Author: Sally

fiction · The Swans of Ballycastle · Writing

The New Swans of Ballycastle

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“In the Irish seaside town of Ballycastle, the people still tell the story of the three wandering swans…“

Thus begins the original Swans of Ballycastle, and thus begins my tale.

The children and a single father are introduced: “Deirdre, the oldest was ten, Kevin was eight, and Michael was only five. Their father’s name was Brian and he kept a small shop in the center of Ballycastle. The three children and their father lived on the second floor over the shop. Their mother had died when Michael was very young. Brian, the father, raised the children as best he could.“

The children were incredibly happy. They played make-believe games in the shop or wandered to the beach and built sandcastles. They were happy. They were content. Life was good.

One day, their father journeyed to Belfast to buy goods for the store. “In his absence, Widow MacConnell ran the shop and looked after the children. Not that she had much to do on that score, for Deirdre, as usual, took care of her younger brothers. She cooked, served the meals, swept and dusted and saw that her brothers went to bed on time.“

Brian was gone a long time.

“One morning the children rose and went downstairs. In the kitchen they found their father. With him was a strange woman.“

[Here the Sally-version takes over]

She was short and round. Her hair was white and curly, like the caps on the waves. She wasn’t old, but she wasn’t exactly young either. Her dress was ocean blue, billowy and soft. Her smile, when she saw the children, grew and grew. It was warm and welcoming.

Deirdre wanted to run to her immediately for a hug, but something stopped her. She didn’t know this woman and she was her brothers’ protector. Instead she looked to her father.

He took another sip of his coffee, stood, and said, “Deirdre, Kevin, Michael — This is your new mother.”

He opened wide his arms and the children ran to him. While they were gathered in their family hug, he reached his arm out to the new woman and pulled her into the embrace. Deirdre thought she smelled like the sea breeze and welcomed her closeness.

Her name was Cordelia, but she insisted that the children call her Corrie. “I would never dare to presume that I could replace your mother,” she said, “but I promise to love you as best I can.”

Corrie’s favorite thing to do was walk on the beach. Every morning, she led the little entourage to sandy shore. Michael held her hand now, instead of Deirdre’s when they walked.

Kevin and Deirdre found that Corrie had a wealth of wisdom about the sea and the shells and the birds and the fish. They would run ahead when the beach was in view and begin their hunts.

“What’s this?” they would ask, bringing her a shell. She always knew the name and a story about the creature that lived inside.

One day Deirdre found a golden coin stamped with the picture of a swan. “Look, Corrie,” she said, extending her open hand to her with the coin on it.

A shadow crossed Corrie’s face. “Throw that away,” she said sharply, “as far as you can into the sea.”

Deirdre pretended to throw it, but she folded her thumb over the coin while she made the throwing motion, then stealthily slipped it into her pocket.

Okay — this new story is going to take more than one day’s work. Tune in next Tuesday, for part Two.

family · Life · Writing

The Swans of Ballycastle

Sally3 Comments

I ordered some of the books people recommended after 12 Months to read 12 Books but none have arrived yet. Meanwhile, I found this book in a pile while cleaning and read through it yesterday.

It’s an Irish folktale about three children with a single dad. They live an idyllic life with him until he goes off to Dublin and comes home with a wicked stepmother. Some other stuff happens (magic) and they turn into swans. They paddle off to live on an island with other swans.

There’s more to the story, of course, but I got stuck on the wicked stepmother. I mean, take Cinderella — what if her stepmother wasn’t wicked, but was nurturing. What if Snow White’s stepmother didn’t feel threatened by Snow White’s beauty? What-ifs can take a story in a whole new direction, right?

Tune in tomorrow for the delightful stepmother edition of The Swans of Ballycastle.

Life · people · Writing

Essay on Lessons from an Angry Stranger

Sally5 Comments

It’s Writer Blocks Day. Here’s my roll: Essay, Lessons, Angry, Stranger.

Forgive me if I’ve told this story before.

Remember the days of COVID when businesses shut down and then slowly reopened with new rules and regulations. Masks. Social distancing. Hand sanitizer. Who could have imagined it all?

Cooperation was palpable in those early days. We looked for ways to make it all work. Hand-sewn masks were made and distributed because manufactured masks weren’t available. Restaurants developed take-out menus. Zoom changed its meaning; it became a way to meet and connect, rather than something a car did on the highway.

When the sports facility where I worked reopened, we required everyone to wear masks. In the pool, where masking wasn’t possible, we implemented social distancing rules. Every other lane was left vacant and swimmers had to sign up to reserve their lane.

Over time, the restrictions were slowly lifted. The mask rule remained, however, long after other businesses in town had removed it.

One morning, A.M. (Angry Man) came in the front door. “WHAT THE #@*!$# DO I HAVE TO WEAR THIS FOR?” he yelled across the foyer to me.

I started to answer, but he continued cursing and yelling. “I DON’T HAVE TO WEAR IT ANYMORE. THE STATE LIFTED THAT REGULATION.”

I wanted to say that I understand. I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry; I don’t make the rules. I wanted to remind him that we are privately owned and run; we have to wait for The Foundation to lift the rule.

But he was yelling and other members were coming in, wearing masks, checking in at the front desk.

As one woman scanned her membership card, she said to me, “This is how Hitler got started, you know,” and she pointed at her mask.

A.M. was still yelling, F-ing this and F-ing that. I swear, the Hitler woman was smirking at me behind her mask. Other people were staring — at me, at A.M., at the mask sign on the front desk. I turned and walked away.

I walked into the back office where my supervisor worked. She wasn’t there. I walked down the long hallway to the Director’s office and knocked on the door. I interrupted a meeting.

“I don’t get paid enough to be compared to Hitler,” I said, and I told her the whole story.

When I finished talking, I saw A.M. coming down that long hallway. He reached me and went down on his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you.”

“Of course, I forgive you,” I said. “Thank you for apologizing.”

We had a brief conversation and I went back to work. I think he stayed to talk with the Director.

Just the other day he was in my office.

“You know I have opinions,” he said.

I smiled. “Yes, you do, but this is a nicer way to handle them.”

He shared with me a concern/complaint/suggestion. I listened and thanked him.

That first angry interaction did not define our relationship and he is no longer a stranger. I think there’s a lesson or two in there somewhere.

gratitude

TToT – January 11, 2025

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Ten things for which I have been thankful over this past week:

  1. Writing: I actually posted every day. I hope I didn’t just jinx myself.
  2. Pensée of the day: “People are generally better persuaded by the reasons which they have themselves discovered than by those which have come into the mind of others.” (Blaise Pascal) I read it this morning and was so appropriate for a situation I’m dealing with. I could attempt to strong-arm, but I’ll wait for the other person to arrive at the correct conclusion.
  3. Aiden — I was delighted to get to know one of my newer co-workers. He’s a young man, roughly the same age as my youngest child, with a shy smile and a desire to learn. The circumstances that broke the ice between us were less than desirable — I was called in to work on Sunday morning because of trouble they were having with the computers — but I can honestly say that I’m glad it happened. Yesterday, as I was leaving, Aiden said to me, “I’m sorry if I bother you with too many questions.” “You can never ask too many questions,” I told him. I think we’re going to get along well.
  4. Jean Johnson died last Sunday. I knew her from the 8 AM service I usually attend, but, I have to confess, I didn’t really know her. I’ve spent time this week working on her funeral bulletin and getting to know her posthumously. I wish I had made the effort earlier.
  5. Tissue; So Close but Out of Reach — a tanka submission for the W3 challenge that made me laugh. Funny, clever, true.
  6. A new swim friend — A week or two ago I sold a membership to a young man who I assumed was like 97.6% of the young men who join, wanting to head straight to the weights. Instead, I saw him in the pool. Between you and me, he’s a pretty terrible swimmer. I’ve ended up swimming in the lane next to him and I try not to judge. One day this week, I had stopped to put my fins on and he was resting in the next lane over, when he initiated a conversation with me. “You’re a good swimmer,” he said. “I’ve been doing it for about a hundred years,” I replied. “How do I get better?” he asked. I gave him a few tips which he immediately tried. Now, whenever I see him in the pool he gives me a big smile and wave and shows me his stroke. He has a great smile; someday, maybe he’ll have a great freestyle, too.
  7. Snow. It’s pretty. It’s just awfully cold.
  8. My messy desk. Albert Einstein said, “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” My mind is far from empty.
  9. Ham and Scalloped Potatoes. I dug out my recipe and made some this week. They were delicious.
  10. A chance encounter with Annie Halvorsen, an old friend whose art I LOVE! I had gone out to eat and walked past her on my way out. I did a double-take, said hello, and had a lovely conversation with her.
Les Platanes #2 by Annie Halvorsen
fiction

Get Me to the Church On Time

Sally10 Comments

“I got to be there in the morning,” he sang, “spruced up and lookin’ in me prime.”

He had slept through his alarm and his head was pounding. Splashing water on his face helped a little. Singing helped more. He couldn’t believe that he still remembered the words he had sung fifty years ago on a high school stage.

He put on the starched shirt and the dark pants with their crisp ironed crease up each leg.

As he stood in front of the mirror, humming, he tied his tie. The knot was perfect.

“Pull out the stopper. Let’s have a whopper,” he sang, and eyed the bottle on the sideboard. One glass wouldn’t hurt. It might even help.

He sipped and sang and combed his hair. “Ding dong! the bells are gonna chime!”

He laughed to himself. The drink had helped. He did a little dance-shuffle out the door, singing, “Kick up a rumpus, but don’t lose the compass, and get me to the church, get me to the church, be sure and get me to the church on time!”

When he pulled up in front of the church, he knew he was late. They were just exiting, the pall-bearers carrying the casket down the stairs.

“You god-damned drunk,” his sister hissed. “Couldn’t even be here on time for her funeral.”

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge has only two rules: 1) no more than 250 words, and 2) base it on the photo prompt.

I looked at that photo and thought, that’s probably some well-known landmark in Scotland or Europe (certainly NOT the US) that I don’t recognize. I am so untraveled.

However, I have spent the better part of my week preparing for a funeral at the church where I work (my 2nd job). Plus I love musicals.

This is from “My Fair Lady” — and he’s getting ready for a wedding, not a funeral.

poetry

Elbowroom

Sally8 Comments

Go into a crowd
The hustle-bustle-jostle
Of people – no – not for me

Sit beside a lake
Alone – a loon dives for fish
Eagle circles high – I sigh

This is my submission for the W3 prompt this week. POW Suzanne challenged us to write a poem in a Japanese form with the theme of Yutori — a Japanese word that means, among other things, elbowroom.

I have to confess that I don’t really feel confident about Japanese forms, so I read through the book: Japanese Poetry Forms by James P. Wagner (Ishwa) and Nick Hale that Suzanne included and settled on The Sedoka. Here’s the explanation of the form:

The Sedoka
Sometimes known as a whirling head poem is
similar to a later form of Japanese poetry called the
mondo from the Zen practice of rapid question-answer
between a master and a student or, more frequently,
between two lovers. Often the answer would be in
nonverbal form such as pointing to a natural object.
The sedoka can often be considered the combination of
two or three katuata. A sedoka is written by only 1
poet and rather than question-answer, the 2 stanzas are
often parallels, sometimes taking the form of an
internal dialogue or contemplative dilemma. This verse
can be found as far back as the 6th century.
The sedoka is:
 2 stanzas of 3 lines each
 19 syllables or less
 often 5-7-7, sometimes 5-7-5 is used for each
stanza.
 the stanzas should be parallel to each other, or
in some ways opposites without being directly
contradictory.

You can see that I am a little partial to the Celtic forms that like internal rhyme and alliteration.

Life

Logic

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I know, I know — it’s ONE liner Wednesday, but I’m going to give you two quotes because they walk hand-in-hand.

“People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind. ”

William Butler Yeats

Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.

Albert Einstein

Writing

Musings on American English vs British

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I’m fascinated by the minute spelling differences between American English and British.

For instance, on the front of the bulletins we hand out at church, it says, “Thank you for worshipping with us today.” A month or two ago, Father brought them to me and asked me to change it to “worshiping.” Brits use 2 p’s; Americans prefer 1.

Or do we?

Between us, I think 2 p’s makes more sense. The “i” is short, so we should double the consonant. Worshiping looks like the root word should “worshipe”. Yeah, no, not a fan.

Then there’s the whinge-whine connection. Brits whinge; Americans whine. In this instance, the words have slightly different meanings. Whinge means “complain persistently and in a peevish or irritating way,” but whine is the actual noise — that high-pitched complaining cry.

So when today’s word for JusJoJan was “pernickety” — whereas I only knew the word “persnickety” — I should have guessed that it was the old Brit-American issue. They both mean a fussy, particular attention to detail. But British English is the older spelling. Americans had to go and change it.

Why? Usually Americans are dropping letters, like the whole worshipping thing. In the case of persnickety, they added a letter!

I like that we dropped that unnecessary ‘u’ from words like color and neighbor. Shorter, more practical, good.

Then there’s biscuit vs cookie, or football vs soccer, torch vs flashlight. (Seriously – a torch has fire leaping from it, right? If a flashlight is a torch, what’s a torch called?)

How about you? What words do you notice that are different?

books

12 months to read 12 books

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In a recent brief foray into Facebook, I happened to see this challenge: read twelve books in twelve months recommended by twelve friends.

Easy-peasy, right? Except I read very little fiction these days. I look at my current pile of books. I’m rereading Pascal’s Pensees. I’m starting over on Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland, a book I started years ago and never finished. Then I have unfinished books by John O’Donohue and Brian Doyle that I want to tackle. Again. I’m mostly stuck slowly reading thought-provoking books.

12 books in 12 months? I saw that and thought, Pshaw. Literally. That’s what I thought.

Except there’s this. In the post-election numbness, I stumbled across a years-old recommendation from a friend to read a young adult book. (Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow recommended by my friend Leah) I zippity-doo-dah-ed through that book and was glad I had.

The truth is I LOVE children’s books, early chapter books, and young adult books. 12 children’s books? Yes, that I could do.

So my question for you is, do you have a book you remember reading as a child that you loved? Or a book you recently read to your child or grandchild that you thought was amazing or even just worthwhile?

I’ll take the first twelve that I haven’t yet read and make a list for 2025.

family · Writing

Writer’s Blocks

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For Christmas I had asked for Writing Dice, dice with idea words written for inspiration. Prompts definitely help me write. My daughter went one step better and MADE me some (with the help of her husband’s 3D printer).

Today, this was my roll:

Prayer Joyful Limerick Sibling

Dear God, unto You I now pray
Though skies are cloudy and gray
Give a smile to my heart
’cause that’s a good start
For this to be a great day!

With one sister, three brothers I’m blessed
(I can’t tell you which one is best)
One’s deceased — and that’s sad —
Also – mom and dad –
So the estate now must be addressed