Friday, January 13, 2012

Flavored Friendship

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
The prompt was based on flavor. Read here for the  first part of the story.

Joey finished charging the coolant on the old refrigerator. He plugged the unit in and waited for the temperature to drop.

While he waited, he looked around the aged kitchen. It had been ten years since he'd been here. It hadn't changed.

"You all done, mister?", asked the young woman that had let him in.

"Almost. Just waiting to make sure it's working right."

His eyes lit on a pair of coffee mugs in the dish strainer. His memory filled with the flavor of hot chocolate. Steaming mugs, shared years ago on snow covered days.

Telling dreams of what he'd be when he grew up. Listening to stories older than himself. The spoon scraping the bottom of the pot. Blending cocoa and sugar and milk into the flavor of friendship.

"I used to shovel the walks here. When I was a kid." he said.

"Oh. Your Aunt Maudie's "snow boy".

Thursday, January 12, 2012

I Had It a Minute Ago!

The alarm rings at 3am.  I hit the snooze, once, and again.  Just a little more time.  Where did I put it?  

Then it's off to work.  Book work to be done.  Prep work to do.  A delivery needs to be put away.  Need to stock the condiment tubs.  Have pots and such to push through the dishwasher.  In between breakfast orders, that is.  Where did the time go?  I had it a minute ago.

I need to start the lunch specials.  And write checks for the vendors.  Oh, and it's payday, need to run the payroll.  Call in the tax payments, and check the temperature on the cooler, it has been misbehaving.  I don't have enough time for this, I lost some minutes somewhere.

Oh no, already 1pm.  A few errands to run.  Make the bank deposit.  Get gas for the car before the price sky rockets.  Go to the grocery store, working around food all day makes me forget there isn't any at home.  And don't forget to drop the payment for the bakery in the mail.  Running short on time, I misplaced it again.

Home at last!  Put the groceries away.  Is it really 3:00 already?  Sort the laundry for the husband, he does the laundry, bless him.  Now check emails and twitter and Facebook and the status of numerous games.  And the dog wants to go out.  Give me some time, I can't find mine.

The cats are whining.  It must be 5:00, they get their canned food now.  And they know it.  Need more coffee anyway.  Not really, but it sounds awesome.  Then maybe I will find time to relax. Under the chair cushion, maybe.

Writing prompts are waiting.  It's 6:15, better get on that.  Better figure out what to write about.  I've lost time again.

Wow, this is awful.  Maybe I could put together a real story, if I could just find where I put the time.

(And I still need to find time to read the half dozen books waiting on my Kindle app.)

Story Dam
Misplacing things is frustrating. We know we put it where will remember it. We always seem to need it when it’s not where we remember putting it. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN? Let’s write about it!

Friday, January 6, 2012

Moving On

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
For this week, we asked you to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece in which an epitaph features prominently–in 500 words or less.

Jean had cut her hair and changed the color. A deep shade of red, the color she'd been born with. No makeup, she didn't need it.  Her black jeans had been washed until soft before she slid into them. The hunter green polo shirt was a gift to herself, to complement her hair.

She had one more stop to make before she left town. The contents of the apartment had been donated or trashed. The bank account closed and the small balance used to pay for cleaning the apartment.

 She was surprised to see the two old women at the grave site. The interment was last week. She hung back as they stood chatting. They didn't see her, though it wouldn't matter.

They wouldn't know who she was.  When they left, she approached the grave.  Jean had paid for the plain headstone years ago.  She just needed to check the dates and name for accuracy.
                                                  Carla Jean Sullivan     
                                       April 3, 1928 - December 11, 2011

 Just as she had ordered. But beneath the dates was an addition.         

                                            A True and Dear Friend               
                                                 We Will Miss You 

 That was why Maryanne and Lainie had been here. Jean's eyes filled with tears.  "I will miss you, too." she whispered as she walked away from another empty grave.

Thursday, January 5, 2012


Holidays.  Or is holi-daze?

Just barely are the Thanksgiving leftovers cleared out, then comes the company Christmas party.  The hostess armed with Ziplocs and enough food to feed a small town, insisting, "Take this home, I'll never eat all that.  This will just go to waste.  Take some home."

So I do.  A plate of deviled eggs. Half a lemon chiffon cake that she knows my husband loves.  Crackers and salami and ham and dip and...   Leftovers.

The day before Christmas Eve, I'm at the store.  Buying food for the relatives that will be over.  Crackers and little smokies and carrots and cookies and dip...  Leftovers

New Year's Day, a stop at my Uncle's for a family gathering to greet the new year.  With food.  Ham and crackers and, well, yeah, you get it.  Leftovers, sigh.

But, there was one more thing.  An old box.  Filled with old papers.  A picture of my great, great grandparents.  Copies of birth and death certificates for relatives I've only found while researching our ancestry.  Names I'd not been able to find.

A guest register from a funeral seventy some years ago.  A wedding registry from as long ago.  Newspaper articles, copies from one hundred year old archives, telling of the death of my great grandfather.  He owned a tavern, among other businesses.

An envelope full of birth congratulations, with the sympathy cards that came less than a year later when the infant that would have been my aunt died.

Bits and pieces of lives begun and ended.  Bits and pieces of lives remembered.  Leftovers.

Well, the new year is here and the holidays are behind us. Speaking of “behinds”—how about those holiday leftovers? The food, the sweets, the bills-to-come… it’s that time of year where we all try to set a plan in motion to “toss out” all of those leftovers.

Story Dam