6/30/2010

Once in a Blue Moon

It was probably too late to be walking on the beach. Alone. Certainly Dad thought so. But like I told him, this was one rendezvous I was not going to miss.  A chance like this came along once in a blue moon.

Smiling to myself at the aptness of the old saying, I strolled along the water's edge, digging my toes into the warm sand.  To my left, the patio bars in the hotels along Ocean Drive were still bustling.  Hot Latin music drifted across the sand to stir my blood.  Gyrating bodies filled the patios and spilled down onto the sidewalk.  It seemed I wasn't the only one out and about tonight.  And no wonder!  For South Beach, the night was still young, and the July weather was unusually perfect.  The heat of the day had passed, and the night air was like a caress.

But to my right was the real show.  The moon was completely full, a huge perfect orb hanging like a Christmas ornament over the dark waters of the Atlantic.  It was one of those moons I have only seen in Miami, as if ordered up by the Miami Beach Chamber of Commerce just for the tourists.  It was certainly the perfect moon for the wondrous date I was keeping tonight.

I glanced at my watch. It was time.  I pulled my tiny transistor radio from the pocket of my shorts and switched it on.

Looking up at that enormous Miami moon, I could imagine that I was there too.

"That's one small step for a man, one giant step for mankind."

Thrilled, I thought again, Oh, yes, only once in a blue moon.


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And on the lighter side:

Only once in a blue moon does talent like this come along!



This is my entry for this week's Theme Thursday prompt. To see more, visit here .

Who Knew?


We knew them as John and Mary.

They were our friends and neighbors for five years. They came to our parties and our daughter’s graduation.

We watched their son play football, and we watched as John moved up the ladder at the research facility where he and I worked.

Yesterday, we watched as FBI agents led them away in handcuffs.

It seems they stepped right out of a LaCarre novel and into our kitchen. Under a blanket of normalcy, they shared our boring suburban lives and our national secrets with their Russian controller.

Huh. Who knew? Spies really do exist.

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Back Story:

While the above is a fictional account, it was inspired by a very current new event.











After years of investigation and surveillance, on Sunday June 27, FBI agents arrested several people and charged them with being deep cover Russian spies in an operation that reached from Boston to Seattle. News reports read like the epilogue from a LaCarre thriller.  To read more, go here.


This was written for this week's prompt of "blanket" on Velvet Verbosity's 100-Word Challenge.  For more, click this to visit the 100-Word Challenge, graciously hosted by LouCeel.
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6/29/2010

Wordless Wednesday: Gremlins

6/28/2010

Lost in the Mists of Yesterday


I see her there every afternoon
As I walk home from the bus stop.
She sits in her rocking chair
Behind the glass of the big bay window,
Gazing out at something only she can see.

Cast in bronze by the late afternoon sun,
She doesn’t move or return my wave.
But a gentle smile graces her lips,
As she wanders though the mists of yesterday,
Visiting moments more joyful than this one.

The Actress


I’d watched her work her magic many times, and was always enthralled by her talent . She was the consummate actress. Her every performance brought the audience to a new place, brought them to tears, brought them to their feet. The many awards on her mantle attested to her skill and popularity.

But most of all, I was enthralled by the way she looked on stage. Every detail was always perfect. My appreciation is no surprise, of course. It’s what I do. I'm a dresser  For decades, it’s been my job and my honor to dress her, and I humbly take some credit for that perfection.

And now it was time to dress her for her final performance. I slipped the gown over her head. It was one of the most beautiful she’d ever worn. After cloaking her shoulders to protect the creamy satin and lace, I gently stoked her face with foundation and fluffed some powder over it. A little eye shadow, mascara, and a touch of lipstick finished the job. I ran the soft bristle brush through her silver hair, and we were done. Perfection!  She was ready to meet her public.

“There you are, my dear. You’ve never looked lovelier.” 

Reverently, I wheeled the casket on its gurney into the viewing room.  

“It’s show time!”


This was written for Magpie Tales. For more, go here.

6/27/2010

Climbing Maslow's Pyramid*



Millions are hungry, thirsty, homeless, and sick.
Asking for little but the bottom.
And here I sit, sated,
Striving only for the pinnacle.

My heart weeps in guilt.



 


This was written for Sunday 160. Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces?  Visit Monkey Man.

 

* If you aren't familiar with Maslow's pyramid:


6/25/2010

Joey Stink-Eye Smiles


He was little more than a bagman,
Just a tramp and a swagman,
Riding the rails from somewhere near
To the distant back of beyond.
NY to LA, through TX, KS and PA,
Boxcars filled with this and that
Were the only homes he knew.


Stopping off along the way
He looked for friendly signs.
Who to trust, where to eat,
There was lots he didn’t know.
But others like him
Who’d stopped before him
Left cryptic maps and notes behind
To show him where to go.


“There’s a lady here in this farmhouse
With a heart that’s made of gold.
Help her out with a chore or two,
She’ll invite you into her red-and-white kitchen
And give you a meal, maybe beans and chicken.
If you’ve worked hard and you’re weary, really needing sleep
She’ll send you out to that barn back there
To share some space with sheep.”







After some food and maybe some rest,
He was ready to be on his way,
He gathered his gear and shouldered his bag
And followed the signs to the train.
He was little more than a bagman,
Just a tramp and a swagman,
Riding the rails from somewhere near
To the distant back of beyond.


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Hobos are a part of American history we learn very little about in school. It is thought that they first appeared on the railroading scene after the Civil War. Historians estimate that the hobo population swelled to hundreds of thousands during the Great Depression, and that there are still thousands riding the rails today.

Interestingly, hobos had their own lingo, as well as a vocabulary of symbols used to alert other hobos to conditions in a town.


Several years ago, author and satirist John Hodgman wrote about hobos in his own inimitable style in his book, The Area of my Expertise. The creator of this video (which never appeared on PBS, I'm sure) used the hobo segment from the audiobook of the same name as the narrative for the video.  As you will quickly discover, Hodgman describes the history of hobos during the depression with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek.

6/24/2010

Theme Thursday: The Triangle

The theme for the week at Theme Thursday is Triangle

I'm not sure what to say about this, except that this guy obviously did better in Geometry class than I did.

The Triangle

6/23/2010

100 Word Challenge: The Surprise

This was written for Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. The prompt for this week's challenge is "bustier" (you know, as in "lifts and separates"?).  For more sexy lingerie, visit the Challenge's temporary home, graciously provided by LouCeel, and check out the comments section.

The Surprise

They’d been married barely a year, and she felt she really didn’t know Jim. Their conflicting schedules certainly did nothing to help that situation. Her evening shift at the hospital meant she was long gone before Jim got home.

But, tonight, she’d gotten out of work early and she was going to surprise him. She let herself into the apartment quietly, and tiptoed into the bedroom. Jim was standing in front of the mirror in her favorite black satin bustier, turning this way and that.

He winked and said, “What do you think, Honey? Does this make me look fat?”

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6/22/2010

Wordless Wednesday: Salad, Waiting

6/20/2010

Love in 160 Bites, Part 5

(Our story till now)

There was this old dude from Duluth
A bit grozzled and long in the tooth
He looked in the mirror
And shuddered in horror
And thought: when did I lose all my youth?

T
he old guy decided to travel
Before all of his parts came unraveled
So off to the Keys he went
And he got a small cottage to rent
Then to the nude beach he ambled.

There came an old gal from Chicago
Who met the old boy in Key Largo.
On the beach thy were nude
But neither were prudes,
And their eyes had gone south a while ago. 

 
Their attraction was quick and immense
In her eyes he was handsome and intense
So when he offered his arm
Plus all of his charm
She was smitten and had no defense.

**********  

And now, the conclusion:


They had a big summer wedding in Duluth

They’d fallen in love, that’s the truth

With no clothes and no shame

They took the same name

He got back his youth forsooth!

(The End)


Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces? Visit Monkey Man to play.

6/19/2010

Coffee and Merlot



She slipped silently into the room. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, echoing the pulse of a life lived too long.

She sank into the visitor’s chair and sipped the awful coffee she’d gotten from the vending machine. Gazing at his pale face, she let her mind drift, and remembered the first time she’d seen him.

He was so handsome! She was no sports fan, but from the first moment she caught sight of him on her TV screen, she’d become a fan of his segment on the nightly news. Every night, she’d endured the endless drone of the anchors, immune to the guy’s over-styled hair and gleaming smile, and slightly scornful of the vacuous blonde bimbo at his side, anxiously awaiting the sports recap.

“Now let’s hear from sportscaster Mark McIntosh. How ‘bout that ball game, Mark?” Watching him enthusiastically replay the sports events of the day, she’d been mesmerized.

She studied the still form in the bed. You’re not so mesmerizing now, she thought.

She’d been thrilled when she finally got to meet him. She’d wangled an invitation to the cocktail party after the golf tournament at Mishipac Country Club. It didn’t take long to catch his eye, or his fancy. She’d looked up and there he was, standing at her side bearing that devilish smile and a glass of Merlot, which he handed to her. After a brief flirtatious conversation, he’d moved on, tucking her phone number in his pocket as he went. Oh, sure, she’d known he was married, but that didn’t matter. He was probably 20 years older than she, but that didn’t matter either. She knew she’d never hear from him, and it was fun to fantasize.

His call came shortly after the party. He was covering a game at the stadium next weekend, he said, and asked if she’d like to meet him there. Thinking that it sounded harmless enough, she’d agreed. They’d spent a delightful afternoon in the crisp autumn air, sharing a thermos of wine, which led to a candlelit dinner and yet more wine at a restaurant in the country, which led to a steamy night in a room of the inn attached. She had way too much Merlot, and when she awoke the next morning, she was alone in the guest room, with only her shame and a world-class hangover to keep her company.

Determined never to succumb so easily to her fantasies and a smooth line again, she’d switched channels to his competitor’s station for the 11 o’clock news show. “Time to grow up, Girl,” she’d told herself.

But then he’d called again, and she was powerless to stop herself. And that was how it had begun, her slow torturous journey to this hospital room.

They’d continued to see each other, always meeting in out-of-the-way places near whatever sports event he was covering that day. Each time, she swore, “never again!” And then he’d call, and her resolve melted at his first word.

He loved her, he told her. His marriage was over, but he couldn’t leave. The kids! The kids needed him! As soon as they were in college, he’d promised, he would get a divorce, and they’d be together.

And so it went. She’d spent year after year, holiday after holiday alone, trying to ease her aching loneliness with a bottle of their favorite wine and the thought of their future together.

Stupid, stupid! Now, as she looked back on the years passed, she realized she should have known better. He’d played her. Oh, how he’d played her. His kids had not only gone to college, they had both graduated. And he’d stayed in his “loveless marriage.”

“My wife is sick,” he’d explained. “I can’t leave her when she is so ill. I know you understand. Just be patient.” His wife had lingered, but when death finally came last September, she knew the 20 long years of waiting were over. For propriety’s sake, they’d set a date for the following June, and she’d begun planning, thinking that good things come to those who wait.

And then one night as she watched TV, she saw him. It wasn’t on his sportscast. No, she hadn’t been able to stand watching him turn on the charm for the blonde bimbo-du-jour for years. It was during live coverage of the riotous celebration after the Super Bowl in New Orleans. The hometown boys had won and their local fans were in a frenzy.

There he was in the midst of the reveling crowd, still looking as handsome as ever, even after all these years. And on his arm, there she was, blonde hair riffling in the breeze, her unnaturally pouty lips turn up to meet his kiss.

Oh, yes, she thought now, the beep-beep-beep of his heart keeping time to the pounding of her own. I should have known better.

It was time, she thought as she set down the barely touched coffee, its bitterness matched by her own. After so many years, it was finally time. She’d already waited too long. She knew the vultures were circling outside, fighting over the best morsels, and someone could come in at any moment.

Her rented nurse’s uniform rustling slightly, she moved to his bedside. Though she hadn’t seen him in the weeks since the night he’d been admitted, she knew he hadn’t moved or spoken a word. But as she reached over to touch the thin vein slowly pulsating in his hand, his eyes flashed open and he said, “You!”

She drove the needle home, pushing in the large air bubble she knew would soon travel to his heart and stop. that. endless. beeping.

“I screwed up the last time and didn’t put enough poison in the bottle of Merlot I sent you on Valentine’s Day,” she whispered in his ear. “But this time, you bastard, I’ll finally put you out of my misery! And, then, I plan to celebrate with a nice glass of wine.”


This was written for The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

6/18/2010

100-Word Challenge: Sauce

The prompt for this week's 100-Word Challenge is "sauce."  For more saucy entries, visit Velvet Verbosity's 100-Word Challenge, temporarily hosted by LouCeel.

Rainforest Ragu

It's just like a hot tub, really, except hotter. Yeah, dude, keep telling yourself that.

His trip into the rainforest had been uneventful, other than the constant assault by mosquitoes the size of Hueys. He’d found everything he needed. When he won the Nobel for medicine, it’d all be worth it.

He never saw the net, until it fell on him.

When the native came again to see if he was done, he said, “You won’t like me much. I’m a tough old bird.”

Grinning, the native answered, "Buddy, I can eat anything if it’s got enough sauce on it.”

6/16/2010

Theme Thursday: I Am a Camera

We all know what a "camera" is, but while visiting Oxford, England a few years ago, I came upon a different kind of camera.  Beautiful and intriguing, it piqued my curiosity, but since it was not open to the public, all I could do was take pictures of its exterior.  The interior shots came from the Internet.



The Radcliffe Camera

by David Ross, Britain Express

The circular dome and drum of the Radcliffe Camera is one of the most distinctive landmarks in a city full of distinctive buildings. The camera (the word means simply "room") was built 1737-1749 with £40,000 bequeathed by Dr John Radcliffe, the royal physician.

The Radcliffe Camera was intended to house a new library, and designs were called for from several leading architects, including Nicholas Hawksmoor (responsible for much of All Soul's College) and James Gibbs.

It was Gibbs who won the competition, with his elegant Palladian design, though his final plans drew heavily on earlier work by Hawksmoor. Gibbs was also responsible for the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, in Trafalgar Square, London.

Originally the library in the Radcliffe Camera held both scientific and general books, but those collections were gradually moved to other University libraries, so that today the Camera functions as the main reading room of the Bodleian Library. The finished building holds some 600,000 books in underground rooms beneath Radcliffe Square.

Sadly, the Radcliffe Camera is not open to the public.

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And now, another unusual look at "camera."


Wordless Wednesday: Going Toward the Light


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6/13/2010

Love in 160 Bites, Part 4

(Our story till now)

There was this old dude from Duluth
A bit grozzled and long in the tooth
He looked in the mirror
And shuddered in horror
And thought: when did I lose all my youth?

T
he old guy decided to travel
Before all of his parts came unraveled
So off to the Keys he went
And he got a small cottage to rent
Then to the nude beach he ambled.

There came an old gal from Chicago
Who met the old boy in Key Largo.
On the beach thy were nude
But neither were prudes,
And their eyes had gone south a while ago. 
 
**********
 And now, this week's installment:



Their attraction was quick and immense


In her eyes he was handsome and intense

So when he offered his arm

Plus all of his charm

She was smitten and had no defense.

(To be continued)


Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces? Visit Monkey Man to play.

6/11/2010

100 Word Challenge: Epidemic


Rx: Chicken Soup?


I'm not sure how the epidemic began.

First to show symptoms was the desktop computer. One minute it's feeling fine, the next it's moaning, ”Ow, ow, my config.sys file.” The doc said he'd be right over.

As I awaited his arrival, I brought in a less qualified temp to pick up the slack, a netbook normally used for roadwork. Before the doc even got to the house, the netbook collapsed, holding its hard drive and vomiting bogus messages and links to questionable websites (why it thought Viagra would help, I can't imagine!)

Groan.  I'm not feeling so well myself.

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Update:  OK, so the desktop is home from the hospital,and is not only healthy again, but thinner (as sometimes happens after being sick).  In this case, that's not a good thing, though.  And so, I'm still not feeling so well. Seems the "doc" had to reformat the hard drive. Which means I have to reinstall every piece of software.  Arrgghh!
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6/09/2010

Theme Thursday: Candy

My favorite candy has always been turtles. You know, those oddly-shaped little chocolate-covered-gooey-caramel-with-pecan  morsels.  Yummy, yummy. But how they came to be my favorite is a bit of a good news/bad news story.

The good news? When I was about nine years old, my Dad would sometimes take me with him when he made some of his rounds, and at one of the stops, the owner always gave me a few turtles.  I quickly put them at the top of my list of favorites, above such ordinary candies as Tootsie Rolls and Necco Wafers (well, except maybe for the black ones).  I mean, who wouldn't?

The bad new? Those rounds I went on with Dad were to bars. Some of the bartenders did have pistachio nuts, though, so it wasn't all bad.  Except for the red fingers.

In a more current nod to candy, here's a musical offering.

Wordless Wednesday: Never mind, I found it!

Previously:
Burgled by a Half-Assed Burgler


Never mind, I found it!


6/07/2010

Corps de Ballet

Photo: Fairytale Ballet, Illinois & Kansas


It’s not that they aren’t there.

They just hide sometimes, those words

That are too shy to come out and say hi.

But with just the right amount of coaxing

And gentle nudges from behind,

They might peek out from behind the curtain

To see what they might find.

And if the air feels just right and the audience is smiling,

Maybe they’ll take to the stage, to

Pirouette, pliƩ and dance across the page.



But only if they’re in the mood.

That's just the way it is with words.


 Photo: Summer Dance Camp for Kids, Worcester, MA

6/06/2010

Love in 160 Bites, Part 3

(Our story till now))

There was this old dude from Duluth
A bit grozzled and long in the tooth
He looked in the mirror
And shuddered in horror
And thought: when did I lose all my youth?

The old guy decided to travel
Before all of his parts came unraveled
So off to the Keys he went
And he got a small cottage to rent
Then to the nude beach he ambled. 

**********
 And now, this week's installment:



There came an old gal from Chicago

Who met the old boy in Key Largo.

On the beach they were nude

But neither were prudes,

And their eyes had gone south a while ago. 



(To be continued)


Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces? Visit Monkey Man to play Sunday 160.