Flash Memoir

Thursday’s Rune: Porter or Stout?

Old Man Sugarfoot

At FUBAR’s bar on the Redneck Riviera, I ordered up.

“I’ll have a sarsaparilla with a dash of cherry.”

The young redhead tending bar gave me a look, “Who are you?”

“I’m Sugarfoot, Ma’am.” (Removing my hat)

(I could’ve said, “Will Rogers, Jr., Slim Pickens, or Sheb Wooley.”
She’d a remained clueless.)

I responded to her saucy look by asking,
“What’s your darkest beer?”

She said, “Shiner Bock. But try this instead.”
I agreed.

She put a glass of white-capped, watery, light-gold liquid on the bar.

I looked at Yolonda, then at the drink, at the bar tender, and back at the drink.
“Is this beer?” I asked.

With a catty smile and in a demanding tone, “Drink up old man.”

I downed the grog and slammed my glass back on the bar.

(I don’t know why men do such foolish things.)

She gave me a minute, then, “Well? What do you think, Mr. Foot?”

With my most honest, I been trick-fucked again look, I replied,
“Ma’am, I think your horse is diabetic.”

She cut me off, so we left.

Giggling as we walked out, Yolonda said, “You’re such a funny old fool. I’ll drive.”

Look both ways and across the bar. Mind the gaps and opinions of bartenders.

(Note: FUBAR is acronym for fucked up beyond all reason.)

National Novel Writing Month (Nano) Report (as of 22 Nov 21)

I expect to surpass 37,000 words today. That keeps me on track to finish up 50,000 one week from tomorrow, on November 30th.

I thought the project I chose was going to be easy. Answering 127 questions about my past and myself has taken more time than I expected. I laughed at questions about my favorite hairdo and making a dinner party menu. Yes, I did that, but we called them haircuts (like crewcut) not hairdos, even though they were.

Memories are not forever. Sometimes there’s not much to say. Often, I must ask questions. Like yesterday, I had to ask Yolonda the name of the drive-in burger place where we met. She sent me an article about it closing in the 1970s.

Research can be fun, but to write enough words each day, I must answer four or five questions with four to five hundred words each. And each question is different and unpredictable.

As I enter my fourth week of this self-inflicted Nano challenge, I feel like I will not do it again. It’s a lot. However, I’ve managed to keep up with everything else.

In addition to writing for Nano, I’ve posted at least two poems and one essay each week. On the 8th, I accepted a challenge to write a short prose piece on dVerse, a poetry writing webpage. The problem there was making time to read and respond to 40-plus other bloggers.

I’ve also written three micro-fiction stories for the Friday Fictioneers challenge (30-ish to read and respond to), with one more to do before Nano ends next week.

The weekend of November 5th through the 7th, we drove to west Texas to visit with Julie and her bunch for grandson’s last football game of the season and his 16th birthday.

(Christian Ashby #74, Colorado City, TX Wolves.) When you find yourself the varsity center and defensive nose-guard on your high school football team as a sophomore.

I’ve also managed to complete several home honey-do and self-assigned projects. I’ve been shopping several times and there is more to do this week in preparation for our family’s Thanksgiving on Saturday.

Except for three or four days, I exercised every day by walking or swimming. I’ve been reading as much as I can (finally completed Papa Hemingway) and trying to figure out what to read next.

I tried doing my Saturday morning writers group zoom meetings. That hasn’t worked well. I’ve had to leave early on two occasions because I couldn’t concentrate (needed to be writing for Nano), and I’ve passed on two others. And now I’ve done this report.

Have a good and thankful week.

Bill

 

dVerse Prosery: Bombarded

Say What?

The doctor’s face was serious as she cut each stitch.

I joked with her. She was quiet.

Then she said, “There! That part’s done.” I caught on—that part?

She frowned, “I wondered why the pathology report took so long.”

I asked, “What are you talking about?”

She said, “The report said the cyst was undifferentiated pleomorphic sarcoma.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s cancer, Bill. We made an appointment with oncology. There’s nothing more we can do. Good luck. I’m so sorry.”

I thought she would cry. I asked, “Can you please say what it is again.”

She repeated the diagnosis.

I said, “I am bombarded yet I stand.”

She looked at me, puzzled.

I said, “It’s from a poem. I often wondered how you folks handled this.”

“They will give you all that information on the way out. Good luck.”

 

Look both ways because life if full of surprises.
Mind the gaps.
Thank medical science and live every day with gratitude.

Click on the image to link with dVerse.

Friday Fictioneers: When in Rome…

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox. Click for Rochelle’s blog.

Genre: Micro Memoir
Word Count: 100

We flew to Brussels to visit friends in the municipality of Heist-op-den-Berg, a Belgian, Flemish community of 42,000. Brussels is an international big city to the south. This little area is pure Netherlander (Dutch) in language and a reserved, coldish, culture.

Rudy had said he liked American helpfulness and friendliness (speaking, holding doors, smiling, etc.) when he visited here.

I went for a run through town.

Seeing the surprised looks I got, instead of a wave and “good morning,” I got louder with “Howdy, y’all,” all smiles like I wanted to hug. The natives were plumb shocked. I loved it.

Look both ways trying to understand life, history, language, and culture.
Travel, learn, love, and mind the gaps.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do,
but “to thine own self be true.”

Click on Photo for more FF stories. (Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau left his Belgian counterpart red-faced after he raced straight past his open arms to plant a smooch on the latter’s partner. Trudeau was among the world leaders attending the NATO summit in Belgium. The awkward moment took place as he arrived at a dinner in Brussels.}

 

Friday Fictioneers for 9/11/2020 (When I Met Sparky)

Thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for another midweek, Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt (this week, hers).

photo by Rochelle

***

Genre: Memoir
Title: When I Met Sparky
Word Count: 100

Old Sparky was its name. A useless device, except for taking out life 695 times.

I could have been seeing any old gallows, a chopping block, a guillotine, but it was an ugly wooden chair with dried up leather straps and old wires. It was a creative invention to kill in a kinder, gentler way.

I felt a willfulness choke me.

I kept my emotions hidden. When the warden asked if I would like to sit in the chair (against the rules), without moving my eye from what must have been a sight for thousands, I mumbled a muffled, “Nope.”

***

Look both ways when you kill.
Mind the gaps death cannot be undone.

Click for link.

Sammi’s Weekender – Flash Story: The Little White Lie

The young man stood straight as the teacher’s loud, angry voice bristled. She berated his atrocious spelling and wretched grammar. He held back tears of shame and anger as she publicly humiliated him. She declared his entire family abysmal failures as human beings destined for an eternity in hell.

He found abysmal in the dictionary. When his mother later asked how he had done on the school paper he worked on so diligently, he reported that the teacher said it was very deep and that the entire family was destined for infinite success.

Look both ways. They may forgive, but they’ll not forget.
Mind the gaps. No memory is flawless.