Life’s a bit fuzzy right now.

Some weeks ago when Lisa came down from Flagstaff to visit and we wandered in the Preserve, the cottonwoods (or something) had evidently been oversharing, as in several places fuzziness had overtaken everything in the vicinity.

There’s a bit of fuzziness in our lives right now (Sunday as I write this) because my dad passed away tonight, following Mom’s death in early February. It’s been a tough year. One of my sisters-in-law has a very serious form of lymphoma as well, so needless to say 2022 will not go down as one of the best years of our lives. However, my parents both had long, wonderful lives (92 and 93 when they passed) and we know they’re in heaven where my dad is probably taking a horseback ride while my mom throws the javelin, something she did at a Senior Olympic record-setting level while still alive. ❤

Home at last

Mom went home to be with the Lord yesterday afternoon. We’ll miss her but are so thankful and happy that she’s no longer suffering but is in a body better than that she had on earth and is filled with joy forever. We’ll see her again one day. Thanks for all your prayers during this time. ❤️

Friday Fictioneers….Memories may be beautiful and yet…

Time for another hundred words, despite being a bit distracted today by the news that my mom’s in the hospital for a few days with a UTI and blood infection.  Thankfully, the former caused her to go for testing, which discovered the latter, making it much easier to treat.  An IV antibiotic should kick them both out on their not-so-merry ways.  Fortunately, the story more or less wrote itself in my mind while on the way home from work the other day.

Thanks to David Stewart of The Greenwalled Tower for the photo prompt and to Rochelle for hostessing the menagerie of writers each week.

Memories may be beautiful and yet…*

“Wow! The houses look so small. I remember them as big.”

“The tree we used to climb is gone. Wonder if the creek’s still there?”

“Oh, man, looks like Love Canal or something. There’s that spiky gate Jimmy almost impaled himself on.”

“Remember when…” and we were off and story-telling. Joe’s hands shaped paper boats like the ones we used to float in the creek. Jimmy, Joe, and Jenny. Inseparable. Until they left.

I launched every boat, one for each year. “Ooh Rah, Jimmy,” we both said softly. Joe saluted, then turned the wheelchair around and headed for the car.

 

*Thanks to Alan and Marilyn Bergman for the line from their song, “The Way We Were.”

Above us…for dVerse

Grace at dVerse challenges us “to write from the perspective of the dead man (or woman).” Here’s my poem. My photo is, I admit, from WWII, but it’s closely related and WWII figures into my poem, albeit obliquely.

Above us

“In Flanders field the poppies blow…”

And grow, too
            (as well they should
            given our bones and flesh and blood 
gone to fertilizer)

gone to grow
          not peace 
          but yet more war
another layer of human fertilizer
    above us

When will they ever learn?

No doubt 
      never
“Man” being what he is

But there are things worth fighting for
and so we gave our all
      (and cheered those left behind
       to live and grow 
   above us)

Friday Fictioneers: I Remember Skies

The seemingly simple premise of Friday Fictioneers is that a photo serves as the inspiration for a story of a mere 100-words.
But then the fun starts.  What part of the photo do you choose?  Do you use the photo in the story or as a jumping-off idea for something completely different?  Dialogue?  Historical fiction?  A story torn from the headlines of the day?
The sky is the proverbial limit.

At the end of my story is the link that will take you to the page with links to all the stories.  So if you’d like to read what other authors have seen in the photo, click there and then dip into what’s on offer

copyright DLovering

I Remember Skies*

I recall the glittering canopy of stars when I

…slept in the tree house with my best friend.

…shinnied up that tree to sneak through my window, avoiding grounding.

…reclined, awash in music and love, at our first-date outdoor concert.

…lay next to you, sated and laughing, in a mountain meadow on our honeymoon.

…camped in the backyard with you and the children.

…thought I’d die from the grief of your death.

In hospice I can’t see the stars. But I know soon I’ll be seeing them again with you.
.
.
.
.
.
Letting go now. It’s time.

 

 

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*With thanks to The Moody Blues and “Your Wildest Dreams”

Friday Fictioneers–Grave Choices

It’s finally April.  The sun is beginning to warm the earth.  I can’t wait for the new life of plants to begin adorning the earth and for the excitement of renewal and beginnings.

But life is only one end of the spectrum.  At the other end lies death.

Grave Choices

Beneath the lone, gnarled tree standing sentinel atop the wind-swept hill was the perfect spot for her grave. He didn’t use a backhoe.  Its noise seemed out-of-place at a funeral.  He dug the grave by hand, careful to make it deep enough to frustrate hungry predators. The hard physical work helped assuage his pain, allowing space for memories of the good times they’d shared.

He preserved the wild plants to replace afterward.  The tree would be her headstone; her body would go back to the land.  After all these years, she deserved the best.  His partner…his best friend….his beautiful mare.

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Want to read more?  Click on this little guy to link to any or all of the stories written in response to this prompt.

Friday Fictioneers–‘Til Death Don’t Us Part

Here, (done on Wednesday, but also my Thursday post), is my Friday Fictioneers submission for this week.  Every week, a large group of us from all over the world  turn our brains into mush in an attempt, sometime vain, sometimes wildly successful, to craft  a variety of ideas and themes into various types of literary masterpieces, all based on one picture that Madison Woods puts on her blog, usually on Wednesday.  If you feel so inclined, join in.  If you only care to read, you may click on the link at the end to access all the stories.  This week’s picture is from Raina Ng.

As for this piece, criticism of any kind, except rude, is welcome.  (And before you mention it, I know to be grammatically correct it would be “Until Death Doesn’t Us Part”, but that doesn’t have the right ring to it.)

‘Til Death Don’t Us Part