SWEET DREAMS

Posted on May 11, 2016 by hafong

It’s Wednesday, time enough for Friday Fictioneers and their stories of 100 words or so to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Anyone can join in. Here is my little story for this week. I admit it is a little sappy but sometimes it is nice to sweet dream. Life is harsh.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAYR

The summer night was warm. The moon bright even through her rheumy eyes. A breeze stirred the hair around her face. She sighed softly remembering another night.

They were sitting on the Lido Deck on the Carnival. A bottle of champagne and two glasses between them, the moon and stars above. There was silence saved for the lapping of the waves. The warmth of the night wrapped around them. They sat in its protected cocoon, savouring their last moments. Tomorrow…

Her head jerked. She sat up with a start. Where was she? Oh, she had fallen asleep with sweet dreams.

RAINY MORNING MUSINGS

Posted on May 10, 2016 by hafong

It’s raining – the first of the year. I’m grateful. My garden is grateful – for this drink of life. It is cool – 4 degrees Celsius after last week’s blistering 32. Tomorrow and the next night, the forecast for -1 and -2 respectively. Nothing is predictable anymore. Was anything ever? Have a look at what is happening in Fort McMurray, Alberta. It is like a dream. I am sure it is a nightmare for the residents fleeing their city as the fires rages.

I am philosophical, uncertain but happy and grateful this rainy, cool 10th of May. I took a tour of my garden, securing the covers over the tender young tomatoes I planted 2 days ago. I might have been too optimistic and foolish thinking that the temperature could not possibly dip below 0 anymore. But what the hey? Nothing ventured, nothing gained/learned. I have a good feeling about my green thumb. I feel like a winner at the moment. I’m going with it.

I’ve doubted my feelings and myself for too long. I’m making up by taking taking a giant big step forward. I’m being confident. I’m being happy with myself as I am, no apologies. It feels good. There’s no time for putting myself on the back burner for others. I’m moving closer and closer towards my own mortality every day. If I don’t live for me now, when then?

Life is messy and wonderful. That is what I take away from Anne Lamott. In Bird by Bird she wrote,

“Clutter and mess show us that life is being lived …Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation… Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist’s true friend. What people somehow forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here.”

I am now wondering why I have been so taken with Marie Kondo and her The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. I have been a clutter bug all my life. I could learn to be a little neater but more would be trying to get a leopard to rid its spots or a zebra its stripes. What was I thinking? There’s beauty and artistry in our clutter and messes. After all, it is what our lives are made of.

I am tired of holding my breath, suspending my animation. I am letting me out of the bag. So happy to have this rainy interlude to muse much about it all and savour life.

BIRDS ON A WIRE

Posted on May 4, 2016 by hafong

It’s another Wednesday and another photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers to tell their stories of approximately 100 words. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Here’s my story of 100 words this week – inspired by this photo, the heat and Leonard Cohen.

HOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

There was tension in the air. You can almost feel it crackling like tinder under a match. Her heart raced and thudded. It felt like a stallion was galloping through her chest. Any minute now. It was coming. She was sure.

The sky was grey and ominous. Enormous clouds hung over the rooftops. The telephone wires drooped heavy with crows, gathered and waiting as if for a funeral.

Where could she hide? Just then a bolt flashed across the sky. She clapped her hands over her ears as thunder rumbled and shook the walls. The rain came. She was alright.

WORDS ON A WIRE

Posted on April 20, 2016 by hafong

It’s almost Friday, close enough for Friday Fictioneers. We are a group of writers who like to tell stories of 100 words according to a photo prompt. We are led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Anyone can join in if so inclined. Here are my 100 words this week.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

Sarah felt the sting of the woman’s words. Every hiss and barb. They tore into her soul. She didn’t matter.

“You don’t talk, Sarah. You don’t get to talk until I am done!”

She could not get in a word. Tears clouded her eyes. She screamed into the telephone.

“You stupid woman! You stupid cow! Who do you think you are? Why can’t I talk?” It was all in futility. The woman kept up her barrage. Sarah slammed the phone down.

Ashamed, she caught her breath and dialed the number on display.

“Ello”.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you”.

CLICK!

A DAY LIKE TODAY

Posted on April 16, 2016 by hafong

Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. A morning too beautiful to be distracted by a million useless thoughts. They are teeming and floating in my brain like the dust motes in sunbeams. I want to eradicate them, but the more I try, the more agitated I become. There’s nothing to do but to accept every one of them gracefully and move along as best as I can.

What I need to do today is physical work, moving one foot in front of the other. Do one thing and then another. No deep thoughts or brain surgery today. If thoughts arise, I can watch them as clouds floating by. No good in delving into them. I cannot solve the mysteries of life – especially on days when I feel like this.

Days like this are best spent in quiet solitude. No point in seeking company or help either. I bet even my mother is not available. Best hunker down, take a breath and ease myself. Words are not coming easily. Sentences do not form. Thoughts assault my head in tangles. Get a grip. Get a move on. What can you do?

~~~~~

It is evening now. My thoughts and nettles have settled. Lunch have been made and ate. I have doodled and transplanted seedlings of cabbages, kohlrabi and other things of green. Sheba and I have walked. Supper is in the making. Now I sit and tap a few words here and there. Nothing to write home about. Nothing lost either. I am sure there will be more days like today ahead. The thing is not to despair, not to think too much and not to strive at all. The thing to do is just that – do.

There is pleasure in doing – the physical satisfaction of something accomplished despite everything going against our grain. You see, I do strive even though. I can’t help myself. There is nothing wrong in being your authentic self.

THE URGE

Posted on April 8, 2016 by hafong

It is Friday night, a good time for Friday Fictioneers. We like to tell stories of 100 or so words according to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple, author of Say Kaddish for Me, From Silt and Ashes and other books. Congrats, Rochelle on your book launch. Here’s my 100 humble words for this week.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Dusk had fallen. Night coming fast. The urge stirred in his belly. He sucked in his breath. Clenching his abdominal muscles, he willed all to be still inside. He did not want to give in and lose himself. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. He clawed at his neck. Hair was growing on the back of his hands.

He glanced upward. A sliver of moon slid out between the clouds. Can he hide from it? Can he hang on? He ducked into the darkness within the walls. Damn, too late! He raised his head and howled.

STILL SOMETHING

Posted on March 31, 2016 by hafong

Well, hello there. It is Thursday and I have a story for Friday Fictioneers. We gather each week to tell stories of 100 words or so according to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Anyone can join in if so inclined. Here’s my 100 words.

It was a long ways down. Her hair fluttered across her face. The moving traffic below made her dizzy. She pulled back from the edge, stumbling. Her heart caught in her throat and she had to bend over to catch her breath.

Tears streamed down her face. She was not good for anything. No brains. No looks. No money. No courage. How was she going to face everyone, anyone? She was such a failure. Now what?

She stood and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. An anger rose in her. She had, still has something after all. Her stubbornness.

A SPARK IN THE DARK

Posted on March 27, 2016 by hafong

I HAD so many good intentions of doing this morning. It’s like that every morning. And no surprise, the day is gone and so are my intentions. Not that I’ve been sitting on my ass all day. I always feel this sense of procrastination. It feels as if I’m waiting for disaster to hit but I’m a deer in headlights – unable to move. I’m at a standstill. This is the usual place where the desire for another cup of tea is paramount. Instead, let me rise and put my immediate space in order.

~~~~~

It is the next morning, Easter Sunday. I am here with my tea. I’m still that deer in headlights. I am angry with myself. I feel the toxic fumes of those feelings. I don’t like it so I’m releasing my anger valve much like opening the vent on the pressure cooker. Hissss. Take another sip of your tea. Tap a little more on the keyboard. Be a little more mindful. Be a spark in the dark. You are doing the best you can.

I will rise from my discomfort. I will let go of my self judgement. I will sip my tea and tap out the words. I will pass STOP.

HANDBASKETS

Posted on March 25, 2016 by hafong

It’s Good Friday. I’m feeling a tad sad. Not trying to sound poetic or anything. It’s just the way the words tumble out. I’m sitting here, sipping my infamous cup of tea. I’m tapping on the keyboard to soothe my soul. I know. I sound like a broken keyboard. But this is my space so I shan’t apologize for my repetitiveness. I’m doing what makes me feel good.

Ah, the sun is showing itself. Just in time, too. The tears were almost washing down my face. I see that some of my tomatoes and onions are poking their heads through the soil. They’re enough to bring a smile and stem the anxiety fluttering in my heart. How can one help it? The world has gone to hell in a handbasket – Paris, Belgium, my street. No place is safe. Was there ever?

Let me move on, away from the anxieties of the world. Let me hold on to what is near and dear. Better to count the eggs in the Easter basket than dwell on the world’s handbasket. Be here now. Everything is as it should be. There is nothing to fix.

WET NOODLE DAYS

Posted on March 24, 2016 by hafong

It is snowing again, fluffy flakes coming down. I think of Snow Falling on Cedars. Not so much of the movie but the image. There’s something about the phrase that grabs me every time. I try to capture it whenever it snows like this. I always fail even though the two Buddhas do make a nice picture. Maybe you can’t do everything with an iPhone.

Days like this, I just want to languish like a wet noodle on my love seat. Would it not be lovely not to have to do anything, be anything? It’s good in thought and theory. From past experience I know I will become a mushy wet noodle past resuscitation. So I give a great big sigh and heave myself up.

The past due bed linen are now in the wash. The thought of doing is much harder than the doing. I’m back, now craving another cup of tea. What is it that makes me delay and delay things? The answer, my friend, is blown in the wind. For now, I sit with the discomfort and my tea. It is not so bad. Perhaps I can get a few things done – make a list of to do’s. I have enough of those. It would feel good when I can cross them off.

~~~~~~

Much later, I am not feeling better. I have done more though list making did not happen. Perhaps I should not fight my nature. I am not an organizer, list maker, entrepreneur, pilot or astronaut. Better I put my effort in areas I can succeed. Today is not a good day to brainstorm on that. There is nothing wrong with having a wet noodle day once in awhile. I can still do laundry – and drink tea and slurp along at a slow speed.

onethousandandtwo

Looking at Infinity