Love happens.....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restriction is: The prompt must be left intact WHICH MEANS you cannot split up the words in the prompt.


Below is my story, the prompt is in large BOLD italics…

He never dreamed when he blew out the candles on his cake...

that the wish he’d just made was about to come true.

The crush had happened simple enough, a whiff of her perfume, her gentle fingertips guiding his hand.

He didn‘t realize she was married, not that it made any difference in how he felt about her.

The things she’d teach him were lessons that would stay with him for life.

Transfixed for hours, he’d watched as her painted lips formed sounds, ahhhh’s and ohhhh’s.

He loved her, possibly more than he’d ever loved any other woman.

And he didn’t care who knew it.

This kindergarten Casanova was in l.o.v.e....

Okay...who's sick?

Last night Daddio and I were sailing down the road in the coupe exchanging some small talk about the kids.

I mentioned remembering a time when we thought one of them was sick...really sick.

And how scared I was.

A blogging mom I follow recently suffered through a health scare with her small son.

She wrote about thinking that every bump, every bruise, every misplaced hair follicle had her pos-i-tive that SOMETHING was WRONG.

Like me, she takes it to SOMETHING is VERY VERY VERY WRONG in about two seconds flat.

She says that this is her Achilles heel.

And I told Daddio the same is true about me.

I think it has something to do with losing my brother?

Or maybe it's because my parents divorced?

Or maybe I'm all my kids are sick "paranoid" because my arms were too hairy in the 5th grade (and I had to wear a cardigan sweater for 180 days straight so no one could see them)...

I guess I don't need to lay blame.

I am what I am.

And this is what it is.

But I don't like it.

Cause it makes my stomach hurt.

As a side note, I also obsessively worry about my parent's health, my sister's (and her family's) health, Daddio's health, Daddio's family's health, my friend's health, and my own health.

I also worry about this little girl...she's getting up in years.

Is that a bump on her stomach? Do you see a cataract in her eye? Was that a heartbeat that was skipped? Why is she breathing all rattle trap like that?

Maybe she has a pea stuck up her nose???

That happened once to Susan...another story for another day ;-)

Have a blessed and peaceful Wednesday....and may all your inner demons be on good behavior today.

The grapes of wrath...

How many times do you think of your own death?

Right before you jump, parachuted, out of a plane?

Right before you rush into a burning building?

Right before you eat my mother's cooking?

(Mom, I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M KIDDING)

Of course if you do any of that kind of stuff, you probably think of the death of you more often than the average person.

I on the other hand, am one that doesn't do risky.

I mean I do text and eat a taco (simultaneously) while driving.

But doesn't everyone?

(Mom...put down the phone, I'M STILL KIDDING).

And even though I really try to avoid risky, I'm somewhat preoccupied with thoughts of my own death... (and ways to prevent it).
While pondering my demise I've dreamt up many romantic and exciting endings.

Laying in a beautiful canopy bed, draped in satin and lace curtains surrounded by my huge family and about 1000 of my closest and dearest friends.

A classy exit....

Or, I will be 106 and Daddio 107 and we will go to sleep one night and that will be it.

Just like in the movie "The Notebook".

(Man, I love that movie)

I'd like to think that I'm totally normal in pondering my own death.

But something tells me I'm not.

Lately, in dealing with my own personal war against my own personal terror(ism), and borrowing the National Homeland Security Advisory System I've placed myself at the Warning Level Orange....

Which is HIGH.

The most recent enemy....

an ordinary purple grape.

I've become addicted,

and eat them by the hands full,

every day.

One recently purchased bag had bunches of grapes with really tough skins.

And eating them I became conscious of the possibility (probability...remember the Orange level) that I could choke on one.

Cause one is all it would take...right?

One to block my windpipe.

Then I wondered... could the Heimlich maneuver dislodge a determined grape?

Then I thought about where I might be and who would perform the heroic deed...?

Then I remembered that I heard once that people throw up when they get the Heimlich.

So not only would I suffer the indignity of having the maneuver done in order to save my life....I'd more than likely puke on the table or the floor.

Puke in front of people.

I'm still eating grapes.

But I chew each one really well.

And I'd advise you to do the same.

(Disclaimer #1: I really am kidding about my mom's cooking, she makes a wicked New England boiled dinner, awesome Spanish Pork Chops, and the best Chocolate Malt Milkshakes the world has ever known, to name a few. Disclaimer #2: I'm not making fun of choking deaths...I've actually very fearful of one.)

Music to my ears....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restriction is: The prompt must be left intact WHICH MEANS you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

(For some reason this week I didn't see the prompt...and I worried that something was wrong over at Jenny's place...I checked in this morning to see what it could be and low and behold..I found the Saturday Centus challenge..I can see now, I'm addicted.)


Below is my story, the prompt is in BOLD italics…

"This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

She worked on the slightly discolored, indented mark left each and every time he rocked back and forth in his recliner. Only one foot hit, the other, tucked neatly underneath. Downstairs doing laundry she’d hear the floor creak as he rocked. The rhythm, strangely reassuring. Sometimes she’d sit in his chair and pretend to be him.The pad of her foot would hit the spot, back and forth she’d rock. She didn’t like the impression on the carpet, and every now and then the sight of it embarrassed her.. No, she didn’t love the spot, but she loved it’s signification.

Feed me............

Today I'm meeting a lady for lunch.

She is the founder of a charity that does makeovers at battered women's shelters.

And not just in Michigan.

I learned of her and her noble cause from a co-worker.

I visited her website and clicked around a bit.

I was impressed.

You would be too.

I saw a flashing, colorful tab.

I tried to ignore it.

To look the other way.

Then the tab spoke to me,

asking the question,

"How can you help?"

Uh-oh, I thought to myself.

RUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN................!!!!!!

So I clicked off the site.

And then I clicked back on the site.

And tried not to look at that tab.

"Pssst...."

"hey you" it called.

What is it with me and stuff?

Like charities.

I hear them calling to me, at first they whisper..then they roar.

"YOU...."

I'M TALKING TO YOU"

I don't have time for much else in my life...

My rational self knows this.

But I pride myself on my good manners...and it is after all speaking to me.

I can't ignore it.

They want a freelance writer to write their stories.

I like to write stories.

So I'm meeting her for lunch to see what kind of stories she's interested in.

The saying "biting off more than I can chew" comes to mind....

So does this quote...

God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest. ~J.G. Holland

Wish me luck.

And a good strong jaw.

xoxo

(Blue bird photo shamelessly stolen borrowed from birdfeederusa.com)

Waving my flag....

We don't often look at ourselves and think "what a nut job".

Even when we are.

The other day I asked my kids to answer a survey question (don't ask) asking me what made my "freak flag" fly.

What are you freaky/obsessive about?

Wow...

Loaded question.

Bear couldn't think of anything.

He did say that I was annoying, but that was all he could think of.

His sister had a list.

"Well, you are all wacky about puke." Googie offered.

"And you like perfume waaaaaaaaaaay too much"

"You have too much perfume mom, really you do"

"And you're all weird about smells."

"Oh and that phone thing."

"Yeah, you do have an issue with phone calls mom."

Hey Goog, thanks.

You are such a big help to your momma.

The Freak Flag Flier.

A couple of days ago I called my ex sister.

Often, her ringing phone goes unanswered.

I guess it may be hard to hear three different handsets ringing at the same time, but hey, whatever.

Lots of times when I call the answering machine picks up and when I start to leave a message a real live human being will answer.

Screening calls huh?

If I were the paranoid sort I might even think they were screening their calls.

So I called that no good fer nuttin lazy ass   darling sister of mine a day or two ago and left a message asking her to call me back.

The witch ignored the call.

She didn't get the message.

So I called again yesterday.

Listen you puke, call me back.

What the frick?

This is totally the last and final straw, I won't call you again...EVER!!!

Yesterday, I dialed her number and left a message.

Yeah, so yesterday I decided to give her another call.

I called her again, yesterday.

Yesterday when she didn't return my calls call I decided to leave a message.

Okay, you obviously don't want to talk to me since you never answer when I call, you never return my calls, no one gives you my messages and they never get into any trouble for that unmannerly behavior.

I'm going to stop writing about this now.

I'm feeling myself beginning to tense up.

Googie was right...I do have phone issues.

xoxoxoxo....

PS...Susan, if you are reading this..call me.

I love it when he talks dirty to me.. especially in French

"Oui We have to clean the fridge" Daddio said yesterday.

Oui We means me.....

"Yeah" I said "there are some interesting science experiments going on in there."

"I meant the outside." he continued.

"The outside is filled with too much stuff, pictures and things, it's too stuffy, too cluttered, toooooo may clippings tooooo much of everything" he was starting to come unglued.

I like a clean fridge just like the next guy...so Oui We I did a little straightening.

I"m only keeping the important things, I thought as I looked it over trying to decided what had to go.

I scraped off a Power Ranger sticker and threw away a flyer from Highland Appliance (they've been out of business for about 20 years).

The rest is staying....

What the hell does he think all that empty space is for anyway????

Je t'aime papa"O".....

Edited to add.... Tell me about the front of your fridge. Merci.