Author: Sally

fiction

A Day By the Sea

Sally12 Comments

The sound of water soothed her, washing ashore and pulling back, over and over and over.

The smell of the brine pricked at her nose. Sometimes she even sneezed after taking a deep breath of it. He would laugh and tease her about being allergic to the sea.

The breeze – sometimes gentle, sometimes rough – always surprised her. On gentle days, it played with her hair, pulling it across her face. On rough days, it tugged at her jacket as if she shouldn’t be wearing it at all. It blew her hat from her head as if to confirm that opinion. He would retrieve it for her, always.

“I told you not to wear it,” he would remind her. “You need to get one of those hats that ties under your chin.”

Those hats look so silly, she thought.

The sun at the beach was hit or miss. More miss than hit it seemed. Occaionally, it blazed down, threatening to burn her fair skin. Usually it jostled with the clouds, trying to elbow its way through. He used to make up arguments that took place on high.

Cloud: Hey, I saw you sneak a few rays out! That’s not fair!

Sun: Well, it’s my turn! Move aside!

He would give Sun and Cloud funny voices that made her laugh.

She missed him so much.

She could feel the sun setting. It was time to go.

She sighed and took her white cane to make her way off the beach.

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: no more than 250 words and use the picture for a prompt.

Faith · Grief · poetry · Random Photo Monday

When he died

Sally12 Comments

When he died,
Oh, I tried
To decide

What came next —
So perplexed.
The subtext

Of my grief,
My belief,
Brought relief

This is my submission for the W3 Challenge this week:

  • Theme: The bittersweet, painful, or unsettling aspects of the past and its hold on the present;
    • Optional Challenge: Use imagery of shadows, cracks, or reflections to add depth to the theme;
  • Form: A “square” (e.g., 2×2, 3×3, 4×4, or any other pattern you choose);
    • “Rows” represent stanzas;
    • “Columns” represent the number of lines in each stanza;
      • For example: 3×3 = 3 stanzas of 3 lines each; and 4×4 = 4 stanzas of 4 lines each.

The idea of a “square” poem intrigued me. I wrote 3 stanzas of 3 lines each. I went a step further, though, and made each line 3 syllables — does that make it a cube?

fiction · Writing

The New Swans of Ballycastle — Chapter 2

Sally5 Comments

Chapter One — if you haven’t read it.

CHAPTER TWO

Corrie was worried. Deirdre’s behavior was causing the worry.

She had been watching Deirdre withdraw, become more sullen, snap at her family over little things.

Could it be the natural changes that occur in a pre-teen girl? Corrie wondered. But, no, this seemed different.

Once, when she went to check on Deirdre in her room, she found the girl studying something in her hand, stroking it with the index finger of her other hand. Corrie spoke and the girl jumped. She hid whatever-it-was behind her back and snarled at Corrie to go away.

Corrie went back down to the kitchen. As she kneaded that day’s bread, she thought and thought. Push-pull-fold-turn, push-pull-fold-turn. The process of kneading dough was cathartic. It helped her concentrate. It released all the emotions she had been holding. Push-pull-fold-turn, push-pull-fold-turn. Something was very wrong with Deirdre, she knew. Push-pull-fold-turn, push-pull-fold-turn. Should she talk to the girl, or should she talk with Brian first?

A few days later, when the children were outside, Corrie went into Deirdre’s room. She opened the drawer in her bedside stand and saw the Golden Swan coin there.

Her heart stopped. Quickly, she slid the drawer closed and backed away. She swore that she had seen Deidre throw that coin into the sea, but there it was.

Corrie went out to find the children. The three of them were in the backyard. Michael and Kevin were playing a one-on-one game of tag. Deirdre was sitting alone on a bench, staring at the sky.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked the girl.

Deirdre shrugged. “I don’t care,” she muttered.

Corrie hestitantly began the conversation. “I’m concerned about you, Deirdre. You seem unhappy about something.”

“I’m fine,” Deirdre replied, emphasizing the word “fine” like it was the most distasteful word in the language.

Corrie reached over to put her arm around the girl, but Deirdre jerked away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” Deirdre said. “You wicked stepmothers are all alike.”

Corrie tried to protest, but Deirdre kept going. “You’re mean. You’re ugly. I wish you had never come here.”

Kevin and Michael stopped running. They looked puzzled and alarmed. They looked from Deirdre’s face to Corrie’s and back to Deirdre’s.

“C’mon, boys,” Deirdre said. “We’re going to the beach.” She grabbed Michael’s hand and jerked him along. “Without her.”

Kevin walked beside Deirdre, head down. Michael had no choice except to go with his sister, but he kept looking back over his shoulder at Corrie.

books

Brian Doyle’s life reading list

Sally4 Comments

Brian Doyle is easily one of my favorite writers. When I found this little essay of his, I laughed out loud all the way through.

“Age one: Pat the Bunny. Arguably the most intimate reading experience of your lifetime. Read it every night with your parents. Where’s the bunny? There’s the bunny!”

“Age two. Reread Pat the Bunny. Try not to eat the pages this time. Write a paper of no fewer than three pages (single-spaced) on … the whole peekaboo blanket thing — does Homeland Security know?”

Doyle lists books and commentary on all those developmental years: “Age three: read Goodnight Moon while listening to Courtney Love on your headphones….” “Age four: you can ease up a little this year, go on cruise control. Ronald Reagan’s letters, the speeches of Marcel Marceau…”

Et cetera.

“Age twenty-two: Scotland, that moist mud puddle north of Manchester! Now that you are legally able to imbibe the whiskey of life, do so on January 25, celebrating Robbie Burns, while reading Robbie Burns aloud until the wee hours, in the company of lots of your friends. Do not eat haggis. Haggis is disgusting….

I stopped there, thinking about our upcoming Burns celebration. I’ve got the haggis and people had better eat it. The question is, should I bring whisky?

poetry · Writing

Writer’s Dice (Sort of)

Sally5 Comments
Moments, Grateful, Grandkid, Free

Well, I just wrote a long post of gratitude yesterday and I saw two of my grandchildren today. I’m going to take that “FREE” cube and run with it.

This coming week, on Thursday, we’re having a Robert Burns celebration as part of our senior program. I’m excited and terribly anxious. I ordered haggis for it, then came into work one morning last week to see the box of haggis sitting beside the front desk. It had arrived after I left the previous day. It was clearly labeled, “PERISHABLE. REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY.” But there it sat in the lobby.

I was so upset that I couldn’t even open the box, so one of the custodians did it for me. Everything was still frozen inside. It was packed in styrofoam and ice packs. I’m still amazed that it was so cold.

Today, though, I worked on my own version of “To a Mouse” which I may share at the Burns event. In Robert Burns’ version, he’s apologetic for disturbing a mouse’s nest while plowing. I am slightly less kind. The first two lines are all Rabbie Burns’. The rest are mine.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie
Oh, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
I ken, I ken — ye smelt the yeastie
in discarded bread
But would it be too much to ask ye
go somewhere else instead

Ye leave yer jobbies* and I find them
On the counter, near a bread crumb
Or by the garbage, where ye oft come
to find a treat or two
I recognize where jobbies come from
they cause me to say “Ewww!”

Today I grant ye sweet release**
Across the street — and wish ye peace
Instead of plotting yer decease
I will allow ye live
May yer domestic tribe decrease
Today’s nibblin’s I forgive

But tomorrow, oh tomorrow
I may wish ye endless sorrow
Ye come into my home and borrow
That which is nae yers
Mousetraps are set those places ye go
BAM SNAP! – yes, death occurs

*Jobbie is a Scottish term for excrement.

** Yes, I release mice that are alive across the street in our compost pile.

family · gratitude · Life

TToT — January 18

Sally7 Comments
  1. The Moon — when I left the house a little after 5 AM Wednesday, I had to pause to take a picture of it. The corona, the clouds — all so lovely.

2. A quote from Art and Fear (by David Bayles and Ted Orland) —
“wanting to be understood is a basic need… The risk is fearsome; in making your real work you hand the audience the power to deny the understanding you seek; you hand them the power to say, ‘you’re not like us; you’re weird; you’re crazy.‘”
I have always thought that my biggest fear is failure. The authors are correct though. My biggest fear is not being understood and therefore not fitting in. This is the fear that mean girls target with their posse-mentality — and I’ve learned that mean girls exist at all ages.

3. Encouraging comments — this ties in with #2. I wrote a poem (Phoenix) which I hesitated to post because it’s …um… different. Okay, okay — it’s weird. It starts off with the word “phlying” and has some homophones thrown in. Also a backwards spelling of the word Phoenix which made sense to me as the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Well, the post sat there with no comment on the oddities. How polite, I thought. What a bomb, I thought. Until a little flurry of comments on phlying. So I’m thankful for Leslie Scoble, D. Avery, Sarah David, and crazy4yarn2. You encourage me.

4. A $5 tip — For the record, we don’t take tips at work other than workout tips because we’re a fitness facility. Yesterday, I helped a man with his membership. When we were done, he pulled out his wallet and put a five dollar bill on my desk.
“I can’t take that,” I said.
“I’m not taking it back,” he said.
We were at a stalemate. He told me a long story about how he likes to help people.
“Use that to help somebody else,” he said. “It’s five bucks. I’m not going to miss it and I’m not taking it back.”
Reluctantly, I put it in my drawer. Now I have to come up with a way to help somebody with five dollars — a fun challenge.

5. A new friend — I got together last night with a woman I met at a Christmas party. She is only in town occasionally, but when we first met, we had so much in common. Two introverted moms in the midst of changes in their lives. I’m glad it worked out that we could meet and talk again.

6. An old friend — I ran into one of my oldest friends (as in years I’ve known her) that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Thirty-five years ago, people used to confuse us for each other — and we have some great stories about that. So so so good to see her.

7. Another unpleasant situation that ended with an apology — Suffice it to say that I needed to speak with a member about an unkind thing she had done. In gathering information about our policies at the facility, another staff member said, “Oh, her. She’s terrible. We may have to kick her out.” Later, I ran into the woman in the hallway. This was our conversation:

Me: You’re just the person I was looking for!
Her: Really? What’s going on? What did I do now?
I recounted the situation to her.
Her: I am so sorry. Sometimes I speak without thinking. I didn’t mean to come across that way.
Me: It’s okay. I just wanted you to know how it DID come across.
Her: I’m really sorry. I will try not to do it again.

Sometimes people just need a chance. I’m willing to give her another one.

8. Fasting — I did a 24 hour fast and it’s amazing how good that feels for the body.

9. A message from my cousin letting me know that her father, my uncle, is “slowing down.” I will plan a trip to see him. I’d much rather get that message and have a chance to visit than what the message could have been.

10. Flowers — a member gave me flowers for my desk as a thank you. I LOVE fresh flowers.

fiction

What IS it?

Sally14 Comments

“Hahaha – TAG! You’re it!” Johnny turned and ran.

Charlie wheeled to chase his friend but almost fell over the metal piece lying on the plaza.

“Whoa!!” he cried. “Johnny look at this!”

He picked up the long cylindrical piece he had stumbled over. It was heavy, rounded and finished at one end, rough at the other. The rough end had clearly fit into something.

“What is it?” asked Johnny. “It looks like an antique joystick.”

“You are absolutely daft,” Charlie said. “First, it’s too big. Second, it’s too heavy. Third, it’s metal and everyone knows that joysticks are made of plastic and have buttons on them.”

“I said it was an antique,” Johnny replied defensively.

“I think it’s a belaying pin,” Charlie said. “I saw them when my dad took us to a ship museum.”

Johnny looked puzzled. “I’ve never heard of a belaying pin.”

“When pirates were trying to climb on board a ship, these things were in the railing and the sailors could pull them out to whack the pirates on the head,” Charlie said, attempting to demonstrate. The proportions were wrong and the piece too heavy. “Maybe not,” he said.

Charlie rarely admitted that he might be wrong. Johnny beamed.

They both threw out ideas for what it might be.

“Part of a fancy fence?”

“Something that fell off an old piece of furniture?”

Just then, a man approached them. “You found it!” he said.

He took the piece from the boys and walked quickly away.

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: No more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

I have no idea what that picture shows. Can someone tell me what that is?

poetry

Phoenix

Sally16 Comments

(Ph)lying up higher and higher
Hole-ness comes amidst the fire
Once upon a time, to cope
Every child learned the myth, the trope
New the stories of death, loss, hope
Icarus failed and fell to earth
xineohP rose from ashes in rebirth

This week on W3 the poet of the week (PoW) Sarah David challenged us to write a poem of up to 12 lines on the theme of hope or renewal. Poets can use this image (or another one) of a phoenix for inspiration if they like.

I decided to write an Acrostic, but, darn it all, the words wouldn’t cooperate. If Phoenix can begin with a ph, I gave flying permission to do the same. And that wholeness of life rising from ashes? Well, the w just wouldn’t work! New/knew — whatever. And X? Fuhgeddaboudit!

It’s a quirky poem, I admit.