on her blog Where’s my backpack? is all about clean, simple photographs. Here are a few that I think fit the bill…

 
 

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Help me make something out of this

101_6626My favorite writing prompt this week was WordPress.com‘s Daily Post for Saturday, Your Life, the BookFrom a famous writer or celebrity, to a WordPress.com blogger or someone close to you — who would you like to be your biographer?

I’m not sure my life story is interesting enough to warrant space on anyone’s bookshelf, but if there’s an author out there who I’d trust to turn the mundane into a page-turner, it would have to be Laura Hillenbrand. I admit that I’ve only read one of her books, Unbroken, but that one chronicle of a WWII POW’s survival sold me on her amazing abilities as a storyteller. The harrowing tale of Louis Zamperini, former Olympic runner, was presented with humor, grace, and sensitivity, and I was completely entranced from the very first page. Hillenbrand included so many details, from every aspect of Louis Zamperini’s life, gleaned from poring over letters and diaries, as well as countless interviews with family, friends, Olympic teammates and coaches, fellow POWs, and Japanese veterans. Her research and the resulting biography were so thorough that Zamperini has since called Hillenbrand to get details about specific events from his life so he can be accurate as he pens his own memoirs!

I’d like to hand over my story to someone who will take it on as her own, sifting through the minutiae of the past to create a path of words that allows the reader to walk right alongside me throughout my life’s journey. Someone who can sort out the jumble of events, emotions, relationships, and adventures of my past four decades, and make sense of how they’ve all worked to make me the person I am today. I think if Hillenbrand were in charge of this project, I would learn something about myself in the finished story!

 

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Saturday night leftovers

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The sun’s been shining for two solid weeks here in England, temperatures are soaring into the 80s during the day, and there are bodies everywhere. Before we moved here, I heard from more than one source that whenever the sun came out, Brits were so grateful that they would pull over on the side of the road, strip down, and throw themselves on any available horizontal surface to soak up some rays. While it’s not quite that extreme, from our vantage point in the blessedly air-conditioned pod of the London Eye, we could see that Jubilee Gardens was covered in ghostly pale limbs seeking an alternative to the perennial spray tan.

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“Honey, I’m home! Just in case you didn’t hear me pull up in the John Deere…” This is not the first time I’ve seen this tractor with some kind of wicked-looking implement attached to the back parked in the drive. I can’t imagine commuting daily in a tractor, and the yard doesn’t appear large enough to require this kind of equipment, so I admit this is a puzzle to me. But these puzzles are part of what make my daily walks so enjoyable!

HPIM2425I have been known to collect “projects” at our fortnightly local auction house. You know, those items that require a bit of creative vision and a lot of effort to be usable and/or aesthetically pleasing. I’ve got rusty cast iron (a bell, a fence finial, a lantern) that needs to be sanded and repainted. I have an unfinished, water-stained wooden chair that needs sanding and some linseed oil. There are four balloon back chairs that need to be reupholstered. I bought a hideously bright blue and green set of drawers that need a toned-down paint job. Everything else needs a thorough cleaning to remove the cobwebs and bird poop that accumulated while the pieces were waiting in the barn for their day in the saleroom. I DID NOT buy this eviscerated Victorian nursing chair to add to the list. 🙂

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I applaud London for its efforts to keep the city clean. Tourists and residents alike are pleased. People have jobs. It’s a win-win situation. But I have two questions. One, why are you sweeping already clean sidewalks when one block over candy wrappers and cigarette butts are stacking up like cordwood? And two, why are you pushing that big-ass sweeper through Saturday afternoon crowds; why not clean in the early morning or late night?

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And finally, this T-shirt, spied in the market on London’s Portobello Road, has a message we might all want to consider…

Trying something new this week…instead of Six-word Saturday, I thought I’d showcase some snippets from my week that were worth a mention but not necessarily a full post of their own.

 

 

That’s just the way I write

101_5870No sudden moves.

This weekend, for Trifextra: Week Seventy Six, the folks at Trifecta have asked us to sum up our writing process using only three words, a prompt inspired by the reply given by Neil Gaiman when asked the same: “Glare. Drink tea.”

 

 
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Posted by on July 12, 2013 in Challenges

 

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An incomplete history

familypicPhoto provided by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Numbly I lay the obituary page next to the only family photo to survive the inferno that consumed Mom and Dad’s retirement villa three nights ago.

Why do we look like we’re about to invade this house? Who caught us on film? Tell me the story…

Voiceless ashes cruelly mock the gaps in my biography.

This story is exactly 55 words in response to a photo prompt by Lisa McCourt Hollar, who sponsors the weekly 55 Word Challenge on Jezri’s Nightmares. Unfortunately, it’s a 24-hour contest, opening Wednesday at noon Eastern time. I’m a day (plus an hour) late to actually participate in the challenge this week because I didn’t read the fine print till just now.

55wordChallenge

 
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Posted by on July 12, 2013 in Challenges, Fiction

 

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