Flash in the Pan: Galley

Trina rushed towards the restaurant, checking her watch. Swollen clouds ruptured three blocks from her destination. As she click-clacked up the sidewalk, soaked, her heel caught and the concrete whooshed up to meet her nose.

“Let me help you.” A firm hand grasped her arm, but too late. Hose ripped and knees bleeding, she turned towards the husky voice.

“I’m alright. You can let go now.” Trina shook off the warm fingers and swayed to her feet, clutching a package to her chest.

Probing eyes examined her. “You’re a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No, I’ve an appointment at the Galley Pump Bistro. There,” she pointed.

Chin down, his shoulders shook. “Me too.”

Trina glared and hobbled forward, one heel missing, rain dripping from her eyelashes.

The Maître de bounced on his heels. “Mr. Dave Eagers’ table, please.”

“I’m Dave Eagers.”

She turned. “Are you sure? I—your manuscript.”

~ * ~

The word limit for Galley is 150 words. I used all 150. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for the rules and join us.

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You Light Up My Life

Quick—no cheating. How many lights are on in your house? Forget the ceiling, think lower, say eye-level or thereabouts. Can you believe this list?

1. Nightlight in the bathroom
2. Nightlight in the kitchen
3. Clock on the stove
4. Clock on the microwave
5. Digital Clock radio and alarm in bedroom
6. TV black box
7. DVD player
8. Stereo (light on whether in use or not)
9. Cordless Dirt Devil in the laundry-room (at the ready when required)
10. Printer (always on)
11. PC Woofer (always on)
12. Modem (on most of the day)
13. PC Tower (on most of the day)
14. PC Monitor (on most of the day)
15. Cordless phone home base (always)

Some time ago, I heard talk one might save on hydro if TVs and PCs and their supporting hardware are unplugged when not in use. When might that be?

I see only three items in my list which are not in use all day long. I might be tempted to unplug them, but I need to know the payoff to me first. Would I remember to disconnect on a regular basis? Supposedly, most electronics now have a snooze mode when not in use (in limbo during coffee break), but I’m not sure what that does exactly. No-one explains when you buy all the new-fangled electronics how much energy you are saving when they are in sleep mode.

Recently, a full page in the newspaper advertised it’s possible to save 20% off your hydro bill. Call us and we’ll show you how. What’s the big secret? Why not include the tips in the same ad?

When I started this post, my intention wasn’t to talk about hydro savings. I wanted to count how many current electronic necessities in our lives are always ON: with tiny red, green or yellow beacons.  Why do I need tiny lights, I’m not working in the dark.

Microsoft Clipart

1. Even when I shut off my PC, why don’t the monitor, woofer/ speaker and printer shut off too? They’re all plugged into the same  power bar and CPU. Aren’t they?
2. When my stereo (which I never use anymore) is off, a red light stays on anyway. Always.
3. Since my DVD player and black box are connected to my TV, why do I need to manually power down each separately after the television is off?

See what I mean? Why do we need all these little lights when B is connected to A as is C etc.? Seems to me there must be a better way, especially IF by shutting them all off means $$ in your pocket: one button, one switch.

Excluding my TV, DVD, and radio, almost all the above are in use from morning until night—at my house—I know at yours too, right?

~~~

I want to confirm there is more to me than my interest in Flash and Bog Hops and commenting on blogs. I worry about life, the price of eggs and hydro. I  volunteer, take classes and look after my grandkids. Sometimes, I even participate in social activities (at least a couple of times a year–when I find time). I’m a go-go-go grandma. My days vanish in a flash.

With all these machines to lighten the load, do work faster, and have more time on my hands, I find I have less. I’m retired to heavens sakes!

And life costs more.

And I am technically challenged but I do have bright ideas.

And I’m always scrambling to find time to read!

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Let’s Cut the Crap!

A blogger wondered today where / how the backstory to my blog’s name, Let’s Cut the Crap, originated. Perhaps I had a post titled as such, she inquired?

No-one else has asked before. Now that I’ve brought it up, let me explain. At this point in my life I don’t have time to beat around the bush. I’m not here to sugar coat anything I post. If interesting insights into my life strike me, I’ll laugh about them here. So far, only my knees give me a headache. The name struck me as attention-grabbing, as well as coming off as no-nonsense.

Shortly after our exchange, I read an interesting article and by golly I have a post titled as such now. This is it.

I found the following post, mid-day, because unexpected free time fell into my lap. My jaw dropped after only a few paragraphs. By the time I was half-way through reading, I knew David Gaughran’s post must be shared with all of you.

http://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/publishers-behaving-badly-part-ive-lost-count/

Are you ready for this? I may not yet have experience with the big publishing world, but I realize the new reality for writers is developing into a cutthroat game of who gets the money. It’s all in the article.

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You will notice I’m posting mid-afternoon on Friday, something unheard of here. Today is the end of March Break for my grandchildren as well as for their other grandmother.  They have all gone swimming leaving me with an unexpected afternoon of freedom. Maybe I’ll manage to do some catching up or grab a book and disappear into its covers. Eh?

 

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Hot Flash x2

“There you are. Everything okay in here?”

Janie’s delicate lips quivered. “I broke-ted my storybook. Look.” She wailed brokenhearted, and clutched the book to her heaving little chest.

Vicky scooped up her daughter. “Don’t worry, honey. It was an accident. Mommy will fix it.”

 The word limit for Brokenhearted is 50 words. I used 44 today. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for rules and contributions.

~ * ~

“Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Walsh.”

 Martha’s heart pounded like a jungle drum.

 “We interviewed you last October?”

 She nodded and patted her graying hair.

 “Good news. Hotel Bianca would like to hire you as Head Housekeeper.”

Martha clapped her hands then dropped them, her face creased with delight.

 The word limit for Elated is 50 words. I used all 50. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for rules and contributions.

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Flash in the Pan – Book

The pre-schooler colours with solemn concentration. Wispy blonde hair tumbles over her face. She peers up beneath dark lashes.

“Ga-mah?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Whatcha reading?”

“Hm, about a girl with indigo eyes, who likes to draw, and colour—like you.”

“Are you finished now?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I wanna show you somefing.”

Rachael dashes down the hall and returns hands behind her back.

“What’s that?”

“A new book—look! Mommy got it. Ga-mah? Read me a story?”

“Come,” Grandma pats her lap.

“Ga-mah, Can I have a apple first?”

“Of course,” Grandma waves forward. “Come.”

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Flash in the Pan – Wake

They were siblings, five (Able) and almost nine (Ready). As girls will, they fought like cats and dogs—sometimes.

Able:  You are wrecking my life. You almost ribbed my new book.

Ready:  You pushed me—like this—with your elbow. I’m telling Daddy.

Able: You are in Grade 3, almost four, Ready, and eight—almost nine. I’m just little. But I know the rules. Big sisters have-ta look after little sisters. I’m not mad at you, but you’re not nice to me.

Ready: You are such a crybaby. I’m still telling Daddy. I’m going to play Moshi Monsters on Daddy’s Laptop.

Able: Wake for me, Wake for me!

~ * ~

Click http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for the rules of this challenge.

The word limit for Wake is 125 words. I used 110.

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Curious Meets Crazy

I hate cold coffee and am forever reheating a cup in the microwave. Why does the mug handle end up in the back even when I place it facing out, or, no matter how long it spins to reheat?

My old washing machine ate socks; I became used to losing them and expected the loss. What changed? The new machine hasn’t gobbled any—even once—in four years. What gives?

When are you officially a senior? 50? 55? 60? 65? Businesses used to offer discounts on a wide range of products and services for customers age fifty and over. Once the demographic reports on baby boomers came out, perks dwindled, an inch at a time. Too many seniors are approaching age sixty-five. Why is this information a surprise?

McDonald’s offers seniors a coffee discount—size small only. Some ‘franchises’ don’t offer any reduction at all. Others give you the same price cut whether you order a small or a large cup. Why the differences?

Why do meteors fall through the atmosphere but don’t hit anything? I’m pleased not to hear of catastrophic damages, but why is it they never hit any cities or tall buildings? Why are burned remnants always found in remote areas? How lucky are we?

Why do I always want to do something else when I’m in the middle of any particular project? Even when I’m half-way into an absorbing book, another one catches my eye; I’m impatient to get into the new one no matter how exciting the current one I’m reading.

Why is my cat driving me crazy? I threw drop-sheets on my sofa to discourage her from playing Tarzan. She found an opening no matter how I draped, tucked or arranged the sheets to drag on the floor. She discovered a new game called ‘run under the drop-sheets and hang on the sofa underneath’. Alright! W-e-e-e-e. Will my sofa last until next Monday morning and her manicure appointment?

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Is It Too Late To Follow The Dream?

I am pleased and honoured to share with you the following guest post.

Angela Ackermanis one half of The Bookshelf Muse blogging duo, and co-author of The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Expression.  Listing the body language, visceral reactions and thoughts associated with seventy-five different emotions, this brainstorming guide is a valuable tool for showing, not telling, emotion. She lives in Calgary, Alberta, in the shadow of the Rockies, with her family, dog and one slightly zombie-like fish.

~ * ~

How many times have you run into someone, and when it comes out that you’re a writer, they say, “You’re so lucky. I would love to write a book someday.” Or maybe a spark lights up in their eyes as they tell you this great idea they have for a story, or their hands get all animated as they describe a novel they read, falling right back into that world.

What you’re seeing is Passion. It might be only a glimmer, or a full-out flame, but either way, there’s something big going on inside them, if they only knew how to set it free.

I’ve run into a lot of writers-in-waiting:  people who love books and to read, who have big imaginations and who enjoy the lyrical nature of how words fit together. Maybe they journal, or fiddle with poems or haikus, or create jingles in their mind as they watch cheesy TV commercials. The point is, they are writers in all but name. Oh, if only they knew!

Sometimes when they tell me I’m lucky to be a writer, I’ll ask them, “Well, why don’t you become one too?”

Often than glow that lit them up only a second before clouds over. They say things like, “Oh but I couldn’t. That’s just a dream. I don’t know a thing about writing.” Or, “I don’t have time between work and the kids and the gardening and the house. In fact, did you see the peeling paint on the fence? I have to get on that soon or the whole thing will rot away…” and the conversation becomes a list of chores needing to be done, work waiting to fill the hours.

It makes me sad, because that writer-in-waiting is still inside, wanting to be let free. It wants to be more than a dream. It wants to make the journey.

Being a writer (or following any dream for that matter), takes courage. We come into it knowing little, but passion sustains us and then bit by bit, we learn and grow. Sometimes it’s about waiting for the right time, but mostly it’s about MAKING TIME.

Our world is so busy and frantic. There are bills to pay yes, and housework and meetings and kids circling like piranhas asking about dinner, but there is also passion. Make time for it. If you want to write, pick up a pen. Apply to paper. Let the words flow. No matter where you are in life, how old or young you are, it’s never too late to turn a dream into a reality.

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I Was Born This Way

I’ll tell you how it happened. My daughter’s at fault for the second time.(a.k.a. Mrs. G., identity protected).

After a year or more, my daughter had a free Saturday and  time to check out garage sales. We packed up the kiddies early and off we drove. Not much was in the newspaper, but we hoped to find unadvertised sales along the way. The pickings were slim and I was the lone spender. I found two great books: Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons and The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch for fifty cents each.

Mrs. G. turned an unexpected corner and I asked where she was taking us. She smiled with a wicked grin on her face. We were in SPCA territory.

“It’s something new for the kids to do and  maybe we can check out current pricing,” she said. My grandkids were excited. (I mentioned a while back I might consider getting a kitten later—in the fall—maybe. Or, maybe not. My mistake.)

We watched a three-month-old kitten because the fuzz ball was entertaining. I liked its fur: various shades of pale grey like smoke and fog. The one and two-year-old cats had the forlorn look you see on television commercials advertising abused animals. I wanted to leave but my granddaughters weren’t ready yet.

I came across a handsome two-year-old grey cat, similar to the kitten but it slept on even when I knocked on the window. I didn’t want a cat that old anyway, already set in its habits. What? Hush up brain.

Another cat was sleeping faced away from the window. I saw a long, sausage squashed between the wall and the kitty litter box. Ug-ly, I thought, and joined the grandkids for a while, but wandered back again. The brindled (sausage) cat was awake. She came up to the window when I tapped it, giving the glass a welcoming body rub, looking up at me. In an instant, I fell in love. Something irritated my eyes. My daughter’s face showed surprise and the grandchildren looked worried.

No-one was more taken aback than me.  One-year-old Didi was mine. On the way home, we renamed her to Lady Gaga (my daughter’s suggestion). I was gaga over her. Look at her; she’s one of a kind!

Day three:  I feel we’re old friends already and I think Lady Gaga likes me. She plays well but misses me and jump onto my lap crying for attention. She initiates cuddling, cheek to cheek. I’ve accomplished next to nothing since Saturday. Last night I was trying to type while she slept, curled on my lap. Heaven.

~ * ~

Crawford

The last time my daughter drove me to the SPCA was after she’d left home at seventeen. She worried I was lonely living by myself—I wasn’t. I didn’t want a cat; I missed her.

“Let’s just look,” she said. “Nothing wrong with looking, is there?”

I looked and was smitten seventeen years ago too. His name was changed to Crawford.

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Introducing: Inanimate Objects

Perspectives is a biyearly literary magazine that is dedicated to giving life to inanimate objects. It goes a step beyond the proverb, “Don’t judge a man before you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.” Perspectives gets the imagination to step into an inanimate object’s skin and walk around in it. Delve into the world of inanimate objects. Read Perspectives. Direct any questions or feedback to the founding editor, Monique Berry, at perspectivesmagazine@gmail.com

To read this exciting issue click:  http://1perspectives.webs.com/pmjuly2012.htm

~ * ~

As well as introducing you to the latest issue of Perspectives,  I take this opportunity for blatant self-promotion (I am blushing, can’t you tell). You’ll recognize me by my picture between its covers.

I’m certain you’ll have lots of questions for the editor after  reading the unique articles. Go now, enjoy; afterwards, I hope you will share with your friends.

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