Peace Offering

PHOTO PROMPT © NA’AMA YEHUDA

It had been a pointless argument. Again! Susie was discouraged; Ted was fed up. Neither of them knew what to do.

Susie’s jaw hardened. She always gave in first. Not this time! He could stew and pout forever. If only she could just walk out—but she did love him.

Ted waited. Susie always caved. This time, though, he wondered. He’d never seen her looking so adamant before. Hmmm. Something special was in order. He could not–would not–say sorry. But he could take her some Haagen–Dazs.

She melted under the bliss of the frozen splendor.

Do Exactly as You are Told!

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

“Don’t touch the fence. It’s electric. Don’t get too close. Don’t talk to the guards. Don’t ask questions. Do exactly as you’re told. Do not talk among yourselves unsupervised. No joking, laughing, or ribald language. Remember there are eyes and ears everywhere. Stay in your proscribed area. Eat when you are fed. No snacks. Sleep when you are told. No naps. Work until the siren sounds.”

Number 74659100001 whispered, to no one at all, “I thought this wasn’t going to be a totalitarian government.”

He never felt the electric bolt that killed him.

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I need to apologize for not reading posts last week. I won’t bore you with the details. I will, however, do better 🙂

Back in My Day.. . .

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

I sighed as we pulled into the deluxe campground. I knew what was coming. Fred had been grumpy and silent during the drive. I was sure he was dusting off his speech.

“Back in MY day,” he grumbled, “We didn’t bring a whole HOUSE to go camping. We didn’t need fancy parks. We hiked, pitched a tent, started a fire, and went fishing. If you can’t catch your supper, you shouldn’t go camping. Camping is SUPPOSED to be rough!”

He droned on, and I checked out. Suddenly. . . .

“HARRIET! Did you bring the portable TV? And my special pillow?”

Image result for crabby old man

Color Him Alive

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Oma, who is this man in the picture?” Benjamin always, always had question.

“Benjy, it is my son, your father, Schlomo.”

“Where is he? I would like seeing my father.”

“Ach, Benjy, your papa is with God. Someday you will see him.”

“But why? What happened?”

Oma’s eyes filled with tears. Always, Benjy’s question brought tears.

“He died in one of the camps during the war, Benjy. Because he had a menorah. God knows how he got it.”

‘May I color him, Oma?”

” Benjy, color him alive.” Benjy set to work while Oma went to answer the telephone.

Journaling!

I’ve done it before, but never kept it up. There are fits and starts of my efforts, but nothing cohesive.

A blogger friend of mine, a wonderful poet, wrote recently about his own journaling. Sometimes it’s just a note jotted down to remind him of something he had as a passing thought, or perhaps an idea for another poem. He challenged his readers to do it, and at first I thought, “Nah, been there done that never kept it up.”

So, in spite of the my aversion to New Year’s Resolutions, I bought myself a blank book today, and I’m going to set it up in a little bit. Not promising I’ll write in it every day, I don’t want to make a promise I don’t know that I’ll keep. But I’m going to start, and well see where it takes me.

Another blogging friend challenged us this morning to have some kind of phrase, statement, or motto for the coming year. It didn’t take long for me to pick one.

The “Get It Done” was my choice, but if I’m going to get it done, I do need to stay focused. Besides, I like the picture and I’m going to use it as my wallpaper for a while 🙂

So, I really don’t know how this is going to go. I’ll probably start, change it up. Change my mind, Start a different way. I don’t know. But that’s part of the adventure, right?

So what’s the main thing I want to do, to “get it done”?

The book. The one that’s been in my head for so long it probably wants to just stay up there in its nice little dark corner where it won’t have to take any risks, or be criticized, or rewritten, edited, turned inside out and upside down.

Fear is my biggest obstacle. What if no one wants to read it?

You know what? It doesn’t matter any more. I have over 60,000 words written. I need to keep writing.

I need to GET IT DONE!

War is Hell

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Grandpa held little David’s hand as they gazed at the worn memorial.

“Davie, war is a terrible thing. But even out of horror there can be some honor, and many honorable acts were performed in both the World Wars of the 20th century.”

“Were you in a war, Grandpa?” David gazed up at his beloved grandpa, hoping for a good story.

“Yes.”

David’s little shoulders slumped. No story. But he could see the distance in his grandpa’s eyes. “Is war really like hell, Grandpa?”

Grandpa snapped back to the present. “Yes, Davie. And I hope you never have to go.”

The Gazebo

Image courtesy of Dale Rogerson

“Zing, this is so strange! A house with no doors, no windows. No furniture. No rooms. Who would build a house like this? Who would live there?”

“It truly is strange, Zang. No running water, no beds, no lights.”

They were disturbed by footsteps crunching down the path to the gazebo. A human man and woman, holding hands, came into the structure. They brushed snow off the benches and sat together. They started kissing.

“Ahhhh! What are they doing!” whispered Zang.

“It’s a strange custom among humans. They show affection by eating each other’s mouths. Unsanitary. Disgusting. Not like us. “