E.M.’s Sunday Ramble Prompt #21

Here are the questions:

  1. What is at least one thing that makes you happy today?
  2. What is one thing that happened last week that made you feel positive and happy?
  3. What is your positive personal mantra? (Mantra means “a statement or slogan repeated frequently” via Oxford Dictionary.)
  4. What is the nicest act you secretly did for someone?
  5. What is one hobby you would like to try?
  6. Bonus Question: What is your go-to song to belt out in the shower?

    1. It’s Springtime. What’s not to feel happy about? My flowering quince is taking on a hue of “pinkness” signaling that an explosion of blooms is imminent.

    2. My granddaughter (age 9) and I have been writing a children’s story together. We’ve kept a journal that describes our characters, explains our story line, and keeps our notes as they pop into our heads. It’s been on and off with many of our imaginings taking place as we wait for the school bus. Last week was Spring vacation so we had a whole afternoon to work. I sketched our characters as we had imagined them, and she added some of her own touches, as well as, outline and color. It was one of those productive days that you don’t want to end. Her excitement was the most delightful part! Things are coming together. Her dedication to the project is heartwarming and she now realizes the work that goes into a creative project. We are ‘making memories’ and building skills.

3. My personal positive mantra is: “Yes we can!”

4. I can’t even begin to recall the nicest act that I’ve ‘secretly’ done for someone because I truly don’t remember. I don’t keep score or hang on to those things. They are “seeds” offered to hopefully ‘take root’. I would have to answer, “Whatever my next one is…”.

5. I’ve tried a lot of hobbies and jump from one thing to the other. I’d like to revisit turning clay pots on an old-fashioned potter’s wheel. That was fun! I haven’t done that for 48 years.

6. I never sing in the shower. Ha! Probably because I’m inclined to sing and dance throughout the day. My cellphone ringtone is Come and Get Your Love by Redbone. That song grabs me. I love breaking into to song when it goes off. Spam calls don’t bother me because I’m dancing and ignoring them all at once! LOL

Writing Prompt Wednesday: Postcard

 

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Legend of Love

He was covered in red clay from head to toe. The pasture that had summoned him, was turning from green to lavender in the fading daylight as the coroner’s wagon vanished over the hill. Vincent collapsed and sobbed.
That morning started like most Sundays. The 39-year-old confirmed bachelor awoke early and walked into the morning, perfectly groomed, as the dew was just starting to lift. The mile walk to his favorite breakfast nook was uneventful. His cane made a click clack on the ancient cobblestone back street as the vendors began to line the rue leading toward his destination. Suddenly, he felt weak. His waxed mustache twitched and the hair on his neck felt static as his jet black derby shifted to one side.
Bewildered, he primped himself, as best he could without a full length mirror, and stepping more lively ahead.
“Vincent?”
An alluring feminine voice made him turn on his heels. Instead of a woman, there before him stood a vendor selling antiques. A rather nasty looking overweight bald man beckoned him with a wave.
Stepping up to the wagon, Vincent was drawn directly to a powder blue box of old postcards. By this time his ordinary stoic presence had uncharacteristically turned into a desperate one. Vincent rifled through the box and there he found HER.
Legend claims he became momentarily invisible as time stood still and there was no sound until he said her name.
“Camille”.
Beneath the chestnut tree he had suddenly stopped. A vivid vision had led him there moments after he had held the postcard. The authorities who had pursued him for a purloined postcard, left with Camille Dubois’ remains. A 25-year-old missing persons mystery ended beneath the tree in a mound of red clay.
Vincent, the confirmed bachelor, had experienced profound love and immeasurable loss before the Earth had made a single rotation.
Some say, he weeps there still.

Writing Prompt Wednesday

Random Word Story #30~ Git a Grip

Chuck At Work
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Random words generated by randomwordgenerator.net

homophobes…Hawaiian…siftings…menaces…hexagram

I found Charlie Rainwater sitting cross-legged in an adobe hut. A single gray braid hung like a pet snake over his shoulder which nearly reached the dirt floor. He was ancient and when his milky eyes lifted at the sound of me, I could tell he was blind.

The only visible modern convenience was a portable AM radio which had a dancing red light but no sound. He’d summoned me through the mail. Apparently, he was a big fan of my morning radio talk show and had instructed one of his 22 great-grandchildren to drop me a note. Charlie could not read or write but he was up to date on the issues.

When he lifted his hand in greeting, I expected a deep voice filled with “ughs” and TV injun-style moans. To my surprise, he chuckled and a boisterous high-pitched “Howdy David, Thanks for cummin’!”, slapped me in the face.

Our interview started immediately.

“Didn’t think I had, Ellen’s chance at guest speaker for a convention of homophobes, to get you here Davy. Welcome.”

“It’s fine to be here sir. I’m glad to have the opportunity for this interview. Never expected this.”

“Well, betcha never thought a Hawaiian would be president neither. Goes to show ya, anything can happen nowadays!” Charlie lifted his chin and laughed. “Now drop that sir crap en call me Chuck won’t cha?”

“Alright, Chuck. You seem well informed. You mentioned, in the note, that you have a message for me. I’m anxious to hear about it.”

“Straight to the point, Davy. There aren’t enough points gotten to in the politics. Heck, a hexagram has six but politicians are smooth, too smooth, my boy. They are just plain menaces when it comes to makin’ THE point.” Charlie looked up toward the ceiling and sighed. “I like your show and I wanted to tell you that you ask the right questions, you’re honest and care about things. BUT, There’s much for you to learn about what my grandfather called, Shiftings and Siftings.”

“Yes Chuck, I have one heck of a time getting to the facts, for sure. I appreciate your interest.”

“Ever tried to nail an eel to a tree Davy? Slimy devils. The trick is finding the right grip. If you’re wearin’ a glove it won’t work t’all. All those other interview shows wear gloves. Slimy gloves make it too easy for the eel to shift and git away. What we need are more bare handed interviewers like you. Grip them eels ’til you can sift out that truth, boy!”

“Fine wisdom sir. I’m honored and I won’t forget that.”

“Oh yeah, one more thing Davy, don’t never try to nail an eel to a tree. It ain’t kind and serves no purpose. I step on ’em myself.” With that Chuck’s chin dropped to his chest. Moments later he was asleep.

—————————————————-

“Good morning Nevada! This is David Sands on Talk 105. A special thanks to my new friend Chuck Rainwater. My guest today is our mayor who intends to ban pee-wee football, sugary soft drinks and fun in general… welcome to the first segment of “Git a Grip and Watch Your Step”…

Random Word Story # 28~ Testy Terms

Random words generated by: randomwordgenerator.net

adequately…light-headed…laminates…refresher…testiest

Here’s my story:

Gomme_da_masticare

There was nothing Mia could do once the agreement was signed. She needed a roommate and Holt was the only one who had answered her ad. So she overlooked his testy attitude which was a big mistake.

Holt had answered her invitation with questions galore. Some like, “Would he have bathroom access between 6:00 and 7:00 am?” were understandable. Asking her not to ever chew bubblegum, in his company, was bizarre. But, his references checked out and were stunning, to say the least. Even his credit score, which he should have embossed on a medallion and worn on a chain, was as close to perfect as she’d ever seen. Mia worked, afternoons and evenings, at a savings and loan and she was impressed. His testiness could be overlooked in favor of paying the rent on time. Mia was hopeful for the weight of debt to be lifted.

As Holt set up his basement abode, his tidy nature served as a refresher course in organized behavior. Everything had its place and she found his labels, which of course he laminates, quite efficient. Holt was going to be a life saver.

He hadn’t even cared that the basement was dark. He assured her that he could adequately light it with fragrant candles and a bare 25 watt bulb.

Months went by and Mia never saw Holt, never heard him either, but she was very happy to discover his rent money placed in her mailbox with a laminated note, FOR RENT, on the first of each month.

When she received her Amazon purchase wrapped in many layers of bubble wrap, Holt was the furthest thing from her mind. With a child-like grin she playfully stomped the heck out it beneath her shoe.

“Pop, padda, pop,pop!”

Seconds later, Holt burst through her door carrying an assault rifle. His eyes were wild and his attitude was, well, the testiest! Mia dove for the floor as he sprayed her apartment with bullets until all that remained was the clicking of an empty magazine.

Within minutes, police surrounded her building and extracted a blubbering heap once known as Holt. Mia would be nauseated and light-headed for days.

It was three months before she recovered. The accumulation of new debt was enough for her to try out a new roommate. This time, she presented the prospect with her own questionnaire. The woman read and answered every question, then giggled, “What does bubblegum have to do with anything?”

Random Word Story # 27~ The Gloved Hand of Fate

Random words generated by…creativitygames.net

sparrow pillow policeman headline hygiene definition

Here’s my story:

English: A pile of pillows.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Newton was the definition of perfect hygiene. Ever since he was small, he was germ conscious. So when it came to choosing his new pillow, Newton took no chances.

He spent hours, which became days,…and months, choosing the most hygienic replacement for the place his face would rest, half of the time, in each day. Sampling was his biggest obstacle though. How might he give a new pillow a serious try when other customers would have placed their germy noggin upon any prospect? Newt had become an expert in avoiding contaminants in his 22 years and the “pillow problem” was not going to defeat him. So, he devised a solution by covering his head and face with extra-large surgical gloves. It was quite a stretch, indeed. But Newton was determined and the scoffs and laughing of patrons did not interfere in the least.

His inspiration for the “war on germs” was a near-death experience with influenza as a child. Newt vividly remembered struggling for air and the pictures of the doctors faces, sullen and clueless. His mom’s sobbing from somewhere beyond, still woke him out of dreams in a cold sweat. His asthma was a condition not a death sentence, after all.

The term “all natural” had become his signature. “All natural Newt” researched his selection and was thrilled to find a shop which proclaimed everything beyond its door held the desired title. Naturally Nature, a small store next to Organic Offerings, had an ad in the directory and pillows were boldly printed in their inventory list. Newton, armed with surgical gloves, was finally optimistic about finding his new pillow. He made a purchase and his first, direct, contact with his $200.00 gem came that evening.

The headline in the newspaper two days later: Man Killed by Sparrows

The article read: A policeman at the scene, tried to resuscitate Newton Jones who appears to has suffocated. A pillow filled with sparrow feathers was found beside the deceased. Although illegal in this country, sparrow feathers are used in imported products. Apparently, Mr. Jones had a violent allergic reaction to the feathers. When the victim was discovered, foul play was assumed due to the surgical glove stretched over his face. After a brief investigation, it was deemed a desperate attempt by Jones to relieve his symptoms. Coroners claim he suffocated by his own glove…hand.

Random Word Story # 17~Wasted

Two Towers Las Vegas
Two Towers Las Vegas (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Random words generated by creativitygames.net.

My words are:  switch…vinegar…wardrobe…bottle…dice…fountain

Here is my story:

Randolph McMann was too old to switch careers. His elderly mother still hounded him daily about his wasted intellect and shabby attitude.

At 61 years old, he was still a window washer and expected that he would be “laid out” in his white coveralls when he left  this world too. Even when he was off duty his wardrobe was the same.

Mom had moved in with him 5 years ago when Dad died. Despite his Irish name, he was a Native American through and through. His mother was a full-blooded Navaho and he was very proud of that lineage. His grandfather had called him “Little Pigeon” because he had enjoyed walking the ledges untethered since he was a kid.

Grandfather’s breath always smelled like vinegar. Randolph asked him repeatedly for a more noble Indian name. He’d hoped for something like, “Walks on the Wind” or “Fearless Falcon”.  But Little Pigeon stuck and he continued calling him that until the “bottle” claimed his life.

Today  Randolph was at the top of his game you might say. 27 stories above the Las Vegas strip. There was quite a warm wind blowing as he anchored himself to his scaffold and began cleaning. He’d made a very good living as the stereotypical Indian climber. He had no fear of heights even now that the “bottle” was his companion too. The nips rattled in his over-sized pockets as he knelt to grab a scrub brush. He’d emptied three of them before arriving.

He’d never gambled or ran with wild women. His mother’s complaints nagged him though. As he worked in silence, his mind tossed over many missed opportunities. He’d shown a real gift for art and math was so easy for him, in school, that he would skip the class and sit on the roof only to show up for finals.

He concluded that he belonged among the clouds no matter what anyone said when the scaffold tipped suddenly to the right.

“Damned thing. I’d do better without this contraption!” He reached for another nip and downed it while investigating the problem.

His vision suffered miserably once his blood alcohol level rose yet he swung himself upon the ledge and unhooked his “safety strap”.

A nearby fountain had sprayed a mist upon the wind which had settled on that very ledge. Randolph was falling before he even realized.

Luckily, he made it to the pavement without hitting anyone. His final thought was about the safety of others. He never heard the screams and commotion that followed. The man who never had rolled the dice, never even tried, had lost.

Random Word Story #16: Cold or Hot?

Random words generated at creativitygames.net.

So my story writing exercises continue. I use random words and produce a story in one sitting.

Here are today’s words:  night…Indian…bowl…dock…metal detector…ravioli

This is my story:

South coast of Barbados, West Indies.
South coast of Barbados, West Indies. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The intricately carved wooden bowl was definitely Indian. Dagmar found it at the bottom of a box marked $1.00. The Flea Market was packed and as she dug for four quarters, she felt faint from all the commotion around her. Dagmar despised disorder and the scrambling and grabbing were almost too much to bear. But Rumpus would have the most stylish water bowl ever. That is, if Dagmar could get through the crowd and safely home.

She was known as D.K. at the office. Dagmar had always disliked her name and D.K. sounded more CEO-ish.  Rumpus was her elderly black and white cat. Actually, her cat was Rumpus III. Dagmar knew that the name was cool and didn’t think it should be wasted on just one cat. All of the others had been black and white, as well.

“If it works, don’t fix it.” was one of her favorite philosophies.

As she drove home along the water front, she noticed the same guy that she had seen every morning on the beach with a metal detector. This time he was digging furiously in one spot. He was waist deep in sand and looked very tired. She realized that she’d always secretly found him handsome. He certainly wasn’t her type at all, of course. Cutoff jeans, a tank top and a ponytail. She’d be the laughing-stock at the office with a man like that.

D.K. knew him only to wave to. Heck, she didn’t even know his name but her curiosity won and she pulled her efficient little electric car to the dock. It was odd to see him at the beach on Sunday, though.

She was hardly dressed for beach combing. Italian heels and a coral-colored suit. What was wrong with her anyway? She’d had her short mahogany hair permed only yesterday and the sun and wind would be her ruin. As she thought better of this rare spontaneity and was about to pull away, he waved at her.

It must have been meant for her. When she looked over her shoulder, there was no one else to claim it.

She waved back and while she considered her next move, he motioned for her to join him.

“Now what have I done.” she groaned.

Dagmar stepped out of the car. She planned her path to the beachfront in her head as she wobbled awkwardly into the sand.

“I must be crazy. He’s probably burying a body!” she said under her breath.

Her inner voice spoke to her. “Calm down Dagmar, you’ve been watching too many movies on the Lifetime channel. It’s broad daylight after all.”

This is when she slipped off her heels and knee highs and decided to continue. Her many years of order and prim were vanishing and she found the whole process very scary but amazingly scintillating. Her heart was pounding and several times as she walked forward, she almost turned and ran back to her car, to her comfortable self.

When she reached the man and stood beside the hole, Dagmar was out of breath, mostly from excitement. Her fear faded quickly when the man smiled at her with faint laugh lines emphasizing the deepest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

“Hey. I’ve been trying to get you to stop for sometime now. You’re D.K. Frost, right?”

“Why yes, that’s me. How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been hunting more than treasure on this beach. My name’s Brad. Nice to meet you D.K.” He offered a sandy hand and she took it.

Dagmar felt herself melting. The order, the schedules, the neatness suddenly all seemed very silly to her.

“You can call me Dagmar, Brad. What are you digging exactly?”

“At the chance of creeping you out and scaring you away, I must admit there’s nothing here I wanted more than to meet you. This hole was meant to stir your curiosity since I have noticed you watching my daily rituals from afar. I’ve been wanting to introduce myself. I live over there in the  blue beach house. I’m a judge in the fourth circuit  and really don’t care to know “beach babes”. Hope that doesn’t sound hopelessly sexist.”

Dagmar couldn’t believe her ears. This wonderful man had wanted to meet her all along. She’d been so busy judging his appearance that she had ignored her gut attraction. Seems she had been ignoring many things in her life.

Later that night, they were both still on the beach. They built a campfire and were sharing a can of cold raviolis with one plastic fork from her glove box. There was a palpable sensual air around the couple but they were both dignified and happy to take it slowly.

As they sat shoulder to shoulder with the pounding surf serenading them, Dagmar turned to Brad and asked, “Do you like cats?”