Wednesday Words: Red Carpet

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It was time for yet another illustrious Hollywood affair, complete with the fabled Red Carpet and pushy paparazzi.  Click!  Click!  Snap!  Flash!  Those were the sounds and flashes that tickle the hopefuls with hopes of fame.

Then cameras turned as another black limo braked at the foot of the Red Carpet.  The door opened as long shapely legs stretched out. Santoria Maria** emerged into the flashing lights, a statuesque beauty, the Flavour of the week in a world of gorgeous actresses.

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“Santoria Maria** displayed her fantastic Brian Atwood psychedelic boots, laced to mid-thigh….”

“Santoria Maria** is wearing a marvelously stunning  design by Amy Smilovic...”

She sauntered down the Carpet, smiling, blowing kisses as reporters called out to her.
  

Designer Amy Smilovic

The prestigious event was going so well, until Santoria Maria** tripped, falling against the glamourous actress in front of her, who toppled into the next. 

Eventually  twelve ever-hopeful beauties ended up sprawled on the Red Carpet.

It was a revealing fashion mishap moment for all. Click! Click! 

Flash!...

On hands and knees, attempting to rise gracefully, Santoria Maria** discovered that boots really were made for walking, and precious little else.

One reporter sighed.  “Another one bites the dust…I hope she can type.

**Santoria Maria is a name invented.  If there is another Santoria Maria, my sincere apologies for using this name without any undue intent.

Welcome the Wednesday Words!  Every Wednesday either Delores at Under the Porch Light  or Elephant's Child  surprise and challenge bloggers with 6 or 12 random words, or a prompt to use as we wish.  Poems, prose, fiction, flash fiction--you name it and it is yours.  Write and amaze yourself!  Access other bloggers by clicking on the amazing grapefruit on the side bar.

So far away

I'm in the northern yellow, Mary is in the green

Living 12,000 miles away from my daughter sometimes hurts so bad that my shoulders droop and my heart breaks.  So far away, I am not there to teach her many things that my mother taught me: history of Mom’s adventures, stories from my childhood, how to make a pie—and, not there to rock her little boy and sing him songs my mother sang to me.

So we watch that little boy Benjamin play, talk, cry, and grow up over the computer and hear how our daughter Mary is doing in Switzerland.  

Recently she stepped in a pothole while crossing the street, fell and twisted her ankle.  Benjamin looked down at her right next to him, still holding his hand.  He moved so he could sit on her lap and pat her shoulder, and hug her.  It’s alright, Mummy.  It’s alright.

Facebook is good as a tool to see what they are doing.  Richard, Mary, and Benjamin went to a petting zoo recently, where the goats received more than they deserved, bags of goat feed to buy; those goats were well padded.  He patted their furry goat butts, and gave them all the love and smiles that weren’t mine.

To be so very far away and watch a two year old become a three year old is a year he grew up and I grew older. 

Dang it.

...and the soldiers go marching

Memorial Day at Fort Riley

...and soldiers are marching,

Marching,

Faces to the grandstand,

On a windy day.

Marching, marching as 

A Shining Brass Band

Officiates.

The humble and brave

Pass by.

The pompous linger at edges,
Fading away.

 But the Proud
who served selflessly, 
Salute
The parade of young military

Marching...

Marching into

The soup that is past, present,and future 
History.

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These italicized word are from Delores at Under the Porch Light from the Wednesday Words of April 18, 2013

Delores posts six words on Wednesdays, challenging bloggers to juggle them around.  This was what I juggled then and now.  Thanks, Delores!

Wednesday Words: Brandon the Great

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Brandonni the Great had been his stage name moniker, way back when he had been a youthful and innovative magician.  His Abracadabra actually did put forth something that surprised and delighted all, including himself.

But, here he was, all bent over with arthritis, glowering at those smiling young nurses. “How are we today, Mr. Brandon…Now, let’s drink down the prune juice, shall we?...?” It was a nuisance to be around such darn cheerful pretty women.

When the carillon chimed from the nearby church, the nurses appeared in army formation to wheel the residents to the dining hall. Please…not creamed corn again…but there it was, gray goo.

Brandon summoned all the sparks that had once been part of him, The Great Brandonni.  Abracadabra!

A shower of creamed corn fell from the ceiling, coating each nurse with the gray goo called creamed corn.  The screams and profanities were music to the residents’ ears.

Still got it! Next time...ice cream?

Each Wednesday Delores at Under the Porch Light traditionally provides six challenging words for participating bloggers to wrestle with and defeat.  Recently, her computer betrayed her (bad computer!).  

Stepping up to fill her absence is Elephant's Child , an awesome blogger!  She has provided two sets of six words from which to choose, or to use all 2 X 6 = 12 with which to create something...poetry, prose, fiction...

To access other bloggers who are participating in this challenge, please click on the bright yellow sphere to the right.

Sing a Song for Him

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Sing a song 

for

Robert…

On a soft night in May,

What had begun, quietly ended.

Room dimly lit,

Shrank into darkness.

Hands held tightly 

Unfold and fall.

Sing a song 

for

Him.

My brother Robert Peck  1951 - 1997

Desperate Times call for Desperate Measures

Why do babies cry, and what can a frantic parent do to satisfy this tiny 8 pound being?  This being who, essentially, has become the emperor/empress of the house?

Oh, I remember those days years ago where we parents were enthralled by this sweet little infant who was waving fists and screaming red-faced.

I am look darling, but....

First child: frantic; second child: not so much; but, third child?  We would have moved heaven and earth when she started crying.

We figured out the basic answers, however, the last one leaves us baffled.  These are:

        The baby is tired, but is in denial.

   The baby is hungry.  No problem.

                  The baby needs a diaper change.  Your turn.

Our own grandson after taking a three-pacifier nap.  

      The baby wants to be comforted.  Find the pacifier, rocking chair, and blankie.

           The baby wants to go on a car trip, even though it is 3 a.m.

                          What can we do?!  Good Lord, help us!

Do not feel obligated to watch the entire 28 seconds.

The final one hits every parent.  But we have some ideas.

Maybe the baby has heard about the recent House of Parliament appointments?

Maybe the last presidential elections went the wrong way?

Maybe the baby wants the wall in the nursery repainted?

While these are obviously ridiculous answers, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Even if you have not had children or even plan to in the future, all of us have gone on a plane with a baby screaming in seat 27A, while our own seats are two rows ahead, 25AB.

p.s. Our babies are adults with children of their own.  We grandparents smile and nod our heads with no sage advice to give.  God is good.

Waiting on You Lord

Chris had never been known to be a “waiter”; instead he always threw himself headlong in diversified adventures…here, there, here...his pride and selfishness driving him.

Who Chris was changed radically when he became a man whose greatest desire in life was to wait upon the Lord.  Be intense, diligent… …taking on the most mundane of tasks.  Wait upon the Lord…were the words running through his mind when the alarm bell rang.

“Take it, Chris!” cried out a fellow fireman.  At the clunk sound of hose thrown to him, adrenaline surged. Gripping the heavy hose tightly, Chris reminded himself ”Time to serve!”  as he raced into the blazing house.  

sung by John Waller, scenes from "Fireproof"

The underlined words above are provided by Delores each Wednesday as challenge to  bloggers who enjoy writing flash fiction, poems, prose, vignettes... Take a run at these words!  You can access a list of other Wednesday Words bloggers by clicking on the lonely grapefruit above.

Happy Birthday!

It's a happening place!

Another birthday, another year, Donna June sighed, as her husband talked about yesterday’s football game. “Oh, boy, sweetie!” He had said.  “We’ll go out for dinner!”

For Big Jim, dinner could only mean Home Town Buffet with cheap bountiful food, seconds and thirds, no questions asked.  He handed her his keys with a big guffaw as he paid.  “These pants won’t fit after eating tonight!  It’s rib night.”

It's Rib Night!

As quickly as a pig racing to the feed trough, Big Jim was in the line with Dave from work, laughing.  As she wandered around the salad station, she realized that Dave had a huge butt.  In fact, each buttock was the size of a Halloween pumpkin.  Big Jim was nearly the same, perhaps each buttock the size of Easter ham.

She placed the salad plate on the table and wrote a short sweet note to Big Jim. “You can hitch a ride from Dave…” Donna June walked to the truck and revved it up. A movie was playing, one that Big Jim had ridiculed as “…some dumb love story…you know I hate those…”

Well, Jim, we all hate something…

Times Have Changed

The world is a scary place in this generation.  Perhaps it has always been scary, but in the 1950s, it did not seem so. 

“Baby Boomers” all share stories of the freedom we had in riding our bikes from the house to remote places, returning only for meals.  The neighbors knew us and we knew them.  We also knew who the strangers were.

Technology gave us radios and televisions, which opened a world view known by our parent after a horrible war.  Documentaries showed us what happened beyond the streets of our town.  We didn’t know, we just hadn’t known.

Recently my daughter shared a video that details perhaps the scariest and frightening of all the world has shown us.  Here it is:

In all the scariest experiences seen in our time on earth, this is the closest to home.

Reflections

Stephen Tremp's site

This Reflections Post leaves me in a quandary.  

Something profound and meaningful is what I wanted to write.  Today, after a trip to Chicago to visit our son and my brother, exhaustion is taking my words away, or at least, hiding them.  So, now I will be all over the page with random words and scattered thinking.

Some bloggers wrote beautifully and simply.  No theses or tomes. No elaborate displays.  Just well-connected thoughts with well-chosen words. When the words kept rambling down the page with little content, my eyes glazed over and I left. 

But if those bloggers kept my interest with excellent writing, I smiled and followed them to their conclusion.

Some bloggers dropped off the face of the earth.  Very disappointing and, frankly, wasting time that could be better spent at another site.

Even while rolling through the numbers (10 a day? Maybe more), it was important to me to read blogs of those whom I regularly enjoy, who may or may not be participating in the A to Z.  Blogger friends have to remain loyal to them and theirs.

Basically, 

writers should succinctly express 

realizations, 

observations, revelations, 

relations, participations,

anticipations, 

inspirations, expectations, exultations, 

interpretations….

and all the other variations 

in the many 

wide, wonderful, 

and wild fields of writing.

In conclusion...writing is joy for me; I had fun.  I had fun in the planning, preparing, and posting of each Letter.  

It is impossible for me to single out favorite bloggers from a wide range of strong and dedicated bloggers. There are some creative writers out there, and they brought their personalities to the screen. 

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After sighing with relief when Z for Zimbalist made its appearance, I decided I had a dang good time.

Wednesday Words...Working for What Is Yours

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Ben stood up, rubbing his back and grimacing in pain.  He and his sons had been chiseling through rock hard ground, going on eight hours now. 

The beauty of the landscape had disappeared long ago, leaving desolate what had once been paradise.  As far as the eye could see lay dry dirt.

He swung the pick-ax again and again, another hour then another.

A flicker of dark earth below appeared and he smiled, digging further.  “Keep digging! Boys, keep digging!” Even yet another impending drought and its arid wind could not eliminate the promise of water below.

The deep crater filled with water, rising slowly. Ben leapt into the air, filling it with loud bellows of laughter. “Boys, we hit water!  We’ll start drilling tomorrow!”

Raising his fist and shaking it to the sky, Ben shouted, “Take that, Jerry Brown!  My land has water, and it’s mine!”

In your face!

Source: Off the grid news

Delores at  Under the Porch Light provides bloggers with an opportunity to play with six words and create flash fiction, a short story, poetry, etc.  This week Delores delivered two lists of six words each.  Oh, the fun you may have!  Please have a go at this and see what you might create!  By clicking on the voluptuous grapefruit above, you can access her site.

We'll Always Have Paris...

There are some basic physics when it comes to mass and space. A certain amount of mass can fill only the same amount of space and no more.

At one of the many award ceremonies held by the world of entertainment, Dolly Parton’s ample chest burst through her snug dress.  When her dress mishap was repaired, Dolly said something to the effect of “My daddy always told me that you can’t fit five gallons of mud into a one-gallon bucket.”

View from below

That is true in every situation, including the Eiffel Tower.

Tourists wander around on the lower level of the Tower before taking an elevator to the second level.  Those same tourists enjoy the greater view of Paris and then load onto another smaller elevator to the next level.

One would think that someone would think I’ll take the next one…no, you go on…  No, all crammed in to the smaller elevator, with the space decreasing while the mass remained the same. 

In 1985, My husband and I were part of that mass which also included a tourist bus of tall Swedish men…no, tall and big Swedish men. My husband was pushed away with the flow of people, leaving me in the middle of the elevator without him.

As the elevator shrank and the mass remained the same, it became obvious to this 5` 4” female would soon be crushed in a vice of handsome muscular tall Viking giants.

Daily Mail UK: 1 in 33 Britains share Viking DNA

One giant peered down at my desperate face and placed his massive arm over my head to the shoulder of another towering giant, who looked down at miniscule female (me).  He braced his hand on the other man's shoulder, chuckling while saying something in Viking language. 

The elevator opened, spewing its occupants out onto the top level of the Eiffel Tower.

The Vikings deserted me to gaze at the city they had once conquered, when my 5` 9” husband found me.  We held hands, viewing Paris from the heights of the Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower will always hold a unique memory for me.