Click the graphic for Sammi’s blog and more bandaged 61-worded wonders.
Keepin’ Safe
‘hello-‘ello! C’mere, lad.
I hope you’ll be keepin’ well.
It happens every year
after a wee bit, a donnybrook
somewhere near here,
sorry now, so
me shillelagh’s swingin,
callin’ fer bacon.
Not well then are ye?
wackin’ the cod,
wi’ narry a nod, nor a bandage
or pad to be had.
T’ank you for feelin’
brave to go, smart to not.
Look both ways on whisky drinkin’ festival days.
Mind the gaps at the tube and lads at the pub.
The annual Donnybrook Fair near Dublin included fiddlers and dancers, but it was best-known for the frequent eruption of whiskey-fueled fighting – often involving heavy clubs known as shillelaghs. “Bacon” is Irish slang for police and “cod’ for fool.
What day is it boys and girls and other less binary-specific people? It’s not Howdy Doody time with Buffalo Bob. It is Wednesday’s Friday Fictioneers time hosted by the magical and majestic Mistress Rochelle, who by now we all know so well.
By slipping us a Lisa Fox pontoon boat photo taken in front of Preacher (formerly Buffalo) Bob’s Church of What’s Happenin’ Now, we are to be blessedly inspired to contrive a little lily-white, fib-ological story in all its radiant glory.
If you want the whole homily about telling your own fewer than 101 words heavenly-inspired story, clicking on Li’s pic should do the trick.
Genre: Magical Get Realism
Title: The Bigger Boat
Word Count: 100
Wanda said, “The kids are grown and gone. Let’s buy a boat and sail around the world.”
Alfie said, “Great idea, Honeypot. Preacher is selling his.”
At the church Brother Bob says, “Praise God. Wanda and Alfie. We ain’t seen y’all in a coon’s age.”
“We are empty nesters who wanna buy your boat and sail around the world. Wanda’s idea.”
Y’all’s boaters?
We ain’t, Preach. We aim to learn, quit our jobs, sell the house, and go for it.
Well dang, Alf! You’re gonna need a bigger boat. I’ll pray for y’all.
Thanks, Preacher. A bigger boat you say?
Look both ways, find what you love, and let it kill you.
Mind the gaps and check the weather.
The sharks are always biting.
Click HERE to link up with a parcel of other inspired stories, good to go until next Wednesday when we will discover another fine photo with which to proceed.
This story is not truly 100% fiction, but the line about the bigger boat I bogarted from the Jaws movie.
And the humorous nature of my Li-inspired lie was partly set to sail by a scene from Caddyshack.
Dale mentioned the Styx song “Come Sail Away” in THIS recent travel post, so I was tempted to use it. But I steal enough stuff.
Note: While I double check every link, I cannot determine if youtubes work outside of the USA. But it’s all about the micro-fiction. The links are ancillary.
Soldiers, farmers, and lovers all seek the same shelter. Protection from nature’s miseries is ubiquitously sought and taken. Adapt or die. Respect not given wisely results in lessons learned only for brief periods.
Her glorious beauty shows in the warm sunrise that follows the night’s frightful, unsheltered story. The singing bird allows for the climax of thunder as from lightening, all seek cover. Even snakes warm in the sun.
Rain or dry seasons, Nature judges the foolish lover, the seeker of warmth without cover, harshly. Live and learn; learn and live.
respect nature first
awesome beauty is the beast
take cover or die
Look both ways when seeking escape or shelter.
Better to mind the gaps and wait for the storm to pass
than to win the latest Darwin Award.
I knew nothing of
automobiles back then
except about how to drive
(not well) and add gas—
My first (legal) car
was twenty bucks—
I got it for fifteen;
Mom said,
(Dad didn’t know, yet—
he called cars “motors”
and expensive things “dear”)
but she said, “Oh, dear,
I wonder
what’s wrong with it.”
I was about to learn so much
about oil,
rings, pistons, and
timing points, and why not
grab hold of a bare spark plug wire
on a running straight six,
and about positive and negative.
Guys at school, the ones taking
auto mechanics shop classes,
(learning something useful)
were not the ones to ask
even though I took
English III (again) with them.
(I’m still grateful for how
smart they made me look
and feel—but
another story there.)
Because
while those know-it-alls
claimed auto knowledge,
helpful they were not,
and I’d already bought
my old green Chevrolet
capable of burning
a quart of oil
per city block or
country mile—either way,
lesson learned late.
Learn first, then buy
(now I tell me).
And used car salesmen—
that lesson took a lot longer.
Buyer
beware. Be aware.
Look both ways as time keeps on slippin’ into the future.
Mind the gaps, feed the babies, shoe the children, house the people livin’ in the street.
Looks better than mine did. Click on pic to hear Don Mclean’s song, “American Pie.”
It happens
like this
it all comes together
too seldom,
so brief
but when
it comes,
we feel it
forever.
It’s more
than love,
family,
sisterhood;
life has enough
pain and suffering
and sadness.
Forget that—
remember this—
time always was
always will be
just because when
it’s like this
it’s cosmic.
No
everyday thing.
That wouldn’t work.
The right people,
the right time and place
discovering high levels
of special happiness.
We need to do that
more often—
again soon.
One bottle passed through
snifters near dripping candles
lighting empty chairs
reflections
light and dark
happy and sad
yin and yang
simultaneous synergy
of family energy.
Look both ways to find soul in family.
Mind the gaps. Set the stage. Live the love.
I think the a/c has been running since May. It’s August now, driving hotly through a summer of record temperatures and daily threats of more Texas power grid snafus. I just missed being born in this horrible month, but I know several who are so saddled. Yes. I should be grateful. Maybe I am, but.
I’m also somewhat non-clinically depressed and worried, not about me even though if I ain’t dead in ten years, I will be in twelve and if I leave the world better, will it be good enough?
Fourteen billion eyes, ears, and feet, for now; and I only ask for a couple dozen or so to be alright. Go ahead. Ask. How’s that workin’ for me?
Half of humanity seems nuts and hates the other half who hate back. There’s a hypothetical, conjectural god who seems completely cavalier about it all and is dismissal about unbridled slavery, too. They insist I stock credence and believe. What? Why?
The most important thing, apparently, comes conveniently after, and it’s not heaven. It’s hell. That’s where August takes all three-hundred and sixty-five days and nothing was last or is next and some guy keeps asking, what if this is as good as it gets? Ever?
Sweet dreams are made of this,
Amen to that,
Bill
PS: Everybody’s looking (both ways) for something. Mind the gaps for what some of them want to do. Who am I to disagree?
At the car wash
busy with trucks and SUVs
but few cars.
I spy a young HR lady
as she
explains personnel things
to a few male employees
who look confidently confused.
They pay “up to” twelve dollars per hour
there—
so says the help wanted sign.
It’s a hundred degrees Fahrenheit
again today, outside, at the car wash
for not enough dinero to live on.
A customer—tall skinny guy wearing
starched, ironed Wranglers with
a big wide belt holding up a bigger
shiny rodeo belt buckle, in
black cowboy boots
boasting bright diamond earrings,
under a big black felt
unairconditioned cowboy hat with
a long wallet jutting up from
his tight right back pocket
and chained to his belt,
and his big-ass cell phone in the other,
all in his stiff, creased, ironed
cowboy blue jeans while
Mansplaining to his nicely wigged
lady friend—he even told me when
my car was ready (it wasn’t)—she nodded and smiled—
people waiting for their clean and polished rides—
one rest (wash) room for all. With
a mercifully short waiting line,
I see no ‘young’ customers, but
one old man wore his ballooning
starched & ironed loud pink, long-sleeved shirt with
pearl buttons in this noisy, busy business
somewhere in the middle of Texas
where dressing to subculture
ignores realities like sun and heat
except for the guys making top
dollar, one every five minutes,
at the car wash. Plus, a tip from me
in my worn Phish tee and shorts, ball cap
and old gym shoes. My subculture.
At the car wash.
Look both ways at the car wash.
Take notes on the sights and write ‘em up: prose or poetry to get you through the day.
Mind the gaps unless you pay the upcharge for a greater job, done by hand, details.
If you’re unfamiliar with the mid-seventies song and movie, here is a youtube trailer version.
I woke to a surprise this morning when I discovered that the Maven of freestyle, the Mistress of the breaststroke, and the Madam of fictioneering, Rochelle, had slipped in a prompt photo I took out in the wilds of my daughter and son-in-law’s west Texas grange.
Click on the remnants of the greenhouse to spread over to Rochelle’s blog camp so you can grow your own stories of 100-word micro-fiction.
Click on my prompt photo to go to Rochelle’s page with all the fixin’s.
Genre: Horticultural Fiction
Title: Greenman Phish-heads
Word Count: 100
***
What happened here?
The well-water went bad years back. The plants died. Now it’s only what grows naturally: mesquite, cactus, and other wild things. The Green Man makes his home in there now.
What’s over there?
That’s Uncle Billy’s Phish Camp. That’s Julie’s cat house over to the left, and that big building is the main house.
Green Man isn’t real.
He’s real. Come back next Spring and you’ll see his magic. It’s beautiful. Get in the truck and I’ll show you the business end of the Greenman rebirth. Maybe you’ll meet him. It’ll make you a believer forever.
***
Look both ways and learn to grow new beginnings.
Mind the gaps as you turn tragedy to treasure.
Greenman is all thumbs.
It’s never too late.
Click on Billy or Julie (in the current Greenman Nursery) to read other fantastic stories inspired by the prompt photo.
Click on the west Texas Green Man to learn more than you ever wanted to know about him.
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