Canning Season

Trifecta: Week Ninety-Seven

Congrats to last weeks winners!  This will be my first Trifecta post in too long.  I've been sneaking into the Trifextra Weekend, cause 33 words has seemed more do-able.  I do hope I got the gist of this week's prompt correct.
And here it is:

This week's prompt word is inspired by a less-than-inspiring few weeks in the life of at least one (no more than three) Trifecta editor(s).  If this type of language is not your thing, don't worry.  There aren't too many more swear words with third definitions in our dictionary, so we can guarantee Trifecta won't always be not safe for work.  If it is your thing, well, give us your best.

ASS

1. (noun): any of several hardy gregarious African or Asian perissodactyl mammals (genus Equus) smaller than the horse and having long ears; especially : an African mammal (E. asinus) that is the ancestor of the donkey

2.  (noun):
a. often vulgar : buttocks —often used in emphatic reference to a specific person <get your ass over here> <saved my ass>
b. often vulgar : anus

3. (adverb/adjective) often vulgar—often used as a postpositive intensive especially with words of derogatory implication <fancy-ass>

Don't worry about the big, three-dollar-word language of 'postpositive intensive'.  Basically, we are asking for something similar to the example.  Think: pansy-ass, fancy-ass, smart-ass, dumb-ass.  This week, your prompt word may be used, as in the above examples, as a suffix.  We aren't hung up on the 'postpositive' aspect of this definition, and you don't need to be either.  (Though it's really not difficult to figure out.)

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.phPoWZpm.dpuf


I loved Grams to death.  As a boy of nine, nothing was better than sitting in her kitchen eating her homemade apple pie, warm from the oven, with a giant scoop of vanilla ice cream on it.

As much as I loved Grams, I hated her cellar.  I hated it from the ratty-ass wooden door that was tucked in the corner next to her old wheezy fridge to the dirt floor at the bottom of the creaky steps.

There was something down there.  My mother rolled her eyes.  My dad said to grow up.  Gram just said it was a cellar and the only thing down there was jars, full and empty.

I spent two weeks at Grams my tenth summer.  We ate warm pie and played cards and picked apples.

Picking apples meant canning apples. Which meant getting jars, from the cellar.

Grams could tell I wasn't keen on the idea, but she just shooed me along with the assurance nothing was down there except the jars.

It was the sixth trip that was the "charm", I was feeling cocky by then.  There wasn't anything down here.  I was just a kid last year when I thought that.

Just as I was thumbing my nose at that silly nine year old, I felt a cold hand on my arm.  I spun around to my worst fear. 

A face red as flame with long jagged teeth framing a forked tongue.  I tried to inhale enough breath to form a shriek, but choked on my fear.  The monster gripped my arm tighter and began to pull me closer.

I was going to die in Grams cellar.

I heard a sound like a bell being rung.  The thing let go of my arm, and simply melted away.

And there stood Grams, an iron skillet in her hand.  

"C'mon, boy,"  she said, "I told you, there's nothin' here but jars, and the apples are waitin'."

The Power of Three

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Seven   

Congratulations to this week's winners!  And, on to the weekend challenge, (they said have fun...)

This weekend we're asking for 33 of your own words about a famous trio. The trio could be from literature, from history or from pop culture. Just make it yours and have fun with it. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.a4jcOK9F.dpuf



Those three bright stars,
Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka.
They hold Orion's sword close to hand.

Just imagine, if instead
it were Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 
in charge of keeping those belt loops manned. 

2058

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Six




this weekend's prompt---This weekend's Trifextra comes to us courtesy of MOV, who often emails us with suggestions for site improvement or potential prompts.  Most recently, she told us about Travel and Leisure magazine's "Super Short Travel Stories" competition, thinking that we could recreate the same challenge on our site.  We love the idea, but borrowing it outright feels a bit shady, so we're going to add our own twist to it.  This weekend, we want you to give us a 33-word time travel story.  We don't usually tell you what to title your piece, but we'd love it if you could title it with the year/date that you choose. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.JfmXSmpp.dpuf

"Why was the Police here, Grandad?  What did they want? What was they looking for?"

"Someone told them we had books, boy.  They came looking for my Gramma's books."

"Books?  What's books, Grandad?"

Exit

It was my plan to link up with last week's 100 Word Song.  But I waited to long.  Sad me.
However.  Since Leeroy gave us an additional 20 words to play with, I altered my original idea to encompass both tracks.  
Cause they said we could break the rules!


It whispered her name.  "Elise."
A soft plea. "Come."
Silver rimmed shadow, pulsing gently.

"Did you get hold of Granny yet?  We need that cash"

"Elise, come."
Chewing her lip, she took a hesitant step.
Silver swirled into shadow with anticipation.  
"Come, Elise.  Nothing to fear."

"I know, I know!  She don't answer her phone."

She stood, undecided.
It waited patiently.
Finally another faltering step.  
"Be free, Elise.  Come."

"Try again!"

She cocked her head, eyebrows furrowed. "Free?"
"Free, come Elise."
She stretched a gnarled hand toward the shadow.  A ribbon of silver caressed her bent fingers.
She grasped the silvery thread, followed with trust.


"I did, some young chick answered.  I musta got the wrong number."

She was free.

The Songs...

You have seven days from NOW, to write 120 words on Wrong Number by The Cure chosen by Melissa aka @realgirlmelissa. Link up to Mr. Linky below then tell a friend or fifty via the medias that are social

And....
 And She Was, by the Talking Heads and chosen by Tar Rah. Use Mr. Linky below then social media out your link and tell a friend or fifty.

Ba-bump

<Trifextra: Week Eighty-Five



What noise was that, my house?
Cat in your cupboard, squirrel in your attic?
Perhaps a rat behind that baseboard.
Or a zombie in the closet.
Is that a chuckle within your walls?

This weekend's challenge intrigued me, and I found some spare minutes....Here's the prompt;

On now to our weekend prompt.  This week we are taking you, once again, back to school for a lesson in literary devices.  Remember the apostrophe?  About.com defines apostrophe as, "A figure of speech in which some absent or nonexistent person or thing is addressed as if present and capable of understanding."  That same site provides some excellent examples of apostrophes in classical literature. Check them out and then have a crack at it yourself.  Give us your best 33-word example of an apostrophe. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.MWCtPU1F.dpuf

impatience

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Three



like standing on glass
the wait to end this chapter
i covet new adventures



I'm sneaking in at the last minute.  I managed to do this prompt.  Probably because it didn't require too many brain cells.  Most of mine are dormant, I think.
Here's our assignment...


HAIKU (noun) : an unrhymed verse form of Japanese origin having three lines containing usually five, seven, and five syllables respectively - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.OFOn7j4K.dpuf

Not Giving Up, Just Moving On...

I am a wizard, my spatula is my wand. I am a grill cook, short-order cook, fry cook.  It's who I am.  It's who I've been for 40 plus years.  

But the magic is fading. Tired feet and aching wrists are taking their toll.  My time is passing.  The time of the short-order cook is nearly over, replaced by the line.  

Three pairs of plastic covered hands to prepare a sterile plate.  

Yet, I'm still the master, with my wand.  

But every time I lay it down to attend to business, the magic seeps away.  The bill paying pen, the complaining phone, the digital bookkeeper...all vying for my hand.  And the wand is idle.  And the joy of performing magic wanes.  

So it is time to move on.  But...

Not today, not yet.   

Not until someone new, with youth and energy, and fresh ideas comes to possess the realm.  Until then, I'll work my magic.  I'll embrace the joy filled moments, when the spatula and hand are one.  When I'm doing what I do best.    

Until the magic is finally gone.




In 1984, my father asked me if I would come to work for him if he bought a restaurant.  I gladly said yes.  I was working for a fast food chain at the time.  I had worked with my father before, for many years.  He taught me the art of the short-order cook.  I loved it.

He passed away in 2004, my daughter and I have spent the last nine years continuing the business.

Things have changed.  She has three small children to raise.  I have other things I'd like to do.  (Like writing)  And the hours have gotten longer instead of shorter.  I'm pushing 60,  it's time to do something different.  I don't know what.  And there's no sure when.  

The business has been listed for sale.  It could be two months, or two years.  We're there until the end.

And until the end...

I am the best damned short-order cook in the area!