Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Circus (Blogophilia 8.10)


Yeah, I thought about a story. Couldn’t really get a good idea.
 
Then I thought about writing about Easter and Holy Week. That had some possibilities, since the statement “He is risen” and copious amounts of incense brings back all the back-slid to prove they are still alive. In their day-to-day lives, Sunday morning church service is not an enormous priority. But either through guilt or fear, they find their way back on Easter. And as a church usher, I have to heard these feral cats here and there in such a way everything works smoothly, while the clergy on the altar run the show. 
 
I could write a bit on Tax Day. I’ve been an accountant all my career, and I can always count on two rings for that show, The first week in February and the seven days leading up to April 15. You would think with modern technology the process would be more organized. Nope. The first ring wants their money and they want in now! The second group don’t want to pay the money. But unless they are Donald Trump, they got to pay. File the extension and I’ll see you August 15.
 
Ultimately, the three ring circus that I can’t get rid of is Politics. Yes, that clown car of professional fence-sitters and moral trapeze artists promising the world while stealing your wallet. I, sadly, live in the 6th Congressional District of Georgia. As you may be aware, this is the seat held by Dr. Tom Price, who is now Secretary of Health and Human Services. One less of the old guard is a good thing in my opinion. But it does have consequences. 
 
This open seat has been like a dead gazelle on the Kenyan plains. Jackals, hyenas and other carrion eaters are flooding my email and tying up my phone. The television and social media have been the ringmaster for this dog an pony show. Vote for the Democrat (who only lives part time in Georgia and not even in the District). Vote for the Lady (who has a checkered past on holding office to full term). Vote for this gray haired guy (with the reputation of double dealing on the state level). Not to mention the 15 other candidates. PETA and Humane Society succeeded in shutting down Barnum and Bailey. Why can’t they do an expose on this tragedy? I haven’t had an uninterrupted dinner in weeks. 
 
Well, today is the election. There will probably be a runoff. But for at least a week or two, I might get some peace and quiet. 
 
And then we’ll do it again.

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Pic Guesses: Clown Car (in blog), Smiley, Snowmobile, Wash Me, Cold, Why I don’t live up north.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Wind Woman (Blogophilia 7.10)

The afghan hung loosely, knots struggling to maintain. The gale was relentless, drumming branches in time to the Beelzebub's whim. There was no time here. The sun stayed directly above, never relinquishing a grip to the moon. Shadowy and slight, the Wind Woman leaned in, stumbling along narrow trail. All she sees turns to brown as the Sun burns the ground. The Fugitive's path would be his, now and forevermore.
It hadn't always been this way.
But she hadn't always been a woman, either.
She had started as a boy. In fact, she still was. But the parts never worked. She favored thought over strength, beauty over violence. At coming of age, the other men knew they had received something different in him and saw the threat to their warrior ways. Fearing retribution, they brought him to the Shepherd saying: "He isn't from God, but from the Devil himself, return him to the land of Nod." Without another word, The Shepherd tossed the scapegoat into the desert with only the clothes on his back.
As the gate shut, the southbound gale began. Turbulent, and tossing tearing the rags off him.Naked for and era and and age, he bounced from boulder to stone. No stopping to contemplate his fate or allow for repentance. Repentance for what, though? He could not turn back time to know the Sin that had preceded his birth. It had been unknowable, unforgiven and unforgivable. 
Pushing toward the rising sun, the dress and afghan landed on his face, blinding him. Mourning colors and not beautiful, they were sheltering. With a struggle, his head slid into the skirt opening. Cloth fell in place as if tailored for his very soul. The garments spoke to him as he wandered, commiserating with him on his fate. The bodice filled and his cheeks fluffed and flushed. A long mane of black extended behind him, a rudder to his sail and his wandering laid strictly on the narrow path. Man was now a woman by chance.
Now and again, she would meet another wanderer, always men, and they wished for companionship. Always honest with the story, some engaged willingly, feeding on her misery. Others were repelled, cursing their fate. Either way, satisfaction never was to be. But those left full from her wounds would add him to their prayers in hope that Mercy would not be blind.. And she would return the prayer, halfheartedly, knowing it was in vain.
One particularly cold time, a screech could be heard over the din. A large bird was caught in the teeth of the blow. Powerful wings beat to keep the creature level above her She knew. This indeed was the Mercy his companions had spoken of. A pricking began at her neck. The sharp point of the needle that had stitched the afghan stood proud from the collar. As he pulled,fine threads were freed. Knots frayed as the cloak returned to ashes and dust. The wind caught thread, winding and twisting it into a thin rope.
A loop was fashioned with effort. Casting upwards, she caught the bird and it began to lift. Soon, they were above the horrid gale. In due time,she was set in a garden of flowers. The black dress was tattered and the walnut, wind burned skin was death in contrast to the life around her. Overwhelmed, tears flowed like a river to the ground.
A voice called out.
"Welcome home, beloved one. The Sin you were cast out for was not yours, but your ancestor's. The village knew their time was short when you came to them, child of beauty. They did not know beauty and they feared it. The wrath shown you accepted more willingly and lovingly than anyone could expect. You never wished ill for others, only for yourself. For that, you will receive here what you did not there."
Another wanderer landed beside her. He, too, was in weeds. They rose together and as their hands touched, the rags fell off. But there was no shame.They were now the lilies of the field. The wind still blew, but with the soft touch of a woman tending a baby and they brought forth their own sweetness to God’s garden.
The beauty sought...became.
And all was good.
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Topic-Dave Coon
Pic guesses: Lillies (in blog) God’s garden (in blog) colorful, life, beauty (in blog), Sweetness, Love,
Note: this is a double dip with a Goodreads short story group, using the word Turbulence as the prompt. It took me a direction I’ve never really gone before.

#blogophilia #wind #lLillies 

Friday, April 7, 2017

Lake (Blogophilia 6.10)

It had been a wonderful day. The weather was cool, but it didn't keep him out of the canoe. Paddling around the little lake was a tradition with him. There were always neat stuff to see. The girls went with him this time, both of them giggling as Jimmy adjusted the float vests. As he was tightening Emily's, she asked why she had to wear it. Jimmy said he'd throw her out of the boat if she cut up and it help her swim to shore. She giggled at that. 
 
Kathy took the front oar and Emily sat on the gunwale bar. At a hundred feet off shore, Jimmy swung to boat around so everyone could wave back at Karl and Aunt B. Along the way they found an abandoned boat covered with vines, which really fascinated Emily. 
 
She called it Moses Moat after what she had learned in Sunday School the week before. She really did have her mother's imagination. 
 
Everyone jumped when the fish broke the surface going after a fly. Emily asked if she could jump out and see if the vest worked. Mommy said "sure". It only took about fifteen seconds before the cold got her screaming. After a quick laugh, they pulled her back in, wrapping her in a beach towel they had brought and let her drip dry in the sun. 
 
Ol' Sol was now drawing hard against the trees on the opposite shore. Jimmy sat at the table and waited for Kathy and Aunt B to finish cleaning up from dinner. The vegan casserole actually tasted like beef. B mentioned instead of tofu, she was using some kind of textured nut protein and kale and it made all the difference. It didn’t matter really. They were so hungry, they could have eaten raw tofu. 
 
They would need to leave soon. A cool breeze made small ripples along the shore. The breeze and beer made him happy. Maybe Karl was right. He should save up his money and buy a place like this. A spot of refuge in this horrid world.
 
Like a cat claiming its territory, the child climbed in his lap. Still in her swimsuit she smelled of the lake, smudges of dark mud streaked her face and arms. Her hair was frizzy and wild from the day on the water and her skin was almost the color of her hair. Dark rimmed eyes wide with wonder smiled at him. Settling in she took a nibble from a rice cracker in her hand, then fed the rest to Jimmy. 
 
"Daddy?" 
 
"Hmm?"
 
"It sure was nice for Uncle Karl and Aunt B to let us come here."
 
"Yes, it was. Did you remember to thank them?"
 
"Yeah." The little face scrunched up. "Aunt B caught me and gave me a kiss, yuck."
 
The giggle couldn’t be suppressed. 
 
"About as much fun as the Tofu Treat she had for desert, huh?
 
The face turned even more sour. Turning towards Daddy, she wound her hands around his neck and whispered:
 
"Uncle Karl saved me with those jelly beans. He called them carob...but I think they were really chocolate."
 
Then laughing, she turned back and cuddled along his left arm.
 
"Do we hav'ta go home?"
 
Jimmy kissed the top of the sweaty little head. 
 
"'Fraid so. I got to go to work in the morning."
 
Looking, the small hand pointed off to where the sun had disappeared behind the trees.


"Oooh. Look at the sky. It's turning pink."
 
"The sun is going to bed and that's how it turns out the lights."
 
"Ohhh."
 
An upturned crescent moon peeked over the dam to the right. Jimmy pointed at it.
 
"See the moon, Emily? It's coming up to rule the night."
 
"And keep us safe, Daddy?"
 
"Yes, Honey."
 
Breathing slowed in the silence. With a yawn came a question.
 
"Daddy, do you believe in wishes?"
 
"Maybe." Jimmy smiled. "Do you have a wish?"
 
"Yes."
 
"There's the first star."
 
The verse was recited in a whisper.
 
"I wish, I may. I wish, I might. I wish my wish come true tonight."
 
The little eyes closed as the last words came out. He stood up as Kathy came down from the house with a fresh beer. Somebody had said there was only one happiness in life, to love and be loved. Looking at his wife, then his sleeping daughter, he had to agree. Kathy kissed the peaceful little snorer.
 
"Someone had too much fun today."
 
"Yep." Jimmy smiled. "She's ready to pour in to the car seat."
 
"Let me have her and you can pack up. We have to go back to the real world.”

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Whoops, forgot the guesses.
Pic guesses Table (in blog) Refuge (in blog) paradise, table for two, waterfront, quiet time, mosquitoes,