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Three Word Wednesday

September 30, 2009


As I grow older, my desire for shopping diminishes. I am not exactly sure why this is, although I must confess I really don’t need anything. How many pairs of shoes does a person really need?  I will also have to say that the shopping experience has become nothing short of a freak show at any given supercenter. I received an email this morning from my son, who passed on an article which proves my point. Obviously  proper etiquette for shopping attire never quite caught on for some of the following, whose fashion sense are ambitious at best, some hysterically incredible to the naked eye, and others just down right ugly. All I can say is, what were they thinking?

The People Of…




Those shoes are not blue nor are they suede.


 How am I supposed to slap a ho without an essential part of my balanced breakfast?


 Nothing says sanitary like a parrot in the produce section…


“What are you wearing sexy?” –Cowboy boots. “Ya, that’s hot.” – Pink velour pants. “Ya I like that.” – a little green baby girl hoodie. “Oh damn, that sounds sexy.” – and I kinda look like Gallagher. “Oh ya…wait…what?”


 Let’s run through my rock star list…. Mullet? – check; big sunglasses? – check; heart shaped tattoo with” u know I love my mom” -check; Cut jean shorts?  are there any other type of shorts – check?; wife beater tied at the midriff – check;….. He is an official ROCK STAR!


 I think I just sharted…




 Is that a soccer ball?  A map of the solar system?  The structure of a sub-atomic particle?


 I have absolutely no idea what to say…


Is that a gangster leotard?


 Everyone loves the man in the yellow go-go boots!

 w17Umm… excuse me, sir…


At least the purse matches, right?




 No, honey, it’s an ancient Egyptian symbol of prosperity, I swear!


 I was wondering why you suddenly smelled better.


 Every man has an NFL jersey AND pink short-shorts in their wardrobe, right?



 Now all we need is Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem for a reunion tour.


 Yes, you are seeing that correctly.  Old man + large, supple breast implants.


Yes, I think I will do my Christmas shopping online again this year!


. . . say Cheese!

September 26, 2009


I haven’t participated in Sunday Scribbings for a while but this week’s prompt, “Cheese,” reminded me of a fable I heard many years ago. So many years in fact, I have probably made many changes in the retelling. But I think you should get a chuckle out of it anyways . . .

. . . Say Cheese

It was the middle of a hot, dry summer and a fly was resting on a leaf on flya limb of a tree that was bent down close to the surface of a lake. The fly was so hot and so dry and he said to no one in particular, “Gosh, if I go down three inches I will be able to feel the mist from the water and I will be refreshed.”

Just below the water’s surface, a fish circled slowly, fish1                       carefully watching the fly on the leaf above the water. The fish had been watching the fly in hopes it would fall into the water. He became excited to hear the fly’s plan to come closer to the water. “Gosh, if the fly comes down three inches, I can jump out of the water and catch him and eat him!”

bearNow there also happened to be a bear hiding behind a tree on the shore of the lake. He had been watching the drama unfold between the fly and the fish. “Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches, that fish will jump out of the water to catch it and I will be able to grab the fish!”


As it would happen on this hot summer day, a hunter hunterwas further up the bank of the lake, preparing to eat a cheese sandwich as he watched the drama unfold between the fly, the fish and the bear.  “Gosh!” he thought, “If that fly goes down three inches and that fish leaps for it, then that bear will come out of his hiding place and grab for the fish. I’ll shoot the bear and then I will have a proper lunch.”

You are probably thinking this is enough drama for one bank of a lake, but I can assure you there was more.

mouseA wee mouse sat by the hunter’s foot, eyeing the cheese sandwich the hunter had made. “Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches and that fish jumps for that fly and that bear grabs for that fish, the dumb hunter will drop his cheese sandwich so he can shoot that bear!”

Unfortunately, the mouse did not know a cat was lurking in the bushes, also watching the drama unfold that hot summer day on the bank of the lake.  Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches… cat
and that fish jumps for that fly…
and that bear grabs for that fish …
and that hunter shoots that bear…
and that mouse makes off with the cheese sandwich…
then I can have mouse and a cheese sandwich for lunch!”

The poor fly, finally so hot and so dry, decided to head down for the cooling mist of the water…
The fish jumped out of the water and swallowed the fly…
The bear came out from behind the tree and grabbed the fish…            The hunter dropped his cheese sandwich and shot the bear…
The mouse grabbed the cheese sandwich…
The cat jumps for the mouse…
The mouse ducks…
The cat falls into the water and drowns.

The moral of the story is…

Whenever a fly goes down three inches,  somewhere there’s a pussy in trouble.

The Bramble Bush Affair

September 21, 2009

mmm21I can not beliveve how fast the summer has gone, not to mention September. I love Geraldine’s meme, Monthly Movie Musings, and am sorry I haven’t been a regular contributor. Hopefully things will be settled bramble-bush1soon with my sister and I can get a life back! I was very inspired by G’s prompt this month, The Bramble Bush, based on an old movie and immediately wrote the following fictional story based on the definition Geraldine provided:

bramble: a prickly shrub, including the blackberry and the raspberry


The Bramble Bush Affair

“Life is short, have an affair.” Maria laughed as she stared at the huge ad painted on the side of a semi-truck trailer sitting off to her right as she waited for the light to turn green. It seemed she was always waiting for the light to turn green – the light in her loveless marriage, the light in her dead-end job, the light she knew had to be hidden in her rebellious teenage daughter’s head, and of course, the numerous traffic lights she sat at on her way to and from an unsatisfying career as an administrative assistant. She continued to study the sign and became annoyed to learn a website was devoted entirely for married people to connect with like-minded married people seeking more from a physical relationship in their lives. “That’s just what the world needs,” she declared to her brown eyes peering back at her in the rear-view mirror, “an easier way for husbands to cheat on their wives.”

As the traffic began to move, her mind continued to explore the implications of the website. Being very astute in business matters, despite her boss’s obvious failure to notice or reward, she realized for that type of business to be successful, there had to be both men and women sitting at their computers signing up for a clandestine meeting. She speculated on the type of people who would actually use such an unsavory resource. She wondered if her husband was a member. At the next red light she pulled a notepad from her purse and scrawled, “Ashley”.

That evening Maria sat across the room from her husband watching one of the never-ending ballgames on their must-have wide-screen television. She studied his face, now so intent on the action on the big screen, and remembered his pleading cries when she confronted him two years before with the note she had found in his pants pocket. He had assured her “it” meant nothing, only a momentary lapse in judgment, a one-time thing, something he would never do again. But was it, she wondered? She announced she was going to update their family blog and then go to bed. She rose from the couch to leave the room. He barely acknowledged she had uttered a word.

Alone in their room, she placed her laptop across her thighs as she settled back in the overstuffed chair and propped her feet upon the ottoman. She typed in the cheater’s website address and quickly realized she would have to register as a guest member to view any of the profiles. She completed her profile information, using VirginCheater as her name. Although a bit disgusted by all the selections available to describe the sexual interests a potential member could want, she had to give the website creators credit for thoroughness. She listed her zip code and, knowing her husband’s dislike of driving, stated she was interested in meeting someone within a 20 mile radius. Within moments, she had pictures of smiling men, some half naked, staring back at her. She scanned down through the pictures, recognizing one man as the husband of the pianist at their church. Just as she was thinking how stupid someone must be to put their picture on this site, she came to profiles without pictures. Now she was forced to click on their profile name to learn more about their identity.

Maria was not surprised to see the same old lines were used by many of the affair hopefuls: my wife doesn’t understand me, my wife is frigid, and her personal favorite, the passion has left our marriage. She was somewhat impressed to see most of the men were very candid in expressing their desire to keep their marriage intact and insisted upon absolute discretion in any relationship they might indulge in. “How loyal of them!” she scoffed.

As she continued to scan the profiles, an instant message appeared on her screen:

        Stiff69: “hello beautiful. r u lonesome tonite? i have a big hot one just waiting for you. ”

Maria was startled by the crude message. She had not noticed the online chat option and was instantly embarrassed. She was about to log out of the site, when he returned with: 

        Stiff69: “oh baby virgins turn me on. tell daddy what turns you on.”

Appalled by his brash comments, Maria instantly typed: 

        VirginCheater: “Someone with class, obviously you don’t qualify.” 

        Stiff69: “fuck you bitch”

The instant message box went blank. Maria sat shaking, aggravated by both his crudeness and her stupidity for being there to be subjected to it. She logged out of site and closed her computer. She took a long, hot shower and fell into bed without drying her hair.

During lunch the next day in the picnic pavilion behind her office building, Maria opened her laptop to check her email. She was stunned to see a message from Ashley proclaiming she had seven interested admirers. She cautiously looked over her shoulder, from side to side, to make sure no one was close enough to see her computer screen. She decided to take the opportunity to log into the website and cancel her profile. She was through with playing detective and was concerned she had placed her computer in jeopardy from spyware that was sure to be connected with such a disgusting website. Once she entered her logon ID, a list of messages appeared. She glanced through the names and stopped at one that pierced her heart. She clicked on the message and placed her unfinished sandwich back into her tote. Her stomach began to churn as she read the message:

        ClarkKent: “Hello. I enjoyed reading your profile. You seem to be much like me in that we are just average people in dull and unsatisfying marriages. I am interested in finding one woman to share interesting conversation and intimate moments. Due to several reasons, I am not looking to change my home life or yours. You are probably as nervous as I am contemplating the next step, but we have come this far. Maybe we could meet for lunch and just talk. Please check out my profile and if interested leave me a message.”

Maria had not realized she was crying until a tear fell on the keyboard. She quickly brushed away the wetness and logged off. She placed the laptop back into its cover and fixed her eyes on two squirrels running up and down a tree in the woods just beyond the pavilion. She could feel tears welding up again and immediately stood to distract her thoughts causing the overwhelming emotions. She was not successful.

Clark Kent was the nickname she had cleverly given her husband when they first met almost twenty-two years ago. He was the chief financial officer for a large corporation and typically wore three-piece suits. She almost didn’t agree to have lunch when her best friend introduced him. He was nice enough looking, but appeared to be on the stuffy side. Once their relationship had matured to include a physical side, she was stunned by the change in his demeanor. A romantic and very passionate man appeared when he removed his suit. It was like he was two different people and she jokingly called him Superman. Throughout the first years of their marriage, she teasingly called him Clark Kent when she was in a playful mood and wanted to initiate intimacy. How long had it been since she last called him that? She couldn’t remember.

“That’s what I get for being so damn clever.” she chastised herself as she began to pack up her belongings. She wondered how many women reading his profile picked up on the implication of the name. Then it occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t the only one to be so clever. “Of course I am not the only woman to give their lover that nickname. There must be hundreds, probably even thousands. And maybe that man had just made it up himself,” she assured herself as she walked back to her office.

“No,” she thought, “The Clark Kent on the website wasn’t necessarily her Clark Kent.”

Later that evening, her husband was forced to forego another night of television in lieu of completing paperwork for a board meeting scheduled for the next evening. He announced after dinner he would be in the study getting the financials ready. Maria finished the dinner dishes, packed lunches for everyone, and ironed her dress for the next day. She looked in on their daughter, who was doing her homework in her bedroom. They chatted for a few minutes until she was made aware her attention was not needed or wanted. She walked past the study and noticed her husband was still typing at his computer. She went to their bedroom, planning to take a shower and go to bed early. She saw her laptop lying on the ottoman and thought, “No, he is not necessarily the same Clark Kent.” She knew there was only one way to find out.

Maria logged into the website and brought up her messages. She clicked on ClarkKent’s name to view his profile. Her heart sunk as she realized he was also a Libra, he was also 6’1, he was also 165 pounds, and he also had the same zip code. She read his sexual preferences and the additional notes he made outlining his wants and desires, as well as his commitment to his marriage and the need for discretion. She reread his message and was forming a reply in her mind when an instant message appeared:

        ClarkKent: “Hello. I sent you a message last night. I hope you received it. I noticed you were online and thought I would say hello. Is this a good time to talk?”

Anger instantly filled Maria’s heart as she pictured her husband down the hall in front of his computer, supposedly doing paperwork. She wondered just how many other nights he lied to her and actually spent his time talking to other women online. Her first reaction was to storm into the study and declare, “Yes, it is good time to talk!”

        ClarkKent: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I should have waited for your reply to my message.”

        VirginCheater: “No, no, that’s alright. I just finished reading your message and was getting ready to answer.”

        ClarkKent: “Oh, good. That makes me feel better. How are you this evening?

        VirginCheater: “I’m fine. And you?”

        ClarkKent: “Doing OK. Just another lonely night around here. You probably know what that’s like.”

        VirginCheater: “Yes, actually I do.”

        ClarkKent: “I see you just joined last night. Your name makes me wonder if this is the first time you ever did anything like this.”

        VirginCheater: “Well, yes, actually it is. Have you been a member long?”

        ClarkKent: “Only a few months. I saw an ad on a semi-trailer and thought I would check it out.”

        VirginCheater: “Really? I think I saw the same ad. Down on Mulberry Street?”

        ClarkKent: “Yes. That’s quite a coincidence! LOL”

        VirginCheater: “Yes, yes it is.”

        ClarkKent: “Did you get a chance to look at my profile?”

        VirginCheater: “Yes.”

        ClarkKent: “OK. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your self? These profiles really don’t give much information about anything other than the sexual interests.”

        VirginCheater: “I really don’t know what to say. I’ve never done this before. Why don’t you go first?”

        ClarkKent: “Oh, OK. Well, if you read my profile you already know the basics. I am just an average looking guy. I do work out so I’m in pretty good shape for being 46. I have been married for almost 20 years. I hope you understand I am not looking to leave my wife or anything like that. We have grown apart over the years and the sexual part of our marriage is almost non-existent. I’m just looking to add a little spice to my life. How about you?”

        VirginCheater: “I would have to say my life is about the same. I have been married almost 20 years. I can still wear my wedding dress and I think I look pretty good for being 44. I would have to say my husband and I have grown apart also. Although, at this point I don’t know if I want to stay in the marriage much longer.”

        ClarkKent: “That’s too bad. I mean after 20 years, it seems like you already got past the hard times. For me, I can’t imagine getting a divorce. We have our house and our family. We have had our tough times through the years but I guess I don’t want to start over. In many ways it is comfortable, I guess I am just used to the ways things are. Most everything is OK in our marriage, it is just the sex part that is not good.”

        VirginCheater: “I see. Have you met many women on here?”

        ClarkKent: “A couple. I am not into having a lot of different sexual partners. I hope to meet a woman who wants to keep her marriage intact but also needs a little extra spice in the bedroom area.”

        VirginCheater: “I take it you haven’t met that ‘one’ woman yet?”

        ClarkKent: “No, not yet. But the night is still young. LOL”

        VirginCheater: “LOL. You are very witty. So tell me, how does this work?”

        ClarkKent: “Work? What do you mean?”

        VirginCheater: “I mean, you meet someone on here and chat. Then what?”

        ClarkKent: “Well, it depends on what the 2 people want to happen.”

        VirginCheater: “I don’t mean to appear to be so dumb, but I don’t know what to expect. Like I said, I’ve never done this before.”

        ClarkKent: “No, you are not dumb. Actually you are quite refreshing. Some of the women on here can be quite bold.”

        VirginCheater: “Really? A little too spicy for your taste?”

        ClarkKent: “LOL Well maybe just a touch. You are quite witty yourself.”

        VirginCheater: “Thank you. I have been told that. I am curious about one thing. Why do you call yourself Clark Kent?”

        ClarkKent: “Curious are you? That’s a good sign. LOL Actually a girlfriend nicknamed me Clark Kent a long time ago.”

        VirginCheater: “Really? Why, are you Superman in disguise?”

        ClarkKent: “LOL Sort of, I guess.”

        VirginCheater: “Ahhh. Do you leap tall buildings in a single bound?”

        ClarkKent: “LOL Not exactly. Although I have been told I put a woman over the top when it comes to orgasms.”

        VirginCheater: “Ohhh, I see. So are you faster than a locomotive?”

        ClarkKent: “LOL  No, actually I am quite deliberate in my timing. I know how to please a woman.”

        VirginCheater: “Really? So, you are Superman in the bedroom then?”

        ClarkKent: “I guess that would be something for you to decide. Would you like to find out?”

        VirginCheater: “Maybe.”

        ClarkKent: “Maybe? And what would it take to turn that maybe into a yes?”

        VirginCheater: “I’m not sure. Tell me, why should I want to meet the ‘man of steel’ ? ”

        ClarkKent: “LOL Well aren’t you the clever one! I’m beginning to think you are not as innocent as you want me to believe.”

        VirginCheater: “Really? Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. Would you like to find out?”

       ClarkKent: “Oh yes!  When would you like to get together?”

        VirginCheater: “Well, my husband has a meeting tomorrow night. I would be free then. Does that work for you?”

        ClarkKent: “That would be great. I have a meeting too, but I can get away from it early. Where would you like to meet?”

        VirginCheater: “I don’t know. What would you suggest?”

        ClarkKent: “Do you know the Radisson on the corner of Park and Greenville?”

        VirginCheater: “Yes, I know where it is.”

        ClarkKent: “Why don’t we meet in the lounge, say about 7:30? We can have a drink and talk and see where this takes us?”

        VirginCheater: “That would work for me. How will I know you?”

        ClarkKent: “I will call and reserve the last booth on the left when  you go in the door. If you get there before I do, just go on back and have a seat. It could be a few minutes past 7:30 before I get there.”

        VirginCheater: “Sounds like you know the place well. Aren’t you curious how you will know it’s me?”

        ClarkKent: “Yes, I’ve been there a few times. And yes I am very curious.  So tell me, how I am I going to know it’s you?”

        VirginCheater: “Well. . . I will be Superwoman of course! See you tomorrow night.”

Maria logged off and closed her laptop. She went into the master bathroom and brushed her teeth. She put on her nightgown and got into bed. An hour later, she woke briefly as her husband got into bed and put his arm around her waist. He was comfortable sleeping like that.

The next morning, after her husband left for work, Maria called her employer and said she wasn’t felling well and would not be in. Truthfully, she wasn’t feeling well, but mostly she had to prepare for her date with Superman. She wondered if she would be able obtain the special Kryptonite she wanted for their encounter.

That evening, after dinner her husband announced he was going to take a shower before going to his meeting because it would be too late when he got home. Maria sat at the dinner table and recalled he had done the same before ‘a few’ other meetings over the past several years. He returned to the dining room twenty minutes later, dressed in one of his best suits and wearing the tie that accented his blue eyes she had given him for Father’s Day. She noticed he was freshly shaven and had applied her favorite cologne when he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before walking to the foyer. She watched him closely as he put on his watch and closed his briefcase. He turned to face her, holding the briefcase in his left hand. His face was lightly flushed. Maria wondered if it was from the hot shower or the anticipation of his special meeting after his meeting. He gave a brief wave and turned and walked out the door.

Maria entered the lounge at 7:15 and took a seat at the bar, on the opposite side of the room from the row of booths. She wanted to arrive early and knew he would be late. He was always late. She ordered a white wine and studied the couples sitting in the booths. She speculated on how many were cheaters too. She noticed the last booth had a “ReServed” sign on the table. She laughed out loud at the capital S. “Must stand for Superman,” she thought.

At 7:40 her husband came through the large open archway. Up until that very moment, she held out hope deep in her heart that the man she was to meet was not her Clark Kent, her Superman. She ordered another glass of wine and watched as her husband made his way to the back booth, keeping his head down and not looking around the room. He took a seat at the booth with his back to the room.

“Yes,” Maria sighed in heartbreak, “He has been here a few times. He has his pattern down well.” Instead of sitting facing the room, like an innocent man waiting on a date, he cowarded in the booth with his back shielding his identity. She watched as he ordered a drink from the waitress. He looked at his watch several times as he waited for his drink but did not turn around. The waitress placed a glass of red wine in front him and shook her head no as she answered a question he had asked her. Maria downed her drink in one big gulp. She stood, smoothed her dress, and began walking around the bar. She stopped beside a man who had been sitting on a stool at the center of the bar. She tapped him on the shoulder and he stood and followed her.

She walked up behind her husband and hesitated for a second. He sensed a presence and turned to face her with a big smile beaming with capped teeth. His smile instantly ceased as he recognized her.

“Good evening Clark. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.” Maria cooed in her sexyist voice.

He tried to stand, knocking his glass of wine over in the process, and spilling it down his suit.

“Oh my, you better tell the cleaners about that nasty spill when you take it in.” Maria cautioned as she handed her husband a napkin she quickly retrieved from the bar.

“Where are my manners?” she feigned, “Clark, I want you to meet Bruce. Mr. Wayne has some papers for you.”

Maria turned and walked out of the lounge.

Let Freedom Ring!!

July 4, 2009


Image is a handpainted slate which can be purchased at


Between the slow economy and some of the questionable decisions our government has been making lately it has become quite easy to get disenchanted with being an American. I have always been a ‘flag waver’ but during the past several years I have begun to doubt what our country stands for. Unfortunately politics in our country has changed the United States from being the land of opportunity into a nation of opportunists. Corruption is found almost on a daily basis in one level or another in our government system. It is to the point that the announcement of these investigations on the evening news no longer creates a sense of shock, but rather a growing frustration with our system of democracy.

Several years ago I took our flag down from the porch post when we were painting. I never put it back up. Last summer I repainted the porch and still did not rehang the bracket that holds the flag. Every once in a while I see the flag standing in the back corner of our coat closet and I remind myself that I should get it out and get it hung. But, whether conciously or unconciously, I just think, “What difference does it make.” 

This evening I was busy making potato salad, cole slaw, a cake and two pies for tomorrow’s family 4th of July barbeque. I put the steaks in to marinate overnight, cleaned the sweet corn, and swept off the porch, set up a long table, and got the extra lawn chairs out of the storage building. I was going through all the tradional motions of preparing for another family holiday when it finally dawned on me that I had long forgotten the reason for the celebration. The anniversary of our nation’s freedom had been reduced to another reason to get the family together for a dinner.

I guess for most families holidays have become just that, just another reason for a family get-to-gather with very little thought being given to what should be the reason for the celebration. Thanksgiving is a day to eat turkey, watch the football games, and get ready for Black Friday shopping.  Christmas is the day to pass out the bargains found on Black Friday. New Year’s is a good excuse to get plastered. Easter is all about hiding eggs for the little ones. And Memorial Day is simply the start of summer. How shallow our nation has become.

I sat on my clean porch this evening and questioned why this is. I think the dying of the American spirit and the belief in something other than ourselves has been a slow process. We have become spoiled by our freedoms and have demanded more, which has been aided by the Civil Liberties Union. A prime example is our freedom to own a gun. From a right to bear arms as given in our Constitution in opposition to the British trying to disarm the Colonists militias, we now have a nation that believes this means we as individual citizens should have the freedom to own any kind of gun, including the fully automatic weapons designed for mass destruction. I personally think this is overkill (pun intended) for hunting for food or protecting your family. I could go through our entire constitional rights and show where we have veered so far away from rights for “we the people” to “my rights,” but I won’t.

 My point is that I, like so many other Americans, have forgotten the true meaning of holidays because we have forgotten we are a part of something bigger than ourselves. Maybe if more of us would think about what America is supposed to be all about instead of what we want, then maybe we wouldn’t have so much corruption in our government. Of course that would mean we should demand our elected officials to represent our values, the ones where ‘we the people’ come before ‘me the citizen’ or ‘me the failing business needing a bailout.’  

At this point, I have decided that I need to get back to being grateful to be an American citizen. I also need to help instill that in my grandchildren. I have taken our flag out of the closet and washed it. Tomorrow during our family get-to-gether we will celebrate the true meaning of the 4th of July holiday; not with just eating a great meal and watching fireworks, but by rehanging the American flag and talking about what it means to be a citizen of the United States of America. Let freedom ring and the flag forever wave!

Getting Back to What I Love

July 2, 2009

I have taken an extended sabbatical from blogging with the intent of having more time to devote to writing a creative non-fiction novel based on my stories from Slice of Life Sunday. Everything had gone well until two weeks ago when I developed a panic attack while writing about a particularly painful memory. Several days later, I sat down to write again and the panic attack returned. I realized something was dreadfully wrong. I have consulted a therapist who believes I have suppressed part of that memory for over 43 years. She has advised me to put my book on hold and to get back to writing about something that brings me joy. She says if I am to remember I will when the time is right. I am taking her advise.

monthly movieI had always loved participating in writing prompts by fellow bloggers and I just discovered that Geraldine from My Poetic Path has started a new ‘monthly’ meme entitled Monthly Movie Musings. Once a month, on the first day of the month, Geraldine provides a movie title as a writing prompt. She says she had “always been intrigued by movie titles. Obviously, Hollywood and other film-makers work  hard to weave their magic with the teaser that is the title. But what other roads could be explored with that very same phrase/or word?”  I find this to be a very intriguing way to develop writing prompts. So, without further ado, July’s Monthly Movie Musing prompt “Nowhere To Run” has inspired me to write:


Night of the Stalkers

The old woman, crippled from years of enduring the affects of rheumatoid arthritis, finally succumbed to exhaustion from many trips hobbling between the front and back doors of her home. She could not make another trip. With the resolve of a cornered cat ambushed by a pack of wild dogs, she pushed the heavy oak door leading to her porch wide open, standing dead center under the muted light, presenting an easy target to the sinister stalkers that had been circling her house for more than a half an hour.

“You want me? Come get me!” She screamed into the cold autumn night knowing she had no where to run and couldn’t even if she did.

“What are you waiting for? Not so tough now are you?” She taunted as the menacing shadows rustled through the leaves in her front yard.

“Cowards! You’re all gutless cowards!” She accused her faceless stalkers as they crept closer to her porch.

“Geez Mrs. Wilson, if you didn’t want to pass out candy you shouldn’t have left your porch lights on.”


Paper, Paper! Read All About It!

March 10, 2009

Another inspiring prompt from Selma at Search Engine Stories got my brain working in overdrive and has brought the dark side out of me for a piece of fiction this week.


Paper, Paper! Read All About It!

March 10, 2009                                     Bakersville Times Gazette

Man Shoots Waitress: No Roast Beef!

A waitress of over 30 years at Riser’s Café lost her life last night because the restaurant had sold out of their well known roast beef dinner.  Nathan Keiser, 22, a loyal patron of the popular diner shot Melanie Hartman, 58, after she returned to his table to inform him the kitchen had run out of roast beef, according to the restaurant’s owner, Paul Segrest.  Keiser is the great-great-grandson of the late Lloyd Baker, founding father of Bakersville. Keiser will be arraigned this afternoon on one count of murder. Full story in tomorrow’s edition.


Everyday newspapers across the country report the world and local news. Most days, readers glance through the latest happenings in their hometown, get a recap of the game the night before, check their horoscope, scan the obituaries, and enjoy a few laughs from the comics as they finish their morning coffee before rushing out the door to work.  Occasionally a headline story interrupts their mundane ritual of reading the morning paper at the family kitchen table. Readers are shocked by the horrendous act of violence listed in bold print across the top of paper.  They hurriedly read through the article, only to become horrified to learn the unprecedented  violence has not only been committed in their sleepy little town, but by one of their own. And not just by “any one” of  “their own”, but by a member of the wealthiest family in town! Readers forget about the basketball stats and what the stars have in their future for the day in lieu of a re-reading of the headline event in hopes of being able to read between the lines to make sense of the senseless act. Phones ring all over town as readers share their astonishment with family and friends, and to get the latest gossip from anyone who professes to be in the know. Running later than usual, reader’s rush to their vehicles shaking their heads in disbelief; what could possibly have driven such an upstanding member of the community to commit such a frightful crime – over a roast beef dinner! Maybe tomorrow’s paper would have answers to explain how a sane citizen went insane in a matter of minutes.

But of course the newspaper will only print what is politically correct for the family. Extreme stress will be given as the cause. The Baker Family Estate will pay all funeral expenses for the deceased. Nathan Keiser will plead temporary insanity. What will not be reported are the events that  led up to pushing Nathan over the edge of sanity .

Now for the rest of the story:

Nathan’s mother defied her parents and grandparents, running off to marry a man of the Jewish faith twenty- three years before. Her family disowned her and their grandchild for 4 years, until her unfaithful husband left her for another woman. For the next 7 years, Nathan would ask his mother when his father would be coming home. She would always reply, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow never came.

Although the family saw to it Nathan and his mother had an acceptable place to live, clothes on their backs and just enough food in their pantry, for appearance sake, they were never welcomed back into the fold with open arms. Throughout his adolescence, Nathan questioned why he could not have a bike like all the neighborhood boys, or clothes like his classmates. His mother’s answer was always, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow never came.

Nathan began working at a local service station when he turned 16, pumping gas and washing windshields. He saved his money to buy a car as an 18th birthday present for himself. A month before his birthday, his mother “borrowed” his savings to pay off loans and catch up utility bills. When he asked where his money was, his mother explained their need and promised to pay him back tomorrow. Tomorrow never came.

At age 19, Nathan fell in love. He and his sweetheart were inseparable during that summer of love. One night, she told him she was pregnant. Nathan was ecstatic, she was not. She wanted an abortion. Nathan refused. She said they would talk about it again tomorrow. Tomorrow never came for his child.

Two years later, Nathan fell in love again. After dating for a year, Nathan asked her to marry him. She said yes. For three months, he would ask when they could set a date for their wedding. His fiancé would always reply, maybe tomorrow. Returning home to their apartment on the afternoon of March 8th, Nathan found a hastily written note lying on the kitchen counter; “I’m sorry” is all she wrote. Tomorrow never came.

Several hours later, just before closing time, Nathan walked into his favorite restaurant. He loved their roast beef dinner and he wanted to have something he loved before he drove out to Miller’s pond. Melanie had waited on Nathan many times in the past and knew what his order would be; roast beef dinner with mashed potatoes, extra heavy on the gravy, green beans and sweet iced tea. She also knew they had sold their last plate of roast beef not more than 10 minutes before he arrived.

She made his iced tea and placed it in front him. “I’m sorry hon, but we just sold the last of the roast beef. How about fried chicken tonight?”

“What?” Nathan asked.

“I’m real sorry hon, but the roast beef is all gone tonight. Maybe we’ll have some tomorrow.” She assured him.

Nathan sat staring at the glass of iced tea. It was dark and cold like most of his life had been. He took a gun from his coat pocket. It only had one bullet, which he had reserved for himself. He looked up into the startled face of the weary waitress, smiled, and said, “Tomorrow never comes.”

When it Rains it Pours!

March 2, 2009
rain1Sunday: overcast with showers. Today: monsoon in Ohio.

I was very sad to learn Paul Harvey died on Saturday. For those who did not have the pleasure of listening to Paul for over 50 years on the radio, he was the number one most listened to radio personality. He was most known for a segment called, “And now for the rest of the story.” Paul would present a news item and then finish with a surprise bit of information that was little known by most people. I loved his humor and credit him with making me see there was always more to a story than just what was reported. Paul will be missed by many.

Mid-afternoon on Sunday I also learned my older sister was in the hospital. She had fallen in the bathtub and broke her knee. Given her excess weight and diabetes, she has a very long road to recovery a head of her. I visited her today and learned she will be transported to a nursing home tomorrow where she will receive rehabilitative services for a minimum of six weeks. She is not pleased with the situation but after an hour of talking with her, she finally accepted there was no other choice.  She wanted me to let her come and live with me and our father, and for me to help her with her exercises and whatever else needed done. I had to play the tough sister and almost humiliate her into seeing things the way they were. I explained I was already taking care of our father, and have since our mother passed away 11 years ago, and that he is now having difficulty walking, stumbling and falling on a regular basis, and forgets to turn off the water in the bathroom sink after he washes his hand. I already have a lot on my plate and just can’t take on anymore. I also reminded her that at no time during the last year has she even offered to spend a day with our father so I could have a break. She finally got the point.

While at the hospital I also visited my younger sister, who I learned on Sunday evening was also in the hospital. She has been ill for several years, suffering from the effects of a stroke and the onslaught of dementia. It seems she has not taken her medication for diabetes for some time and was in very poor condition when taken to the hospital. I fear she has had another stroke, although the nurse said an MRI was done and none was detected. At this point, my younger sister does not know what year it is, or even the month. She thinks Ronald Reagan is the president and she lives in an apartment that she hasn’t lived in for more than twenty years. She had been on a temporary Medicaid program pending a review to receive a disability ruling. However, she failed to “remember” to refile some paperwork and her Medicaid ran out on February 27th. I was asked by the hospital counselor to help my sister complete the needed paperwork and run it down to the Human Services office so it could be processed and a number obtained so she could also be transported to the nursing home tomorrow.

Despite the fact that I had a job interview in two hours, I helped my sister complete the paperwork – mostly I filled it out and she scrawed her name – and headed for the Human Services office. I was told by the hospital counselor all I needed to do was drop off the paperwork. Wrong! I find it interesting how many of those employed as public servants forget the “servant” part. I walked up to the receptionist and explained I was to drop off some papers for a person named Bobbie. I was told I could not just drop off anything and she would go into the back and ask Bobbie what she wanted done with the paperwork. Given the receptionist’s arrogant attitude, I had an idea of what she could do with the paperwork, but only smiled and kept my thoughts to myself. More than 15 minutes later, the receptionist returned and said I would have to come back tomorrow as they only process applications on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Well, I will admit I had had enough. In addition to all that I have listed, plus trying to find a job after being laid off since June, and dealing with another personal issue, this was the icing on the cake . . . the straw that broke the camel’s back . . . I became enraged and lost my temper, something I rarely do and even more rarely in public. I ended my brief tirade with “its nice to see our tax dollars at work” and stormed out.

Yes, I was five minutes late to my interview. I should mention that over 90 people had applied for this position, and I was one of five receiving an in-person interview. Although I composed myself during the 40 minute drive, the fact I was late did not earn me bonus points, especially since I was interviewing for a human resource manager position. I was able to make the gentleman see the humor in the situation. I believe I said something like, “You have to be wondering just what kind of an excuse would a human resource manger of over 20 years  have for being 5 minutes late to an interview for a human resource manager position. Well, let me tell you – my wife forgot to fill the car up with gas, there was a 15 car pile up on 77, there was a storm last night and the electric went off and my alarm clock didn’t go off, and my dog ate the paper with my references and I had to type another one.” Once we quit laughing, I gave him a very brief recounting of my day and we completed the interview. I wonder if I will get one of the two call back interviews?

When I returned home, I learned my neice never showed up to sit with my dad. Fortunately, he fell asleep in his recliner and only woke up when I came in the door. I was sharing my experiences of the day with him when the phone rang. It was a nephew calling to tell us my brother had fainted at work from having a very bad migraine headache, fell off a platform, and broke his collar bone. He too is in the hospital.

When it rains, it pours!

Fortunately, I have a good umbrella in the form of broad shoulders andrain3 thick skin, and I have been blessed with the “healthy gene” as I am the only one in my family not to have diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart problems. Well . . .  maybe the receptionist at Human Services would question whether I have a heart at all!