It’s Friday and time for Friday Fictioneers.  We gathered every week to share our stories from a photo prompt of one hundred words or so.  You can join in the fun if you wish.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here is my story.

 PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

She has been afraid forever – of everything.  A cloud passes overhead.  It’s as if someone has walked across her grave.  She shivers, clutching her hands to her heart.  She feels so cold.

She tries so hard to be brave.  It is so very hard.  She bites down on her lips, trying not to cry, trying not to feel sorry for herself.  A tear spills out of her right eye.  She chokes back a sob, taking a deep breath.

There are monsters everywhere.  She starts to sing and dance.  “Do the monster mash”. It’s the only way to keep them away.


I received this message from WordPress yesterday:

Happy Anniversary with You registered on 3 years ago!  Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!

I wish I could keep up the blogging, never mind the good.  My words have vanished and I’m left scratching my head, wondering where they went.  There is no point in pushing and poking myself.  There’s no point in wishing and hoping.  That will only scare the words right out of sight.

IMG_2548So the only thing to do is stop wishing and hoping and sit here in front of my keyboard and tap out the letters.  First one, then two and so on until a word forms, then a sentence, a paragraph.  Sooner or later, probably later, I will have enough sentences and paragraphs for a post.

This is hard, damn hard!  It is like living but what am I going to do?  I’m never one for giving up so I trudge on…one step, two steps….Damn!  I’m on a journey.

I thank Dusty Springfield for her song, Wishin’ and Hopin’ for inspiring and pushing me forward with my few words today.  I hope you will enjoy it, too.


It’s not quite Friday, but close enough for Friday Fictioneers.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  We gathered every week to share fictions of 100 words according to a photo prompt.  You are welcomed to join in the fun.  Here’s my 100 words.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter 

I remembered the last time he kissed me.  It was raining cats and dogs.  We were in a tight embrace, huddled under his big, black umbrella.  The kiss was long, sweet and wet as the raindrops falling around us.  I held onto him tight, trying forever, never letting go.

When will we see each other again? Will we ever see each other again?  What good are promises?  Oceans lay between us.  Continents separate us.  Years of history divide us.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.

So I held onto him, laid my face against his chest.  Teardrops kissed my cheek.



IMG_2655It’s a cool, grey morning in May.  No dancing sunlight nor shadows on the wall. It’s not my kind of day nor weather.  BUT I am learning to accept.  It is what is here.  It is what is.  I cannot change it.  What I can change is how I see and feel about it.  I do not have to hate and dread it.  It is just a grey cool day.  There is no need to pass judgement on it.  Let the day begin.

I’m having a little trouble finding the words these days.  They do not come readily to my fingertips.  I miss the rhythmic tap on the keyboard.  I miss seeing the letters and words march across the screen.  I miss the process of matching photos to the words and stories.  So now I’m sitting and trying to resuscitate and breathe a little life into these fingers.  No use in sitting and thinking.  Nothing happens unless I move a body part.  This much I know.

IMG_2650Funny how fast things can change and how easily you can lose your equilibrium.  And oh, how difficult it is to get it back!  The harder you try, the faster it slips away.  I am not discouraged.  I am just a little weary. How can I not be with a much spoiled dog trying to run me?  Yes, Sheba is still trying to rule the roost, whimpering through the night.  But we caught on to her tricks and how smart she can be.  She’s teaching me about boundaries and containment.  She is ousted from the bedroom at night.  There are rules and boundaries.  There are rewards for good behaviour.

On this 14th day in May, there is much to be grateful for.  The sun is coming out to lift the grey and warm the day.  Sheba is laying by my chair.  I am breathing out my words and feeling whole.  Everything is as it should be.




It’s funny how ideas and other things come into your mind sometimes.  Out of nowhere, it seems.  How do they come, I wonder.  How are they transported and what are they made of?  Are they streams of energy or are they what is called will o’ the wisps?

And so it was the lyrics of a song from yesteryear popped into my head.  It was John Denver’s Today.  Back then I didn’t know he wrote it.  I thought it was an old traditional.  I have always loved the melody and lyrics.  I sang it in the tub last evening and I sang it when I woke up this morning.

They’re wonderful, beautiful words to live by – today.  It’s right here and now.  I can taste the strawberries and the wine.

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
‘Ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today

I’ll be a dandy, and I’ll be a rover
You’ll know who I am by the songs that I sing
I’ll feast at your table, I’ll sleep in your clover
Who cares what the morrow shall bring

I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory
I can’t live on promises winter to spring
Today is my moment, now is my story
I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing



It is a cool grey Sunday morning in Saskatoon.  Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there.  Anne Lamott’s May 8 post on the occasion is giving me pause for thought about the day and motherhood.

IMG_2525I’m realizing that in all my years I have always been a daughter and never a mother – that is except to my fur baby, Sheba.  How does that making me feel deep inside?  In a sense I feel that I’m still a child, waiting to grow up, to have that family and become a mother.  I’m waiting to be authenticated so that I can truly start living.  But I realize that it is a false feeling, generated by false assumptions of how we should be.

In all honesty, I have never had vision of a white picket fence, children or being domestic and in the kitchen.  I confess that I have developed a love for cooking, baking and other domestic endeavours at this late date. I have to sew myself an apron so I can really feel and look the role.

I believe that we are here for different roles and purposes.  Motherhood was not meant for me.  I do not feel a loss or tragic about it.  Life and love flows through different avenues and streets.  Sometimes I encounter traffic jams and have to choose detours and roundabouts.  Often I opt for the road less travelled even though it is more difficult.

IMG_6822I admire and appreciate what my mother and all mothers do to raise their children to be authentic beings.  They are mothers every day.  I do my best to show my mother my appreciation every day.

Though I never saw the husband along with the white picket fence and motherhood, somehow there is a man on the premise. We have a white fence to keep our fur baby out of the garden patch.




IMG_2646It is Saturday.  The sun rises and shines through the windows.  The shadows dance on the wall.  I am summoned by the day to rise and shine my best, however much I can.  I have been tried and challenged this last while.  It is no drama, though dramatic.  The details are stowed away in the recesses of my mind – to be examined at a better time.

For now I bask in the warmth of a sunny May morning, happy to find my words and to feel the tap, tap of the keyboard.  Each click is soothing beneath my fingertips.  Each click is unlocking the fetters and releasing the angst from my body.  I am recovering the ME of me.  I am feeling the sweet melody of life in my body.  I can surely rise and shine with the sun.

I can feel the pull of sewing that sail cover for Rod.  The bedding plants are clamouring  to be out in the sun.  Life is calling.


IMG_1761April has come and gone – almost in a blink of an eye.  Where has it gone?  I was not finished with Susannah Conway’s April Love.  Life gets in the way at the most inconvenient times, but hasn’t that always been the case?

But I am happy to see May.  It’s a new month, a new beginning.  April love brings May flowers.  It brings new hope, renewed strength, earned wisdom.  Love is a safety net for all that comes our way.  So let them come, whatever may. we are ready for the friendships, goodwill, and love.  They are all welcomed.

Life is also filled with shadows.  They follow the sun through the windows.  They dance on my walls.  They are welcomed, too.  Without them, there will be no dance show for me to watch.  They have something to say to me and it’s good to listen.  They are welcomed.  I am the gatekeeper.  I decide how far they are allowed in.

April Love is gone, but here comes May Hope.  I am thankful for this morning.  I am thankful for this day.  I am thankful I have found some words.  I am thankful I can breathe again.  I am thankful for this life.  I am thankful for God’s strength.