It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams

                  It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	the day that begins with fog that moves to sunshine
	the day my husband can ride his bike outdoors
	the day yards are being cleaned
		when daffodils on the south side of the house
		are readying themselves to open at any moment

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	when children shout outside
	when my husband doesn’t close the blinds
		(because he’s finished with his PlayStation game
		and the reflections don’t matter for a bit)
	when laundry seems a pleasure
		as well as a necessity
		and the sweet smell whispers, “Spring.”

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
	the day the breeze is warm
		and “wind chill” a two-word epithet
	the day the beds are aired 
		and sheets smell clean and new.

It’s the Saturday of my winter dreams
        when windows open to let in spring.

More than enough

Today spring knocks on my door.  The sun shines, the wind, instead of throwing winter in my face, whispers, “Soon.  Soon.”  Getting out of the car, I shed one sweatshirt, then put my jacket back on, still warm enough.  Gloves go into pockets a few minutes later. 

 The river still overflows its banks after rain on top of snow some days earlier, a log jam of nature’s detritus pushing against the dam.  Water jets out the other side where today no heron fishes, but sunshine sparkles on the rushing water.

 A squirrel sits frozen next to the path, not moving until I do, then scampering further along the mat of brown fall leaves.  Although the prevailing color is still brown, a closer look reveals slender shoots of green and in some places, blatant leaves of some unknown but hardy plant.  In my lawn perhaps it would be a weed, but here a welcome sign of spring.  Red-winged blackbirds make their presence loudly known, although in fewer numbers than in another month or two. 

Next to the damp path, mud and water discourage off-trail wandering.  When I reach the open part of the trail, I think how good it will be once the trees leaf, blocking the houses on the park perimeter so I feel even less part of the city.  I realize again how this time alone, away from people and city trappings, is a vital part of my inner peace, nature stopping me from even acknowledging the unceasing sounds of traffic.  I spread my arms with uncontainable joy, turning in a circle near where the tracks of deer crossed the path, the softer surface exposing the paths the summer trail hides.  I know winter might come again, but there is the beating promise, under the skin of the earth, of spring, of growth, of re-birth,  and that, for today, is more than enough.

Series-ly talking, #1

Let’s talk books today.  I read…a lot.  I mostly read mysteries and thrillers with a few other genres thrown in.  There are lots of authors I really like, but I especially appreciate an author who writes a series with characters I love.  I go back to those books time and times again.  I read and I re-read.  Don’t you?  Comfort reading at its finest.  Here’s what I re-read (often and in no particular order) and a cup of tea to sip while you’re reading.

The Night Before Christmas…That worked well!

It’s Saturday, which means I’m putting out another Friday Fictioneers story from my archives and I just happen to have one that is about the night before Christmas.  It’s Christmas Eve Day, so how could that possibly work any more neatly, I ask you?  I hope you enjoy this bit of Christmas poetry and also a joy-filled Christmas Eve.

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
(With thanks to Clement Clarke Moore for the original)

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Just one creature was stirring and it wasn’t a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the mantel with care
Just a jump-able distance away in the air.

The tree looked delightful, amazing to see,
The perfect playground for a Christmas kitty.
The family was snoozing away for the night.
Now was the time for some Christmas delight.

All of a sudden, there arose such a clatter
They rushed down to see the whole lot in tatters.
But in the kitchen, there was nothing to see
Save an innocent-looking, complacent kitty!

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I struggled this week to not run amok and re-write the entire poem because I had some great lines that I couldn’t get in to this version. (May do it another time.) However, I ruthlessly channeled my inner Rich/Nazi English teacher (NOT saying that’s you, Rich, but I know you’ll give me a hard time about it anyway) and pared and re-pared until I actually got down to 100 words, my goal each week just because it is. 🙂  I hope it gave you a good laugh and got you in the Christmas spirit!

Friday Fictioneers–The Big Cheese or The Gjetost of Christmas Past (reprise)

I thought I’d go with a reprise of something seasonal for this week.  I hope you enjoy it because if you don’t, it will cheese me off.  This one was from December 2012.

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My first thought was someone at the end of life thinking of all the choices made, one inside each door.  However, something ran amok inside my head and what emerged was a riff on that idea.  Or maybe just riff-raff.  Who can say?

The Big Cheese
Or
The Gjetost of Christmas Past

His mind wandered.  So many choices throughout his life.  Not all perfect, but he was satisfied.  Head of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, Attorneys-at-Law, (plural intentional but deceptive—no other power here), people averted their gazes when he passed, feared him.  Life was good!

A knock.

“Enter.”

“A Mr. Gjetost to see you.”  Fat Tim, AKA“Tiny”, handed him a card, departing silently but for his limp.

What the dickens?  This guy’s a Norwegian cheese?  Ebenezeer scrutinized the card.  Mr. G. H. Ost.  Tim and names!  Wonder what this guy wants?

“Mr. Ost, how may I help you?”

“Au contraire, Mr. Skruge…”

Five Photos, Five Stories Day 5…Calgon, take me away.

My five days of story telling are at an end, at least for the purposes of this challenge.  I hope you’ve enjoyed the stories as well as the photos and, as always, thanks for taking the time to read and, often, comment.  Today I’m nominating any of you who would like to participate.  Remember the rules:  Write a story each day for five days, based on one of your photos, and nominate someone else each day.  Of course, there are no enforcers here, at least not that I’ve seen, so you may participate in whichever way you choose.  Above all, have fun and, whether or not you participate, have a marvelous weekend.

 

Calgon, take me away.

For me, it’s lavender.

The scent takes me back to the fields in which we lay
after our lunch of pate and wine,
hidden from the road,
scented with love.
My fingers run through your dark hair,
yours caress my lips.
You murmur French nothings into my ear.
I purr with pleasure.

I inhale again deeply,
take another sip of wine,
channel my inner author,
and continue writing.

Five Photos, Five Stories: Day 4…seventeen syllables on a poppy

It’s Day 4 of the Challenge and today’s entry is a haiku.  I enjoy writing haiku, seeing how much I can say in the 17 syllables I allow myself, a traditional count, but one to which the writer need not always adhere.  I like the discipline though, so I tend to try to stay within those parameters.

Today I’m nominating Naomi at Writing Between the Lines.  The challenge, should you decide to accept it, is to  “post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.  Whether she accepts or not, I hope you take a peek at her blog.  Her most recent trip, at least on the blog, was to Turkey.

Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge: Day 3…Dream ride

This is Day 3 of the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge.   I was invited to participate by Emilio Pasquale at “Photos by Emilio”. The challenge is  to “post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.  

Today’ nominee is Jan Marler Morrill at https://janmorrill.wordpress.com/. Jan’s the author of “The Red Kimono”, a novel about the interment of the Japanese in the US during WWII.  You need to read it.  She also writes haiku and explores various issues on her blog.

Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge: Day 2…Girls just want to have fun!

Welcome to Day 2 of the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge. Emilio Pasquale at “Photos by Emilio” invited me to take part. The challenge is  to “post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.

Today, my nominee is Sandra Crook at https://castelsarrasin.wordpress.com/. Sandra, I know you’re cruising the waterways of France, with iffy internet connections at best, and busy besides, and of course, you have no obligation to participate.  But Sandra’s a wonderful writer and I want to introduce those of you who don’t know her to her work.

Janie, our first rescue dog

Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge: Day 1…D-Day

Emilio Pasquale at “Photos by Emilio” invited me to take part in the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge. The challenge is  to “post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.  I’ve been neglecting the writing part of my blog for a bit due mostly to a combination of my part time job and spending time outside because it’s spring.  This will be a good opportunity to bring the writing back in and combine it with the photos.  So thanks, Emilio, for helping me get back on track.  And be sure to check out Emilio’s blog and his wonderful photos.

For my nominee, I choose Allan at ohmsweetohm.me.  Allan’s last job before retirement was working as an electrician on the Golden Gate Bridge and he has some amazing photos and stories.  Allan, you’re under no obligation to accept the challenge, just take it as the compliment it’s meant to be.

I’d never been to Omaha, Nebraska before June 6, 1944, and I never went there afterwards, even though it didn’t have a beach.  Never bought a German car, either.  My ideas of hell bear a strong resemblance to what I saw that day.

We went of the sides of our Higgins boat early that morning, the water stretching endlessly ahead of us and then the open, flat beach.  Behind that, the Germans and their guns lay in wait, knowing we’d have to come to them, through the water and across the mine-strewn beach.  How in God’s name we were expected to make it in alive, I’ll never know. Many of us didn’t.  My best friend drowned right next to me, in water turning red with our blood,  held under by the weight of his pack and the water trapped by his helmet. Bodies were everywhere but the only way was forward so I kept on moving, just hoping to stay alive.  Was I scared?  What do you think?  But what else could I do?  Just keep moving and, if you were a religious man, pray.  Thank God, Rommel wasn’t there that day or the results might have been different.

I still dream about that day sometimes all these years later.  And I’ve never gone back.  Some things are best left in the past.  But I still remember.  They say war is hell.  Most of them have no idea.  Unfortunately, too many of us do.