“I’ve just found out that my oldest friend, Earl, has died,” I told Paul. “We were friends in Jackson Heights until we were twelve years old. Then I moved to Lindenhurst.”
“Even today I can remember his parents’ thick Puerto Rican accents, and how his brother, Junior, used to pick on me. It just goes to show what happens when someone makes a really lasting impression. We never got a chance to meet again, in person, after September 11, 1971, though it might as well have been yesterday.”
I then went to Youtube to listen to Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were the Days”.
Welcome back to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. On her site, you can read the rules. Dale Rogerson has supplied this week’s photo prompt.
Saturday evening, after 5:00 p.m. Mass at St. Mary of the Isle in Long Beach, New York, was Father Brian Patrick Barr’s big party for the twenty fifth anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood in the Diocese of Rockville Centre. Here is just one of the highlights of the momentous occasion.
I recently went to John’s and Fran’s wedding, where everyone was, like me, Irish and from Queens.
It was an animated night with a wide variety of loud music, including some songs by the Eagles.
I was careful about the bar, not wanting to get drunk in the company of their family.
I should suppose I shall have a long wait for the day when I shall be able to keep my anxiety about crowds and noise in check. Until then, though, I can at least have a good laugh about it. For now I can keep on winning people’s hearts with my distinctive charm.
This is me first attempt at Sunday Whirl . Click the link to find out what it’s all about. Brenda Warren is in charge.
“He never expected to find that at the hardware store.” Have you ever noticed that there are all sorts of circumstances and environments where one often can count on finding things he shouldn’t expect to find there, or not finding things that should be there.
A perfect example is M.T.V. which, during my youth, was a groundbreaking music video channel. Now it no longer has any connection whatsoever to music, though it still covers pop culture of other kinds.
I’ve always had quite a significant interest in the Catholic Church’s intellectual world. Although I no longer watch television~not counting reruns on Youtube~I’d always enjoyed, in the past, watching Catholic shows on television. When I lived in Lindenhurst, I tried watching Telicare, the Rockville Centre Diocese’s official Catholic network. To my chagrin, they never showed any Catholic shows. All I could find were panel discussions with psychotherapists, case workers, and social workers; old movies; local high school sports; and telethons.
To this very day I can still remember an incident, when I was growing up, when my parents, my younger sister, and I were on our way to northeastern Pennsylvania to visit relatives. Somewhere during the course of the trip we stopped at a diner in which, the very name of the place advertised prominently that they sold chicken. When we asked for chicken, a dumbfounded employee explained that their menu included everything except chicken.
In yet another northeastern Pennsylvania moment, one day several years ago, I was trying to get home (which then was the Borough of Wyoming) from someplace in Wilkes~Barre. Because of my having been quite unfamiliar with my location, and lacking a G.P.S., I took it for granted that a sign I noticed, which said that Pittston, my mother’s hometown, was seven miles north of there, by way of that road, I attempted to follow the road. Within only a few hundred feet, I was confronted with a dead end.
If ever I chance to find things like bubble gum, livestock, and animal balloons, instead of hardware, at a hardware store, I’ll know very much better than to be even so much as the least bit surprised.Today’s Author
It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving, 1983, At twenty four years old, I’m on a plane home from Western New York, after having visited some relatives.
I can’t shake the feeling that I recognize that old black guy in front of me as a famous musician. “Duke Ellington?” I wonder. “Count Basie?”
At least one of them’s dead.
There’s a middle-aged couple next to him. The wife asks him, “Are you Cab Calloway?”
My anxiety attack is no more. I heave a sigh of relief.
I overhear Calloway say softly, “That handsome young gentleman back there won’t have to go crazy now.”
Each week Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us in Friday Fictioneers, as we write a story based upon a photo prompt.
This week’s photo was supplied by Lucy Fridkin.
“Henry and Peter made their daily trip to Erika’s House of Music at the South Bay Shopping Center.
The owner and her husband, as always, greeted them in their Austrian and German accents.
“The twenty second’s coming up,” Henry intoned.
“It’s interesting that J.F.K.was killed on the feast day of the patroness of music.”
“Yeah,” Peter reminded him. “So much of the nauseating Sexual and Cultural Revolutions of that era was set to such perfect music. A little charisma can be poisonous.”
“There’s good and bad in every era,” Henry noted as they looked around for Jimmy Page’s sheet music.
This week’s photo prompt was supplied by Bjorn Rudberg. Rochelle Wisoff~Fields guides us weekly in Friday Fictioneers, as each of us writes a hundred~word story based upon a photo prompt.
On the weekend of my fifty~seventh birthday my nephew (and Godson) Michael, and Erin, got married. The wedding was at Nostrano Vineyards in Milton, New York.
The scenery was perfect. I got a chance to hobnob with our relatives and Erin’s.
I couldn’t help being smitten by the view. Milton was named after the seventeenth~century Jacobin poet, author of “Paradise Lost”.
While visiting family in northeastern Pennsylvania, Reginald and Rachel took a walk on the local boardwalk.
“Isn’t this such a nice change from Long Beach’s boardwalk, honey?” Rachel pointed out.
“If we were there now,” her husband reminded her,”we’d be surrounded by teenagers with surfboards, Hasidic Jews in traditional black garb, and maniacs on bicycles.”
“It’s the perfect cure for our claustrophobia,”she couldn’t help noticing.
For countless hours they stayed there, enjoying the absolute silence and privacy, occasionally passing comments about the enigmatic triangle on the horizon.
“Too bad we don’t have one of those in New York”, she complained.
Adam Ickes provided our weekly photo prompt. Rochelle Wisoff~Fields is our Friday Fictioneers fearless leader.