Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 56

BladderWakey

With apologies to Lewis Carroll...Twasn’t brilliant, and the nighttime coves
  Did show no sparkle in the waves:
Still shady were the darkening groves,
  And the footpaths the same.

"Beware the Bladderwalk, my son!
  Its fullness wakes, makes your breath catch!
Beware the gritted teeth, and shun
  That nightytime Slumbersnatch!"

He took his blankets, warm, in hand:
  Long time the prodigious urge he fought --
Still resting, he with bladder full,
  He laid awhile in thought.

And, as in gloomy thought he lay,
  The Bladderwalk did force-ly claim,
To come whiffling through the dark causeway,
  And burble as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The blankets, warm, went snicker-snack!
He sprightly fled, into the ‘head’
  Then went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Bladderwalk?
  Then back to bed, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brilliant, and the daytime coves
  Did sparkle brightly in the waves;
NOT misty were the brightening groves...
  And he never got to sleep again.

Fifty Day Wednesday #7

 My son and I stared at the empty field.
Not again!” I groaned. “Pease tell your soccer coach this is the second week we were the only ones at practice!”
He shrugged. “He’ll just say what he said last week.”
“And what is that?”
He sighed. “Practice is Tuesdays. Not Wednesdays.”

Today is Fifty Day!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

Really Hard Lessons

Kids and food and . . . the TableIn 1979, to facilitate my Husby completing his Master's degree, we moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba.
We brought everything we owned in one of my Dad's cattle trailers.
He cleaned it first.
Moving on . . .
But there were one or two things that we didn't bring.
One of them was a decent kitchen table and chairs.
We had to dip into our savings and buy something.
I should point out here that Kijiji didn't exist in 1979.
Or personal home computers.
At least in our home.
So we were stuck with the local paper and the classifieds.
But the tables we found listed were worse than the one we had left behind.
We finally decided we needed to go to a furniture store . . .
We had done this once before. Gone to a furniture store, I mean.
It was fun.
And expensive.
But exciting.
We pulled up outside in our little wheezy van and sauntered inside where we were met by a young man with a big grin.
A really big grin.
Looking back, we should have suspected something.
We didn't.
We told him what we were looking for and he led us to the 'kitchen' section of the store.
Wow.
Okay, we weren't expecting that much of a selection.
We divided our options into two categories. 'Those we could afford'. And 'those which were really nice'.
The choices suddenly became easy.
We were down to two.
The one we finally decided on was a faux-wood topped, tubular-chrome-legged marvel.
With four chairs of genuine fake-leather.
We had hit the big time.
The only problem was that we were already a family of four. And family member number five was definitely on the way.
More chairs were indicated.
No problem, the young man said. The company who made the chairs was right here in Winnipeg. They could easily be ordered and at a very special price.
Bingo!
We handed him our savings and he filled out the paperwork, promising to send in the order for our four extra chairs as soon as we left the store. Then he helped us tote our new table and existing chairs out to our little van.
We were kings!
Happily, we set up our new acquisitions (good word) in our little kitchen.
Perfect!
Then we waited for our four extra chairs.
And waited.
Finally, we tried to phone.
Huh. Line out of service. Strange.
We drove over to the store.
And found it closed. Weird. For a Tuesday.
A large piece of yellow paper, fastened to the front door, fluttered in the slight breeze. We got out of the van and moved closer.
It was a notice from the police. Something about signing the paper if we were owed anything by the young men who had absconded (Great word, eh?) with all available cash and left the country.
We stared at the paper. Then at each other.
Did this mean what we thought it meant?
Had we just been ripped off?
I suddenly wanted my chairs!
We had paid for them!
Jerks!
Husby signed the paper and we were duly contacted by the police and able to place our claim.
The problem was that we were owed a mere $200.00 and that put us far down the list of claimants. The likelihood of recouping our losses was slim to nil.
I should mention here that the people at the top of the list were a newlywed couple, furnishing a new apartment. They had paid for their furniture, but were having it delivered.
I guess $10,000.00 (a boatload of money in 1979) was just too much for the store owners to resist. They had taken the money and anything else not fastened down and left the city.
The young couple's furniture had not left the store.
They were furniture-less and out their $10,000.00.
Suddenly our little $200.00 seemed very paltry.
But I still needed my chairs.
We went to the furniture manufacturer and explained the situation. They were very nice and gave us our chairs at their cost.
So, when we worked it out, taking into account the money we had paid Crooked Smiler Guy and what the manufacturer charged, we had actually gotten the chairs for the normal retail price.
We really hadn't lost anything.
And we finally had our chairs.
Oh, they were a slightly different colour from the first four, but why quibble over details?

That table and chairs lasted us through six children and twenty five years.
As it was nearing the end of its life, my husband decided to realize a dream and build a new one.
He did it.
A large, round, solid oak table, capable of seating 12 comfortably and 14 if you were really good friends.
He finished it just in time.
I tried to set a casserole on our old table and the poor thing collapsed, casserole and all.
And no, that isn't a statement on my cooking . . .
It was given an undignified farewell at the city dump.
And Grant moved in his great oak wonder. With twelve chairs that matched.
And that we didn't have to chase down and beg for.
Lessons learned.
More people. More food. And . . . the replacement.

Tracked

 

My parents had the radio,

Or records to make music flow.

We took those records, made them twirl,

Dance parties for the boys and girls.

 

Things morphed as good things always do,

And new devices gave us tunes,

At first, the reel-to-reel was king,

And then we started cassette-ing.

 

A little bend to 8-track land,

A little tricky, but so grand,

From there the CD was so nice,

But only if you paid the price.

 

Then flash-drives, light and Wow! the size,

Small without, with big insides,

We’d moved from music in a case,

To music taking little space.

 

Our music now is 1, 2, 3,

“Alexa, play this song for me!”

And streaming service by the score,

With iTunes, Spotify and more.

 

Imagine it and there you are,

With show tunes blaring from the car,

Or streamed from phones right to your ear,

The songs you love from far. To near.

Convenience is what we love,

Subscribe and get some tunes thereof,

But something I’d just love to see...?

You sort an 8-track out for me.

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

A topic we await all year,We'll 'Ask a Stupid Question' here!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another Mimi - Today!Ask a Stupid Question (September 27)Golf (October 4)Throw a Party (October 11) (Also Canadian Thanksgiving!)Meatloaf Appreciation (October 18)Opera (October 25)New Lease (November 1)
Puns (November 8) Clean Out Your Refrigerator (November 15) Your favorite record (or) best stereo or record player ever (November 22)Chia Pets (November 29)

A Valuable Asset

Stewart CameronAnother valuable cow ponyBig Enough was a good cow horse. A valuable asset in a large ranching operation. This story is almost about him.

One day, my Uncle Stein was riding Big Enough when he checked the herd. The two of them came upon a large, young bull in considerable pain. The bull had caught his navel on some rose bushes (Yes, they are pretty, but sometimes beauty has it draw-backs) and it had become badly infected.

They were about three miles from the ranch buildings, but Uncle Stein decided his best choice was to bring the bull in.

Now you should probably know that he was dealing with an animal who weighed roughly a ton, was sick and sore, and who wasn’t happy about the 100 degree (F) heat.

They made it about a half mile before the bull protested.

He tried four times to get away, but that reliable little cow pony, Big Enough, just wouldn’t allow it.

Finally, winded, and so furious he was foaming at the mouth, the bull turned.

And charged.

Big Enough froze. He’d never seen anything like this!

Closer and closer the bull came and still the horse didn’t move.

Finally, just as the bull made contact, Big Enough reared.

Fortunately, the bull had no horns, but the combination of one-bull-power and one-horse-power succeeded in tipping Big Enough and his rider right over backwards.

Uncle Stein jumped off just in time. And he hit the ground running.

Literally.

Fortunately for the man in the picture, the bull still had his attention on the horse, who had rolled over and was back on his feet in a flash. Away across the pasture, the two went. The horse running flat out and the furious bull butting him in the hind quarters.

Finally, the horse pulled ahead. The last Uncle Stein saw of him was the flick of a dark tail as he disappeared over the furthest hill, well on his way to the barn and safety. Leaving Uncle Stein stranded in the middle of two miles of prairie with no mount, no trees, no fences, no cover . . .

And one mad bull.

The bull stopped.

Then turned.

And it was Uncle Stein’s turn to freeze. Not from fear, but because he knew if he moved a muscle, or made the tiniest flinch, it would be the signal for the steaming, pawing bull facing him to charge.

For a full ten minutes the two faced each other.

Finally, the bull lost interest and sauntered off.

Uncle Stein, sweat dripping from his face, began the long trek home.

Yep. A good cow pony. Such a valuable asset.

Except perhaps when they’re being butted in said . . . assets.Ahem . . .

Now It Can be Told

My little brother Blair, now an Engineering Professor in New Mexico, also lived on the ranch with me. His memories are almost as good . . . Or something similar...I can only write this story because the Statute of Limitations has expired.

Growing up on the ranch provided many opportunities to drive the tractor around the field. And around and around and around and around and . . . 

You get the picture.

This can be very boring.

However, if one is on the right tractor . . .

One hot day, I was given the opportunity to drive our big Case.

At the time I was about 16 years old and I liked driving it because it made a very big vroom sound.

I don't remember the horse power. Let’s just say it had lots of ponies in its motor.

I also liked it because it had a comfortable seat that moved up and down as you drove across the bumpy field, air conditioning, and a radio.

Things not found on other tractors on the ranch.

On a nice hot day, the air conditioning was greatly appreciated and I always liked having a radio. It helped relieve the monotony/boredom.

Now here is where the statute of limitations comes in.

I was instructed by Mom to keep the air conditioning at a reasonable level. She told me that if I had the air conditioning at its maximum level, it was unhealthy. I would say “Sure, Mom” then wait for her to leave and turn the air conditioning as cold as I could get it.

The second thing I was told to do was keep the radio at a moderate level. Then I could hear mechanical noises in a timely manner and shut down and repair equipment. If one didn’t detect these things early there was the potential of having a catastrophic failure.  In other words fix/replace a small part or fix/replace lots of parts. Again my reply was “Sure, Dad” then wait for Dad to leave the field and turn up the radio.  

I was operating the big Case tractor on a beautiful hot summer day.

The birds were singing.

Well I guess they were singing.

Who can hear birds over the roar of the tractor and the ‘moderate’ radio.

The air was fresh and clear.

I think.

It was definitely cold in the cab of the tractor.

I was pulling a big cultivator around the field.

Then it happened.

The cultivator snagged a rock that was just under the soil surface.

In a few short seconds I was staring in horror at an expensive cultivator rolled into a ball around a rock the size of a cow.

I should mention here that I was not concerned about the cultivator. But about the explanation that I was going to give Dad.

My mind immediately started putting my account of the situation together.

Phrases like:

“I was regularly looking at the gages of the tractor and all was fine.”

“I was constantly surveying the soil surface for rocks and other nasty potentially machine-breaking items.”  

“Oh, no! The radio was not blasting loudly, I don’t think I could hardly hear it.” 

Then a miracle happened.

The big ball of metal, rock, and soil disentangled themselves and the cultivator popped back into its original shape.

The entire episode lasted a few short seconds.

I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped the tractor. I felt that I had better look the cultivator over and make sure everything was in place before I continued my trek around the field.

It was then I learned why Mom told me to keep the air conditioning at a moderate level.  

I threw open the tractor cab door and was immediately hit with a blast of hot outside air.

I felt a little dizzy but continued down the ladder to the ground.

As I was moving down, a massive amount of hot air from the very powerful motor hit me. My ears started to ring and my head started to spin. My legs turned to spaghetti and I stumbled to the ground.

Luckily, this moved me away from the hot air spewing from the motor.

My head cleared and I was able to move/stumble away from the tractor.  

I looked at the cultivator and determined that it was all right.

I breathed another sigh of relief.

The engineer that designed said cultivator had foreseen my encounter and put in the trip mechanisms to protect it.

I was suddenly grateful for engineers.

Once I had finished with the cultivator, I carefully avoided the blast of hot air as I climbed back on the tractor.

Then I turned down the radio and air conditioning.And vowed to listen more to Mom and Dad.

Fifty Day #6

 

My daughter and (almost 3) Granddaughter #14 were watching the garbage truck.

“See?” daughter said. “He’s taking the garbage!”

“Oooh!” GD14 said. “He picks it up . . .”

Her mother looked at her. “Yes?”

“. . . and puts it in his backpack!”

Through the eyes of a child…

Today is Fifty Day!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

Snow-d

A beautiful young woman, former princess/heir to the throne, takes up residence with seven men, then marries another man she met only once.

Sound a little unrealistic? Like a story of courage and fortitude with more than a dollop of ‘from the frying pan into the fire’?

Stay with me, won’t you, please? Because the telling of the whole story is even weirder. As in most of our beloved fairy tales.

Snow White, she of the aforementioned princess/heir status ended up in the home of the seven men because she fled her step-mother.

Perhaps I should mention: SW fled SM because the older woman was a tad psychotic and intended to rule. Over Snow White’s dead body.

And achieve star-studded ‘First Beauty’ status with the same knife thrust. See? Psychotic. And a little obsessed with the ol’ reflection. Still with me?

Fleeing to the forest, SW was immediately befriended by many gentle woodsy creatures (Google: REALITY) and led to the home of seven brother miners.

Who were immediately captivated by her charm and beauty. As well as her ability to create delicious victuals using only gleanings from the forest.

Let’s face it—with no neighbourhood Superstore, this frugal ability would definitely be highly prized by men who regularly dined on REAL mud pies.

All was well. But you have to know the story gets tricky here. Because heaven forbid they should all live ‘happily ever after’. Yet...

Now the SM turned out to be a witch with some semi-astonishing magical powers and she discovered her initial plot against SW had failed.

Please see: Magic-Mirrors-I-Have-Known-and-Loved/Hated-Because-They-Let-Me-Down-Just-When-I-Needed-Them-the-Most-Boo-Hoo.

So SM conjures up an astoundingly beautiful (poisoned) apple just for SW. Hmmm…something beautiful outside and ugly within. Are we seeing a pattern here?

Then disguises herself and trots happily off through the dark forest to the cottage of the seven brother miners where her nemesis innocently awaits.

Now SW should have been suspicious right from the start. I mean who delivers apples in the forest? I can’t even get a pizza.

SW takes one bite of that nasty ol’ apple and falls to the ground. Apparently lifeless. SM, cackling merrily, runs off into the forest.

Now the story could have easily ended there. Except for the wisdom of those aforementioned gentle woodsy creatures who uncharacteristically knew what to do.

Quickly they ran to fetch the brothers, bringing them to the scene of the crime just in time for them to glimpse SM. Leaving.

I probably don’t have to describe the breath-catching chase or its inevitable end as a charred and smoky witch plummets to her doom.

Or the tears as the brothers then gather around SW’s still-apparently-lifeless body. And their efforts to build a glass coffin to house their beloved.

The winter passes. Eventually. And spring brings with it a young prince—glimpsed only once in SW’s garden shortly before this whole debacle started.

He sees SW in her glass coffin and immediately orders the crypt opened. I know what you’re thinking. There’s a word for it. Ew.

Then he takes the lovely maiden in his arms and kisses her. Whereupon (good word) the bite of poisoned apple slips from her mouth.

This conjures up the ‘how-long-can-you-keep-a-bite-of-something-you-hate-in-your-mouth’ contest. Till now Granddaughter held the record: 3 hours with a mouthful of oatmeal.

SW awakens from her slumber and, with a complete disregard for (surely) the worst case of morning breath ever, happily kisses the prince back.

He then carries her back to his kingdom, marries her, and they live there (yes, this is where this comes in) happily ever after.

Or at least until their daughter loses her golden ball down a well and kisses a frog… But that is a whole other story.

Today’s post is a writing challenge! Each month one of the participating bloggers picks a number between 12 and 50. All bloggers taking part that month are then challenged to write using that exact number of words in their post either once or multiple times. 

 

This month’s word count number is: 24

It was chosen by: Mimi

 

At the end of this post, you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Keep the party going!

 

Baking In A Tornado

Messymimi’s Meanderings

Super-stitious

Those superstitions that we prize,

Call them silly, call them wise,

(Despite the knowledge that we’ve gained,)

They still have power. Let me explain…

 

There’s Black Cats Crossing o’er Your Path,

A tempting of a witch’s wrath.

Or Walking under Ladders, sure,

Will make your sweet life less than pure.

 

A Mirror you have that’s Less Than Whole…

May indicate a broken soul!

A Friday, bad. The 13th? Worse!

Be careful, or you’ll end up cursed.

 

Umbrellas opened, not outdoors,

Will cause much harm to lives—like yours!

And oh, that Crack—Breaks Mother’s Back?

In truth lets evil ghosts attack.

 

Don’t spill that salt, you’ll be chastised,

Toss some away, ‘fore spirits prize!

An itchy palm means moneys come,

Don’t scratch! Or it’ll be undone!

 

To knock on wood means your ‘UN-jinxed’

(So good won’t be erased, one thinks.)

Those lucky pennies? Just make sure

Their heads are up. (Or please detour!)

 

Don’t Stand Your Chopsticks in Your Food

It forms a number 4. You’re screwed!

Your mirrors shouldn’t face their friends,

A portal forms which never ends!

 

No Happy Birthdays said before,

No coming in a different door,

Dropped keys on tables says, “You slut!”

No complimenting. It’s bad luck…

 

With all these fears and many more,

With consequences by the score,

One thing I’ll say—you’ll be relieved… 

They get their power when you believe!

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

The music system you like best?Try 8-Tracks. Better than the rest!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...Defy Superstition Day (September 13) Also from Mimi Today!Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another MimiAsk a Stupid Question (September 27)Golf (October 4)Throw a Party (October 11)Meatloaf Appreciation (October 18)

Opera (October 25)

 

Train-ing Day

 You know the word: Serendipity? “The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way: "A fortunate stroke of serendipity"

I’m beginning to believe . . .

 

“But you’re sure it’s okay that we’re here?”

Sally turned from the large, covered birdcage she had been contemplating for the last couple of minutes and shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“I mean, won’t we be in the way?”

She looked puzzled. “Not if you stay . . . out of the way.”

She had a point. Mom and I looked at each other and Mom shrugged. I should probably mention that our discussion was moot. Mom and I were on the train with Sally and her movie people, barreling toward the destination of her newest shoot.

And, apart from jumping off, superhero/train robber style, while the locomotive was under full throttle, we were pretty much committed . . .

The day had started out fairly normally.

Sun rising.

Breakfast.

Sally packing to leave for her next job.

Then the phone had rung.

From what I had picked up from Sally’s end of the conversation, their location had just been cancelled—not an unusual occurrence in the modern, Covid ‘filming world’. And, wonder of wonders, a similar location found just outside our fair city.

Okay, you have to know that this doesn’t happen often.

In point of fact, never.

So our family was a bit excited by the prospect of Sally filming somewhere close.

Then when she had turned and invited Mom and me on the set, that ‘bit’ of excitement . . . blossomed.

And here, not two hours after that initial phone conversation, we found ourselves enroute to sharing Sally’s exciting life.

I know what you’re thinking. Sally’s exciting life is often—usually—a bit more exciting than the normal person is ready for.

What can I say? Covid has been boring.

Sally turned back to the cage and, with a single pull, slipped the cover off, disclosing the fat, green parrot that resided there. It blinked at her ‘owlishly’ for a moment or two.

“Hey, Herc!” Sally said, “say something funny!”

The parrot blinked one dark eye at her and dipped its head. “Pleased to meet you!” the bird said.

Mom and I burst out laughing. “Did it say that by accident?” Mom asked. “Or in response to . . .?”

Sally made a face at her then turned back to the parrot. “Herc! Am I bothering you?”

The bird turned its head upside down. “Nope. Not listening!”

This time, even Sally laughed.

She looked at us. “This is Hercules. Isn’t that the perfect name? What could be better than a parrot named after a demigod?”

“What, indeed?” I muttered under my breath.

“He’s the co-star of my new film, Jailbird. Sort of a ‘James Bond if he was a bird’ theme. He’s super clever!”

“Smarter than you!” Herc said, bobbing up and down.

Mom frowned. This was getting a little scary.

“He’s so clever that they have to put a special lock on his cage. He’s gotten out of everything else!”

Herc walked along the perch to the lock on the door of his cage and pecked at it a couple of times. Then he looked at Sally. “Please?”

“No way, Herc,” Sally said, laughing. “I’ve heard the stories!” She turned back to us. “See? It takes two hands to make it work.” She demonstrated.

The lock clicked free and in that moment, Hercules launched his bright green and not unsubstantial self at the door.

It burst open, knocking Sally aside, and instantly, a feathered ruffian was leaping and flapping about the car amidst cries of “Not again!” and “Herc, you idiot!” and “Eeeeeeee! There’s a bird in my hair!”

The door at the front of the car opened suddenly, disclosing the movie’s director, Jamie Lassiter, whom Sally now knew on a first-name basis. The woman instinctively ducked as Herc made a bid for the openness of the open road—or whatever lay on the other side of the door Jamie had just exited—and, in that split-second, Herc succeeded.

He didn’t escape totally.

I know you were probably worried.

Nope. Instead, he made it as far as the next car. The locomotive.

I probably don’t have to describe the chaos that ensued. The shrieking engineers—did you know that a burly, coverall-clad man can scream just like a little girl when properly motivated?

Yeah, it was news to me as well.

The shuffling and dancing of rotund male figures and the subsequent and frantic application of brakes that effectively tipped nearly every passenger—and much of the stored cargo—out of their seats and/or places of security.

The breathless pause as everything finally came to a halt.

You know that pause—the one the precedes the looks of venom as everyone begins to sort out a mess.

“Oops,” Sally said.

“Salleeee!” Jamie shouted.

Sally bounced to her feet. “Yeah, Jamie?”

“This was you, wasn’t it?!”

Sally shrugged and grinned.

I closed my eyes, expecting at any moment to see my sister’s fair head rolling freely up the aisle.

“Please tell me someone had a camera going!”

A short, rather squat man seated up the aisle from us with a camera pressed to his eye, got to his feet. “Always, James!”

“Thank God,” Jamie said. “Print!”

See? Serendipity.

What, for anyone else on the planet, would have been a complete and total disaster was, for Sally, a career enhancer.

Yeah, I don’t get it either.

Use Your Words is a monthly word challenge that I totally love!
Each month, we participants submit words to our intrepid leader, Karen, which she then redistributes.None of us knows who will get our words or what they will do with them till now.We're as surprised as you are!

My words this month were:cage ~ demigod ~ locomotive ~ theme ~ green
And given to me by my amazing friend, Rena at: https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog
                             
                    
Enjoying yourself? Keep the party going with these other “Use Your Words” posts:
 
Baking In ATornado
Wandering Web Designer
Climaxed
What TFSarah
Part-time Working HockeyMom