Friday, May 13, 2016

Friday Fun - Z to A reverse alphabet story


Zanzibar 



Zanzibar hopped into the car and headed up the coast.  Yesterday he’d been fired, for nothing really, he told himself.  X’rays revealed a tumor so he used it as an excuse for his behavior.  Winding down the lonely road, he smiled and thought of Clover, the dunderheaded dog behind the factory.  Very stupid, but oh so brave.  Undoubtedly he should have taken the dog, but they kicked him out fast, only gave him time to clear his locker.  Trash talk, that was all.   Seriously, why had Blakely looked so appalled?  

Really, who takes jokes literately? Quite the moron and he hadn’t been the only one.  Proud of his little ditties and songs, Zan had made a poster and hung it in the break room.  Oops!  No way he could have known Blakely or Singleton had minorities in their families.  Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but he’d never been too good with that.  Lazy, his dad said, too lazy to think, to stop and think about other folks.  Kendall had torn down the poster, ripped it into tiny pieces and shoved it in his face.  Jackass! 

If they had only asked, he would have explained about the tumor and he wasn’t responsible.  He huffed  out a breath and  tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thoughts all jumbled.  Granted, they were all a bunch of idiots and he’d hated the job, so why should he care.  Free now to roam, to drive and explore and be himself.  Even his dad was mad at him as well.  

Directly around the next bend, the ocean came into view, vast, blue and gorgeous. Craving fish now, he checked gps for the nearest sea food restaurant.  Battered fried shrimp and maybe some lobsters rolls would be good.  All thoughts ceased when he drove off the cliff, distracted by a bodacious babe in a bikini.  

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Writerly Wednesday: What is going on?



What is going on? 

I wrote this one day for an exercise.  I have yet to figure out who 'she' or 'he' is, but I'm intrigued. 

She strode down the wharf, her heels clunking out a rhythm to the tune of the screeching seagulls.  The birds kited over her head, throwing shadows against the white boats gleaming in the hot afternoon sun.  She focused on the one boat, the one man, the sole reason for her visit. The dock dipped and swayed as a motor boat chugged out of the water lane, the heavy duty motor stirring up the sparkling water.   Laughter, salsa music, birds and the creak of moorings vied with the moist salty air. 

He’d left her a message on her desk last night. How’d he managed to get past the security guard, an issue she’d take up with her boss.  Too intrigued to ignore the summons, she’d texted him at the number given.  This morning, a response; this afternoon a meet.  She halted a few steps away from the end of the pier and eyed the mini yacht.  No one stirred on board, no staff or deck hands to greet her.  No bikini clad chicks lazed in the sun.  For some reason, it surprised her.  He just seemed the type. 

She glanced over her shoulder, aware of eyes, well hidden.  Her boss had almost refused to let her take this little adventure.  He’d finally agreed only if she went in wired and with back up.  She drew in a deep breath, tapped the ear piece twice and climbed the gang plank to the ship’s deck.  The dark teak wood gleamed, her reflection following as she approached the open sliding door.  A living room with a bar, right out of one of those glitzy high life magazines spread out before her.  A bright red box sat in the middle of a table, along with a pair of scissors and tape.  A bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch, a half filled, gold rimmed shot glass, next to the package.  

Seriously? She stood just inside the door and listened but the room, heck the whole ship remained silent.  The heavy weight of emptiness.   She edged around the table, eyes on the box as if a rattle snake ready to strike.  Risk, exposure, information gained, so far worthless if the man didn’t show. She lifted the glass, tilted it to coat the edges and took a gentle sniff.  Honey and spice filled her nostrils and made her mouth water.  She sighed before returning the glass to the table. However tempting, she’d leave it and the box as a sign. Either he shows or no dice. She didn’t work with shadows. 

Monday, May 9, 2016

Monday Memories: Things My Mother Taught Me



Things My Mother Taught Me! 

We all have choices.  My mom’s number one saying when it came to taking responsibility for our decisions.  Don’t whine, moan and complain about things especially when you made the decision in the first place.  If you don’t like something, do something about it.

Love is unconditional. Yes, it may be tough sometimes, but no matter what you should always be there for the other person.

Education is important and if you don’t know the answer, either ask questions or go look it up.

Marriage takes three, the 3rd person being God and it takes work because divorce is just not an option.

Housework should always be done while dancing and singing along with Abba or Grease soundtrack.

People are more important than things.

Make do with what you have and if you want more, work for it.

Don’t let your own misery affect other people. Put on your happy face.  Which she did until the day she passed away.



What she didn’t teach me is:

How to argue or talk things out with your spouse:  My mom and dad never argued in front of us and if we ever talked back, we  were sent to our room. I learned the fine art of adamant discussions from my husband who doesn't allow me to walk away.

How to cook:  My mom was big with all the one pan type of meals; tuna or chicken casseroles, frozen veggies and meatloaf. Not a whole lot of fresh homemade anything.  Once again hubby taught me how to prepare meals with fresh ingredients and I have since surpassed him in the cooking department.

How to appreciate fine wine:  We were a boxed or Bartels and Jaymes wine cooler type of drinkers. Once my hubby introduced me to French Wine and Champagne, he spoiled me for anything else. Perhaps I should have called this Things My Hubby Taught Me.   *grin*






Sunday, May 8, 2016

Happy Mother's Day




Being Your Mother

By 

Barbara Cage 


Being your Mother
means that I have had the opportunity
to experience loving someone
more than I love myself.
I have learned what it's like
to experience joy and pain
through someone else's life.

It has brought me pride and joy;
your accomplishments touch me
and thrill me like no one else's can.

It has brought me
a few tears and heartaches at times,
but it has taught me hope and patience.
It has shown me the depth,
strength, and power of love.

Being your mother
hasn't always been easy,
and I'm sure
I've said or done things that have hurt or confused you.
But no one has ever made me as satisfied
as you do just by being happy.
No one has made me as proud as you do just by living up to your responsibilities.

No one's smile
has ever warmed my heart
like yours does;
no one's laughter
fills my heart with delight
as quickly as yours can.

No one's hugs feel as sweet,
and no one's dreams
mean as much to me as yours do.

No other memories of bad times have miraculously
turned into important lessons or humorous stories;
the good times have become precious treasures
to relive again and again.

You are a part of me,
and no matter what happened in the past
or what the future holds,
you are someone
I will always accept,
forgive, appreciate, adore,
and love unconditionally.

Being your mother
means that I've been given
one of life's greatest gifts: you.



Happy Mother's day to all my peeps!  

Saturday, April 30, 2016

#atozchallenge: Saturday Salon - Does it have Zest?

Welcome to Z 

It is zee end! 



Does it have Zest? 



Ashley wandered the inn’s art gallery, restless and uneasy.  She hadn’t heard from her father yet.  Jordan, her assistant, followed with pen in hand, dutifully taking notes.

“Can’t people do anything right?” Ashley rested her hands on her hip and turned in a circle. “Don’t they get it? Everything has to be just right.”

Jordan bit down on a retort and let out a quiet breath.  

“Fortunately I know what to do.  Get Henre on the phone.  He has the perfect painting for this spot.” Ashley fingered an antique wall hanging. “Isn’t it divine? Just don’t let anyone in until we’re ready.”

“Killgarden called yesterday inquiring about your timeline.” Jordan ticked off another thing on her long list of to do’s.

“Likely story.”  A chill ran up Ashley’s spine. She shrugged it away with a flip of her hair. 
 “Blue. We need paintings with more blues. Note that down, J and see which grand artistes meet my criteria.”

“Okay.” Jordan pursed her lips. “Perhaps you should consider the types of paintings versus the color.  Quality is important. Henre became quite incensed over your suggestion for a recreation of the Mona Lisa.”

“Not my problem.” Ashley eyed a painting on the west wall.  “Too many vegetables, tables and mirrors. It’s not right.” She pulled the frame down. “Verify the artist. We can’t have junk on the walls. What do you think should hang in the rotunda.”

Jordan muttered a curse under her breath as Ashley did another circuit around the room.
 “Yesterday, you nixed a Van Gogh, today you’ve insult Monet.  Perhaps you should go with modern American art.  It would be more your style.”

“Do they have zest?”

“You could say that?”

“Very well.  But it has to be blue.” Ashley strode out of the room as Jordan sank to the floor and threw all her notes in the air. As paper rained around her, she called one of her contacts.  “Pull out anything modern with blue and open a bottle of red wine. No, two bottles.”

“Dragon lady’s at it again?

“At this rate, we’ll be here til Christmas.”

“Shall I set aside all Christmas themes, red and green, snow pictures?”


“Shut up.”  She laughed and clicked off, eyed the various paintings on the walls.  Jordan contemplated how much her bank balance had grown in the past few months.  She almost had enough for that cute ranch house on the river. Could she hold out longer, before she chewed her tongue to shreds?  She sighed. “If the lady wants zest, I’ll give her zest.”

Friday, April 29, 2016

#atozchallenge: Friday flash - Y'all versus You Guys




Does where you are born really matter or is it who you are born to that shapes you.  How much does the culture of your town or group play into your thoughts, ideas and speech.  The south is engrained in my soul.  I’ve  lived in California now for more than half my life but I’ll always be a southerner at heart.  I’m a bundle of contradictions, my speech riddled with hey and howdy and y’all along with like and awesome and dude.

When I was in the fifth grade, we moved to California.  Culture shock.  I’d left behind friendly voices,  the refrain of “Y’all come back now, ya hear”  and chit chat at the check-out counter, exchanging it for bored clerks who ignored me while they chatted among themselves.   The kids all looked at me funny and asked why I talked so weird, their speech peppered with you guys and you know’s and here you go. “What guys and no, I don’t know and where am I going?”

I didn’t know I had an accent and that I talked with a twang, dropping my g’s both comin’ and goin’.  About a year after we moved, one of my sister’s friends called.  On my gosh, is that what I sounded like? Just imagine Hee Haw and you’ll get it because it just doesn’t translate to paper.  I was so happy when we moved south to Georgia,  back to the land of y’all and hey and friendly smiles.  No one was a stranger,  the ever present gnats at dusk making everyone think you were waving at them.

Football and bowling, stealing the other school’s mascot, cruising through Sonic and playing video games at the arcade.  Pigging out on Krystal’s mini burgers and Church’s fried chicken. All sounds a little like American Graffiti.  Carefree high school days.

I’ve been in California over 30 years now and the minute I hear anyone talking with a southern drawl, I slip right back into it seamlessly. There are times I have to concentrate , speaking precisely, reminding myself not to forget those g’s at the end of ing and that not everyone likes to be called hon or sugar.

And Lord a mercy, when I’m plumb tuckered out and I still have to fix supper; when I’d ruther rest my feet and sit a spell, and have my son fetch me a drink, I sit back and wonder why the gal at the cafĂ© annoyed me so much when she called me hon.