Annunci
A Pedestrian
I don’t have a car anymore as of last June.
Everytime I have to travel, if it’s somewhat far away, I take Lyft.
Often a Place on my itinerary will be close enough to walk.
Either way I always seem to get there.
Sometimes cold or precipitation is a big problem.
It can never be too warm or sunny though.
Welcome to Six Sentence Story Thursday
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The Friends
Ralph and Sam were taking their traditional Saturday evening walk through our neighborhood.
Having followed the same route by rote, over the course of four decades, they already knew it perfectly, and never for one second thought it should ever be the least bit different. Each week they did a bit of grocery shopping for their wives and families, and said hello to neighbors and acquaintances as they passed by. Each weekend, as they passed St. Gabriel’s, our parish, they said hello to the Sisters of Charity on the grounds. Every other weekend, they stopped in to pray the Rosary before they went to Confession with Father O’Connor. Eventually both of the old fellows died, as we all do.
Youngsters in the new generation don’t remember them except by way of neighborhood folklore, but we old~timers remember still the fine example these kindly old gentlemen set just by passing by each weekend.
Here is my entry for Helene’s What~Do~You~See?
photo challenge..
Quite An Unlikely Source Of Inspiration
Every day I tell my family and friends that I want to go outside for a while, to take a long walk, and to communicate with my muse. They all humor me, thinking it’s just a figure of speech. I’ve always been known as the overly creative, imaginative, pensive one in our crowd. Little do people know that my particular muse is a dead ringer for Mr. Potato Head with such awfully silly taste in hats.
Here’s Mindlovesmisery Menagerie Photo Challenge # 256 . I couldn’t resist an attempt at comedic effect.
The Dangers of Apotheosis
“I’m Cinderella’s wicked stepmother,” the horribly stern, unyielding woman explained to the journalist who interviewed her. It’s my place in folklore to represent mankind’s dark side, in government and authority in general. I’m what happens when people abandon all notions of a rightly ordered system of governance and allow their lives to be taken over by a Frankensteinian counterfeit, with my apologies to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.”
“Continue, please,” said the interviewer.
“It all started with Adam and Eve’s Apple, or was it a pomegranate?” she went on. “Pandora’s Box and Prometheus explain it so well too. Mankind has always been quite the sucker for power, a need to reconfigure the world in his own image and likeness. I, as Cinderella’s wicked stepmother, represent the way in which the world is understood when mankind abandons all responsibility for his actions. Her ugly stepsisters, of course, represent the malevolent fruits of such a horrid fate.”
“The death of Cinderella’s mother represents the death of western culture. Ask Humpty Dumpty. He’ll vouch for me about this. Ella’s father never took care of her mother, nor did he show her any respect. Now he’s stuck with us, his true and just deserts.
The interviewer listened quite attentively, taking copious notes.
“As everyone knows,” the horrid woman went on, “There’s always hope. I’m not happy to tell you this, but as you know from Perrault, the Brothers Grimm, and Charlotte Bronte, Ella’s fate isn’t necessarily hopeless. That’s where the Fairy Godmother and Handsome Prince come in. It’s not something I enjoy telling people but I’m bound to admit it here.”
“In a way,” she explained, “You could say that I might not have even existed were it not for man’s utter self~absorption. I have no separate ontological existence of my own, and I only show up when man stoops to the lowest he’s capable of. As I said before, about all those other characters I’ve referred to, we exist precisely in order to remind man of the borderlines over which he simply must, at all times avoid trespassing.”
This week, for Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie, we’re asked to write in Tale Weaver # 216
about a character who represents the Forces of Evil. A lifelong hard~core conservative and bookworm, I’ve always been quite insatiably interested in things like this.
How It Really Ends
“Ohl, polyester..O’Keefe, polyester..Olds, linen.. O’Malley, polyester.”
The confusing, unprecedented scene went on like this, for what seemed like light years at a time, and no one could understand the point of it.
“Parmely, polyester.. Petrocelli, linen…”
“Oy,” Quackenbush said. “What a dull, annoying sound that has to it, day in and day out.”
Finally Ringle got an idea to add a little variety to things. “Can you at least please tell us where the men’s and ladies’ rooms are?”
“They’re unnecessary at Death’s Door,” was the response.
Welcome to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers, where people from around the world post fiction in the same place.
Yet Some More Music
RICHARD DANAR’S MUSIC Here’s some music from a Facebook friend of mine. We’ve never once met in person but we’re both from the same part of Queens.
Purple Day For Epilepsy
For as long as I can remember I’ve always had an interest in epilepsy. It goes back to an old childhood problem of mine. Today is Purple Day for epilepsy research. Please read about this important day.
The Stranger
Exhausted beyond hope, Mabel finally died. Ten long years had passed since she first was diagnosed with the malady that took her life. Of her two lovely daughters, Harriet was married with a growing family, while Sylvia could never meet a decent man.
Clearly Sylvia was quite heartbroken about her seemingly unavoidable status of perpetual spinsterhood, but she was now obligated to attend to the responsibilities that would be involved with her mother’s funeral arrangements.
Finally the first day of the wake arrived. Family, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances were in attendance, expressing their condolences. Suddenly, a most handsome, distinguished looking gentleman approached Sylvia. “I’m James,” he introduced himself, as he told her how sorry he was about her loss.
Over the course of the two days immediately preceding the funeral, Sylvia and James quite enjoyed each other’s company, sharing conversation and coffee. She couldn’t avoid thinking there was something so fine and special about this charming, good~natured, soft~spoken fellow.
On the day of the funeral, everyone showed up, including James. He was also at the meal, later in the day, at a nearby restaurant.
Over the course of the ensuing weeks, however, James was no longer to be found. She assumed he was either a friend or relative of someone else’s in her family, so she asked everyone she possibly could for a re~introduction.
Oddly, no one among her relatives and friends had ever heard of anyone named James McGarrity, nor did anyone recognize anything about the way she described the enigmatic stranger. No one could remember having noticed him during the time of the wake and funeral either.
Heartbroken over her inexplicably confusing problem, she was driven to complete frustration. Eventually Harriet and Mabel decided to get together to take care of a lot of paperwork. The next day Harriet’s husband called Mabel to explain that he had found Harriet dead.
Today, the Haunted Wordsmith gives us Story Starter Challenge 24
Teaser Tuesday~26th March 2019
Today I’ve decided to take a chance on The Purple Blogger’s Teaser Tuesday. You can very easily find all the instructions at the link I’ve provided. Currently I’m reading Douglas R. Hofstadter’s ‘Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid.’
The following is my choice of the day~:
“Well, this is the kind of ‘heads~in~the~sand’ argument which you have to be willing to be willing to stomach if you are bent on seeing men and women running ahead of computers in these intellectual battles.”
It is still of great interest to ponder whether we humans can ever jump out of ourselves~or whether computer programs can jump out of themselves.”
