Headlight intentions

It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Fleur Lind.

‘The road ahead is paved with good intentions…’ The talk radio station blared.

wc: 93 +title

Headlight Intentions

‘All the good intentions in the world aren’t worth a hill o’ beans if you don’t follow up with actions.’ I snarked. The new year looming before me, I was a deer caught in headlights. Was I really stepping onto the road of intentions yet to be realized as reality?

So many intentions, so little time to carry them out… I rested my hand on the small box in my pocket. No bigger than a deck of cards… and yet…

Author’s Note: A hail and hearty week! It’s been quite an accomplished week. I’ve completed a pointilism picture of a red dress… THE red dress from “White Christmas” movie with Bing Crosby… THAT dress! Oh, it’s divine! I had the wonderful opportunity back before Christmas to visit a local museum, Behringer-Crawford Museum in Covington, KY, USA, to see their exhibit on the movie along with about 18 or so other Urban Sketchers. It was awesome! I finally got around to finding time to actually art up the dress.

I’ve also been working on new regalia for this year. I finished the one I started this past fall, last night. Just a simple ribbon shirt/skirt combo. Now, onto making the yellow/orange ensemble to match the shawl a friend made for me. Then, I was sooooo lucky to find good quality wedding satin (white) and royal blue material on sale this week as such a discount (50% off per yard, and register took an additional 20% off = 70% off) that I just couldn’t resist it. Can’t wait to get started.

We’re starting the new year with employment (for hubby), a full pantry of food, a roof over our heads, annnnd we were able to get new shoes and a pack of socks each. We are soooo blessed!

Detritus

I

t’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Roger Bultot
.

Wc: 52

Detritus

They say this is where they found me, the detritus of humanity piled around me.

I don’t remember.

They said I was barely alive.

I don’t remember.

They said I was attacked by an unknown assailant.

I don’t remember.

Today, I came, hoping to jog my memory.

and still…

I don’t remember.

Author’s note: I listened to a podcast that discussed the aftereffects of Traumatic Brain Injury this week. (Where was this kind of discussion 27 years ago when I needed it so bad???) It was very poignant, and in it I saw a bit of myself… well, more than a little bit. And it left me feeling so very grateful for all the people in my life who have supported my recovery, and stood by me through the years. You fellow authors are among the top on my list! Your words of support, and patience while I relearned words, and how to write them, was huge. So, THANK YOU!

The above story reflects a bit of what it is like not to have memories. It is difficult and it’s something people who haven’t experienced it truly cannot fully grasp. And, if you’re a friend of one who has no memory… do me a huge favor… don’t push the issue. It won’t do any good, and only cause undo stress for the person. Okay, putting my little soap box away.

Happy 2023, Hope y’all have a really great year ahead!

Senility

It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Rochelle herself.

wc:90

Senility

‘Oh, Papaw, look…” Little Rose pointed to the steel lines in the street. “They’re still there, just like you said.”

Papaw looked at the old steel trolley lines embedded in the asphalt, his eyes misting. His mind taking him back a half a century to a day he would never forget. He sniffled and squeezed Rose’s hand. “It’s so we never forget, my little Rose… so we never forget.’ His voice choked on the last word.

‘When you forget, Papaw, I will remember for you.’ Rose smiled up at him.

Author’s Note: Remember to treasure everyday that you have… it could be your last. Or, in the case of my Mominlaw, it could be the last that you can remember. She’s been diagnosed with Senile Dementia a few years ago, and it’s been getting much worse. Prayers that when they come down this Friday that they even know who we are. Last Christmas, they didn’t.

It’s been hectic these last couple of months. In November, I did Nano, stopped counting at 65K. Set aside writing to return to my Blackwork SAL (sew-a-long), and managed (no idea how?) to accomplish 28 weeks of sewing in a mere three weeks, finishing it on Christmas Day! YEAH!

My dear Hubby has been declared blind… and believe it or not, that’s a good thing. Now, he’s getting some help with special equipment to enable him to work much easier… at least as far as reading the fine print on things. We still have a couple of evals to go through to qualify for a white cane, and/or a balance cane. He’s received his “reader” from the library for the blind and we are awaiting the first audio books to arrive. He chose his first book: “The Brave New World” by Aldus Huxley. This should be interesting to watch his reaction. hehe. No hospitals in recent weeks which has been a godsend and answer to soooo many prayers.

Happy New Year to EVERYONE! Hope is filled with more blessings than you can count in your lifetime!

A Lie is a Lie

PHOTO PROMPT © Bill Reynolds

It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Bill Reynolds.

wc: 98

Note: This is the opening paragraph for Nano this year. Leaves open so many directions, dontcha think?

Iosa hated being in a position where she felt she had to lie, even if it were only a little white lie. A lie was a lie. What bothered her was having to tell that lie to the one person whom she felt truly cared about her. What choice did she have? None, if she were honest with herself. No, if the truth ever saw the light of day, it would be her last. That reality was a certainty. And, she’d been seriously attempting to avoid that outcome.

She looked up, and saw that truth standing before her…

Author’s note: I was unable to get to the event last week as I wanted to. Hubby’s needs outweighed. So, I’m taking the time to rip out the shirt and redo it the correct way. I promise to do a post about it when I’m finished with it.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot of terminal waiting, then jumping and doing as Hubby moves through the process of Vocational Rehab and Blind Services evaluations. This has been needed for decades. It’s finally happening. Just pray that all comes out well and we can get the services that he needs.

The Real

C. Roger Bultot

The Real

The real of it is that this week, I have no time to play.

My cloth is chosen, the pattern cut

my fingers are raw and pin pricked

and my dreams have gone wild.

The delicate fringes are tied

My fingers are raw and pin pricked’

and my dreams have gone wild

In the end, by Friday this,

A new dance attire will be made

until then, from dawn to dusk

and well beyond

my fingers are raw and pin pricked

and my dreams have gone wild.

Wc:89

Author’s Note: Please forgive if I don’t get around to your story until Monday or beyond. I’ll be reading just later. Sunday last, I was asked to dance this coming weekend. As some of you know, I’ve retired from Jingle dancing, and haven’t been with my Native Fam since before the pandamn began. Soooo, though I had slowly gathered the parts and pieces to make new dance regalia in the Women’s Traditional style, I’d yet to begin. I planned to work on it over this winter, but Sunday’s request could not be denied. My Native Sister offered to make me a beautiful shawl. I traveled up to her home and we spent the day sewing together, chatting, laughing, crying, all the things that I’ve missed so very much. By day’s end, we had almost completed the shawl, and I’d made a huge start on the dress. I still have an element to add to the shawl that may/may not make it by this weekend… The dress… I have the shirt nearly complete and will whip out the skirt today hopefully. As long as the creek don’t wash out the circle, I’ll be there dancing on Saturday. Thankful for those who survived the pandamn, and mournful for those who didn’t. My shawl as it is at the moment… three bears will be in each corner, overlapping and facing the starburst. Bears will be yellow, brown and orange to match.

Behind Glass

C. David Stewart

It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : David Stewart.

wc: 35 with title

Behind Glass

The sadness

like rain

falling down

the window’s

cheeky face

washing away

the clutter

of reality’s

unsettling times

like time

frozen thus

behind the glass

separate

yet a part

the sadness

like rain.

Author’s note: It is October, so I’m out playing with ink for the annual Inktober art madness. I started out a few days behind due to an incident while making said ink. Quickly caught up, though, so that’s good. Hubby is well and working hard. Caught up with an old friend this week that I haven’t seen in a while. It was a good visit.

In regards to the poem above…well, I did go home for Labor Day weekend, and found far too too many missing faces. I also went to a living history event with the group that I do that with, and again, found far too too many missing faces. So, it’s been a sad few days processing all that was lost to covid, cancer, and life in general.

Inkie catchup for Inktober.

Let us start with the finish of Day 1! YEAH! This morning, I took of the last of the bandages on my hands. Hands feel almost normal with a little twinge now and then. So, back to doing things. FIRST on my list was laundry… while that churned away, I worked on catching up with Inktober-ness.

I didn’t exactly work my composition out so well for my Gargoyle wannabe. I’m not an expert at drawing dragons and demons and beasts. That said, I didn’t use any photo ref, just drew this off the cuff in pencil and then went back with ink. After finishing it, there was this huge blank area, so I decided to write a little something to remind about the original purpose of the gargies… diverting water away from buildings and “protecting” against the real evil and demons in the world. So, the ugly wins. Keynote is that I used my homemade walnut ink!

Day 2 prompt was “Scurry”… I went with the obvious. A quick 2 min sketch. Gave me a little chuckle… moving on…

Day 3’s prompt is “Bat”… all I could think in my tired brain was that I’d gone “batty”… I thought of drawing a real bat, but given that I was so behind I wanted to catch up as quickly as I could… so, consider this a hose job on the prompt… moving on…

Day 4 – Today… caught up, slowing down, enjoying the journey. Today’s prompt is “Scallop”. I thought about shells and how they are tossed by the tide, and churned smooth by the sea. I delved back into pointilism which I haven’t really played with in a few years. I’d forgotten just how relaxing and enjoyable playing with the dots is. I could almost “feel” my BP lowering while I dotted these shells up. The little poem came to me first, before I started doodling… So, I made sure to leave some space to write… I think it looks a little like a waterline flowing down the page…

Inktober – Day 1 -half-finished

I’m a bit behind already! ARGH!!! Thanks to scalding my hands while making the Walnut Ink. That said, this morning I started to work on Day 1 – Gargoyle. I’m not all that familiar with Gargoyles on the whole, so I did a little research into their function and purpose. Very interesting way to divert water I have to say to that. Anyway ,my Gargie is half-finished at the moment. My hands are still quite sore to the touch so holding the pen or the brush is for a very little time at one sitting. Even typing this is painful.

I’ve used my new ink here. YEAH! It works. I don’t know what it is about Inktober that seems to bring out the worst in my “arting”. Maybe because I just throw down whatever because I feel so pressured to get each prompt done within the day allotted for it. Don’t know. Anyway, my humble offering to the even is half-done at the moment. Day 2 is easy and should be a quick draw, so off to do that one.

Stories

C. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by our own illustrious hostess Rochelle Wisoff-Fields .

wc: 99 title included

Stories

Iosa instinctively crawled towards the light. As she drew nearer, she began to hear voices, low and soft, their words chilled her to the very marrow of her bones.

‘… not a soul alive up there…’

‘… bodies covered in sores…’

‘…gone mad, I heard them say…’

Iosa remained hidden just beyond the lanterns glow. Her heart constricted her throat. How could it be? She couldn’t believe what she was hearing… but, these were the guards. They would know the truth, wouldn’t they? Maybe, if she watched, she could find a way out, a way to go home…

Lite Edge

I couldn’t resist a two-fer this week. Here’s a second story to go with the prompt. It’s that time again! Time to gather around the table and share some juicy tidbits of fiction with the folks of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other small tales of wonder, and danger at: rochellewisoff.com. Come on out and join us! This week’s photo is loaned to us by : Alica Jamtaas.

c. Alicia Jamtaas

wc: 100 exact, including title.

Living on the lite edge

I woke up, groaning as the cricks and crenks of sleeping on concrete bit into my bones. The small storage unit I’d rented didn’t allow overnight stays, so I’d adjusted my schedule. I came in at opening time in the morning, rolled out my bag, and slept until late in the day. Nights, well, I spent those on the streets. There were places to go… truckstops, all-night groceries, even a diner or two.

Today, when I returned, I noticed my unit was standing wide open. The manager was there, hands on hips. He wasn’t happy…

Author’s Note: What I wrote earlier reminded me of watching my own little piece of heaven floating down the Ohio a few years ago during heavy flooding. I had just purchased a used Unibuilt shed and placed it on a little piece of land down near the river (above the 100yr flood levels). It was a little place for me to escape to, where I could work on my writing, art, etc. I kept a few bins of childhood mems there that I inherited as well as all my regalia and ceremonial accrutrements. It was MY place. Anyway, the floods came… and came… and before I could tread water to try to save what I could, my little shed launched itself never to be seen again. I’m sure someone downriver probably caught the shed. After a period of grief, I had a moment to realize how frivolous these “things” were. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced beyond some pictures of a family that I never felt truly a part of. Leant itself to me finding new footing in this existence and a new start freed of obligations that I had inherited.