Paying Up at the Library

Peter, Sally, Mort and I were on our way to the library.

Okay, it was wasn’t our first choice.

The afternoon had started out with a peaceful game of croquet in our back yard.

But with one thing and another—okay, I admit it. Sally and Mort really don’t know how to play croquet properly. “Decimate thine opponent” really isn’t an approved rule. Or an option.

But it is their favourite move, consisting, as it does of one person hitting their ball close to their opponent’s ball and then calling “FORE!” and smacking that unfortunate sucker into orbit.

Between the four of us, we saw a lot of orbits in that game.

And we didn’t even get to finish.

Because one of Sally’s more spectacular shots put Peter’s shiny blue ball right through the kitchen window.

You know, the window that Sally took out whilst trying to flip an omelet on the fateful day that Peter and I met?

Yeah.

That window.

Anyways, as fate would have it, Mom and Baby Ivy were in said kitchen when said window exploded.

Oops.

Thus our expulsion, not only from the game, but from the immediate vicinity.

Don’t underestimate the power of a ticked-off Mama.

And, because I had a library fine to pay that I had been avoiding all week, we decided that the time had come to do it. I was actually pleased to have the company. There is safety in numbers. Supposedly.

During the walk, I was reciting what I would say to the girlbehindthedesk when we got there. “Hi! I’m Gwen Hart. I need to pay a fine.” Or “Hi, I’m Gwen Hart. I need to pay a fee.”

I had discussed, in depth, which covered it and sounded more cultured and sophisticated, ‘fine’ or ‘fee’.

But my wretched non-helpers were divided.

Thus my continuing vacillation.

“I need to pay a fine.” Or “I need to pay a fee.”

And yes, this went on all the way to the library.

Ahem…

When we got there, I took a deep breath, pulled open the imposing and rather intimidating front door and, my steps lagging, made my way to the front desk.

I don’t know why this sort of thing bugs me. I mean, isn’t paying a fine for having returned a book late just the price of the whole library experience?

Let’s simply agree it does and move on, shall we?

The girlbehindthedesk watched me as I approached. No smile.

Ugh. This was going to be just as difficult as I had imagined.

I moved up to the counter and took another deep, sustaining breath.

I looked her in the eye and said (I am not making this up), “I have to pee.”

Both of us stared at each other for a heartbeat or two.

Then, I just laid a dollar on the counter and the four of us left.

Even Sally couldn’t have topped that.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post with the understanding that all words be used at least once. All the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

Today, I’m using: price ~ approve ~ call ~ cover ~ fine

They were supplied by my patient and wonderful friend, Karen at Baking in a Tornado! Thank you!!!

Now see what my friends have created for this challenge with their words!

Baking In A Tornado

Climaxed

Try, Try Again

 Dad took Mom fly fishing. Someplace watery and peaceful.

He seems to be ‘taking her away’ a lot. Between you and me, I think he’s trying to preserve her mental health.
Sometimes, I wish he’d take me and Peter away as well.

Especially today.

First little background…

We live in Sally’s house. She bought it with her first paycheck from her first movie. (I guess it’ll come as no surprise when I tell you she is well-paid.) It is the largest in the neighbourhood and looks—from the outside—fairly grand.

On with my story:

The day started as days do—tranquil. Quiet.

With a couple of my windows open, I could hear the birds singing madly in the backyard. It was such a … peaceful sound.

I could faintly hear Sally and Mort downstairs laughing and banging pots and pans. Probably stirring up breakfast in their kitchen. The four of us (them, Peter, and I) had stayed up quite late watching old horror movies. Then, when discussion of the ridiculous and very unlikely rescue of the heroine by an overly-agile leading man had grown heated, Sally had taken it upon herself to prove to the rest of us that it could be done.

Peter hadn’t even gone out the door till after 1.

I stretched and reveled in being able to spend a few more peaceful minutes in bed.

And that’s when said peace was shattered.

I told you Sally earns quite a bit of money.

Well, she does.

And that’s my theory for what happened…happening.

The garden door to my room burst open. Now, normally, when something like this happens, Sally is the figure entering.

What came in was—definitely not Sally.

Nope. Three large figures, dressed head to toe in camo, toting weapons and sporting the very latest in total-head-coverings.

Not what usually steps in from the garden.

Did you know hearts can stop from sheer surprise?

Well, I’m pretty sure mine did.

I didn’t even get a chance to react. One of them—I’m assuming the ringleader—pointed to me and one of the other guys scooped me up. The third fastened my hands together with a zap strap and then ‘scooper guy’ threw me over his shoulder.

The force with which I hit that hard shoulder drove the breath from my lungs. But, still, I managed a fairly credible scream.

The ringleader spun around and motioned to my mouth.

The third guy applied a gag (emphasis on ‘gag’) and the three of them--and me--continued forward.

All of this took place in near silence. I mean, these guys were big and still they hardly made a sound!

We left my room and made our way up the hallway to the kitchen.

My scream must have alerted Mort. He had just reached the top stair. “SALLY! CODE RED!” he shouted as the leader pounced.

Man, that guy could move!

The man thumped Mort on the head and my gangly brother-in-law went down in an unconscious heap.

The other two looked at their leader and he motioned toward Mort’s hands and face.

Another zap strap and gag were applied. Though what they thought Mort would do when he was unconscious, I’ll never know. He struggles when he's awake.

We left Mort and started down the stairs. Me, still draped like an old carpet over second guy’s shoulder.

In my summer Pj’s which had been entirely adequate for sleeping—in the summer—but which were totally inadequate for a kidnapping.

Sigh.

We stepped out of the curve of the stairs.

At this point, most of the downstairs apartment is open to view. I guess that’s what ‘open concept' means.

Sally was nowhere in sight.

I blinked—the only part of me I could still move.

“Sally!” the ringleader said in a warning tone. “We’ve got your sister!”

I felt suddenly chilled, wishing I was the aforementioned old carpet.

And that an army platoon or two would appear out of nowhere.

The men spread out.

I don’t know where she came from, but suddenly Sally was there, swinging a heavy frying pan.

It connected solidly with the noggin of the third man and, like Mort before him, he dropped like a stone.

Still carrying the pan, Sally leaped over him and darted up the stairs.

The ringleader charged up after her.

So much for ‘We’ve got your sister…’

I didn’t see what happened, but I heard it. There was a heavy thud and boss guy slid down several steps and into our view, bleeding profusely from a crease in the side of his head.

Second guy let out a bellow, dropped me without even a by-your-leave, and he, too, started up the stairs.

Now, call me stupid, but something told me I needed to see what happened next, so I crept up the stairs behind him.

Just in time to see Sally swing down from the top of the stairs on the rope she had attached to the chandelier to prove her point the night before.

The point being someone could swing from a rope and accomplish an almighty rescue.

I’ll never question again.

Remember when I said these guys were packing heat?

Well, up till this time, their guns had remained holstered. I guess they thought Sally would be easy pickings.

Wrong. Remember the kidnapping attempt when she was filming in Brazil? Yeah. That.

Sally swung down in an arc and hit the guy just as he was pulling his gun.

Right in the chest.

The guy, not the gun.

He performed a spectacular back flip, right into the front door, which burst open, spilling him, unconscious, into the glorious morning light.

The light caressed his black hood and pristine camos like warm honey.

When Mom and Dad got back that evening, Sally was giving me a manicure at the kitchen table. Peter was hovering close by. Something about 'not wanting to let me out of his sight ever again'.

Mort had gone to bed early, claiming a headache.

Once more, it was peaceful.

Serene, even.

Mom hung her purse from a hook in the front hall closet and turned to us. “Hello, my sweethearts!” she said brightly. “We had a glorious day! How was yours?” 

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post—all words to be used at least once. All the posts are unique as each writer has received their own set of words. And here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. 

My words: fly fishing ~ manicure ~ tranquil ~ ringleader were sent to me, via Karen, from my good friend, Rena! Thank you, Sweet Girl!

See what my friends have done with their words!

 BakingIn ATornado     

TheDiary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 

Climaxed  

Part-timeWorking HockeyMom 

Getting it Right

 “Wow! That has to be the most amazing tree we’ve ever had!”

Sally grinned at me. “Right?” She moved forward and adjusted one of the lights. “I knew as soon as I saw it that it had to be ours!”

Mort spoke up, “And what makes it truly amazing is the fact that it fits in here like it was made for the space!”

Mom, Peter and I looked around.

Mort had a point. This front, ‘living room’ part of Sally’s house (well, technically, it belongs to her, but the rest of us, except for Peter, also call it home.) with its 30-foot vaulted ceiling, is perfect for a 29-and-a-half-foot tree.

Which is what we were looking at.

A tree that, according to Sally, was just sitting there at the Tree Corral (astute business name) at the end of the block, surrounded by boxes and packing crates and largely being ignored by the passers-by.

Mort and Sally opened the nearest box of decorations and pulled out our tree star.

“Hmmm . . .” Mom said. “Perhaps it’s time for a new one?”

I probably don’t have to say it—that star has been through a lot.

“Mort and I will do that later!” Sally said.

Mom nodded as she also opened a box. Then she looked up at the tree. “I think this is the first tree with enough space for all of our decorations.” She looked at Peter. "Could you fetch the ladder?"

He nodded and disappeared.

Sally’s mouth was a round ‘O’ of excitement. “Seriously?! ALL the decorations?” She dove for another in the stack of boxes. “Even these?” She began to pull out the decorations that were . . . less than perfect. And far from the quality found in your average dollar store at Christmas time. These were the nearest and dearest to her heart. Those she and I had made during our years of school. The flocked, tattered snowmen that had spent as much time in our hands during the season as they had on the tree. The penguins, Santas, angels, farm animals and puppies, ditto; each painstakingly crafted from toilet-paper rolls, wire, string, pipe-cleaners, the occasional light bulb, and tons (and tons) of glue.

Happily, Sally and Mort began to find places for them in the grasshopper-green boughs.

“It’s pretty amazing that you managed to get a pre-lit one,” Mom said as she began stringing endless swaths of garland around the wide girth of the tree.

“I know!” Sally giggled. “I have to keep pinching myself to know that this is real!”

“Well, if you get tired of pinching yourself, I’m happy to help,” I put in.

Sally stuck out her tongue at me. Then reached for another handful of ornaments.

It took the better part of an hour, but, eventually, the five of us managed to empty every. Single. Box.

Whew.

All that was left was the star at the top.

We were standing, looking from our tattered veteran to that one empty spot when the doorbell rang.

Peter, who had just stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water hollered from the front entryway, “I’ll get it!”

The four of us stayed where we were, enjoying the sight of the oversized tree in the oversized spot.

“I thought you might be able to use this,” a deep voice said.

We turned.

Our Peter’s Uncle Peter was standing in the doorway, holding up an oversized star.

Huh. How did he know . . .?

Mom hurried over to him, hand outstretched. “Pete! I’m so glad you could come!”

You have to know that the rest of the household has been watching this developing friendship for over a month now. Let’s face it, when a man’s first introduction to a family includes being covered from tip to toe in paint—and he returns—there is something going on.

He set the star down, took Mom’s hand in both of his and smiled at her, his sun-browned face crinkling at the corners. At times like this, his resemblance to his nephew, our Peter, is remarkable.

“A little bird told me you might need this.” He picked up the star.

I looked at Peter, who winked.

“It’s perfect, Pete!” Mom smiled at him and, for just a moment, my heart turned over. I mean, how awesome would it be for Mom to find someone after all these years alone? My eyes turned unwillingly toward Sally. Well . . . nearly alone.

He and Mom moved toward the tree. “The only challenge is how to get it up there.”

“I can do it!” Sally sang out.

My heart stopped. Please, no.

“We just need the right tool,” Uncle Pete said. “And the talent! I think Mary’s trusty step ladder, here, and a couple of men named Peter can get the job done.”

I started breathing again.

Three minutes later, it was done. Uncle Pete plugged the star into the top string of lights and his nephew plugged the other end into the wall and we were in business.

The tree lit up from bottom to top.

It was . . . magical.

Uncle Pete grinned down at my mom, then turned for a final look at his star before beginning the climb back down. His eyes were drawn to something outside our window. “Huh,” he said. “Why are the cops here?”

Mom’s face went pale and her eyes went, out of habit, to Sally. “C-cops?”

Sally shrugged and wandered back to the tree, adjusting a couple of ornaments. 

“Sally?”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Why does everyone always think it’s something to do with me?”

“Because it usually is,” I said.

Sally sighed. “All Mort and I did this morning was go to the lot. Throw some money at the man. Push the tree over onto the car. And drive home!”

Mom scratched her head. “Really?”

“Really!”

Just then the front doorbell rang.

I clutched Peter’s hand. A reflex thing.

Sally hopped happily to the door and swung it wide. “Hello, officers! Come in!”

“Hey, Sally!” one of the officers said. “We’re here to investigate a theft.” He and his partner stepped into the foyer, which opened directly into the front room—in full view of our new tree. He looked up at it. “Of this tree.”

“Wha-at?” Mom looked like she was going to faint. Uncle Pete put an arm around her.

Sally spoke up. “I didn’t steal it! I bought it!”

The officer frowned. “The tree-lighting coordinator reported it stolen.”

Sally stared at him. “What does she have to do with it?”

“Apparently she and her crew were in the process of decorating. Then they took a break. When they came back, it was gone.”

Sally blinked.

I stared at her. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her actually . . . react to one of her own conflicts.

 “Well why was it at the lot?”

“It was beside the lot.”

“Oh.”

Mort spoke up. “Sally just threw $200.00 at the man and he told her to take any tree.”

Sally shrugged. “I thought that included this one.”

The officers looked at Sally. Then at the tree. Then at Sally again.

“I’m happy to pay the extra,” Sally put in.

One officer stepped back and looked at the great front doors. Then at the tree. Then back at the doors. He grinned at Sally. “How about we come to an agreement?”

It took all of us. We managed to peel off our more precious decorations and speed the tree out those doors and onto our lawn, where it was set up in lonely glory for all to see.

The neighbourhood celebrations were moved to the area of the park across the street and, by the time they started, no one even remembered that Sally (and Mort) had mistakenly stolen Christmas.

The neighbourhood donated a much smaller tree to the Hart household, which was duly decorated, in the shade of its much larger brother in the front yard.

And you know what? In spite of Sally—or maybe because of her, all was merry and bright.

Proving that, sometimes--not often--she gets it right.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Use Your Words is a writing challenge. Each month we participants donate several words and/or phrases to our noble leader, Karen, who then re-distributes them.

The catch is, none of us knows who will get our words and what will be done with them.

Totally fun!

My words this month were: conflict ~ grasshopper ~ peel ~ speed ~ tool And given to me, by my friend Rena at:  https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog. Thanks, Rena! :)

You've read mine, now hop over and see what the other participants have created!

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking InATornado

WanderingWeb Designer

Climaxed

What TFSarah

Part-timeWorking Hockey Mom

 

 

 

Socked

Okay, in hindsight, ‘going to the park’ was probably a good idea.

Being cooped up in lockdown with Sally AND Mort can sometimes resemble being in lockup with Psycho Sophia and her henchman Brainless Bobby.

That’s a lot of ups and downs.

Ahem…

I know for a fact that Mom had had enough.

It was her suggestion, after all, that the three of us could, in her words, ‘use some fresh air’.

Admittedly, she had a reason for her less-than-patient, overly clinical attitude.

Sally, in an effort to show Mort how to flip a pancake, had actually flipped the pan.

Right through the window over the kitchen sink.

Which would have been bad enough. But following the whole pillow-fight-until-someone-puts-a-foot-through-the-TV-screen debacle as it did.

And this preceded by…

Never mind. Let’s just say Mom was justified and leave it at that.

So we found ourselves at the park, tails humbly and firmly tucked. 

I'm Socially Distanced from anyone who counts (ie. everyone NOT Sally and Mort.) watching the pair of them play their version of soccer.

It was a bright, warm, glorious afternoon. Perfect for visiting the park.

That is if you’re a normal person.

Doing normal ‘park’ things…

Our visit had already resulted in profuse apologies to one family for mowing down their four-year-old when he managed to insinuate himself somewhere into the action. And an offer to pay another family for cleaning when Mort missed one of Sally’s field-clearing kicks and it ended with her rainbow-coloured soccer ball landing squarely (and with some force) in the center of their gi-normous bowl of potato salad.

I looked at my watch.

We’d been here a grand total of 17 minutes.

Sigh.

Off to my left, I saw Sally wind up for another of her ‘field goal’ kicks.

Mort was ready.

Which is to say he was standing some little ways away.

With a huge, red ‘X’ painted on his head.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. There was no actual X.

Just an imaginary one that seems real.

I covered my own head, just in case…

Sally belted the ball.

It flew, straight and perfect toward Mort.

For the first time, ever, Mort managed to get beneath it and bunt it with his enormous noggin.

I was so surprised that I forgot, for the moment, to keep my hands in their usual protective posture.

You have to know that Mort’s aim sadly lacks the…finesse…of Sally’s.

But what it loses in acuity, it makes up for in speed.

By the time I realized it was coming toward me, giving credible homage to the velocity of light, I could do little else but make a half-hearted and feeble gesture toward my soon-to-be belted cranium.

I told myself death was acceptable because I had fought the good fight and briefly (because that’s all the time I had) considered closing my eyes.

Hmmm…death visible or invisible…

And then, just as I took in the short sharp breath that would quite possibly be my last, a long, muscular arm shot out of nowhere and snatched the author of my demise before it could become.

And I was suddenly looking up into the warmest, most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen.

I admit it. I stared.

Below the eyes, a pair of firm, perfect, masculine lips curled into an equally gorgeous smile.

“Hello,” a smooth, deep voice said. “I’m Peter.”

 

 

Use Your Words is a challenge issued by the Great Karen from her lofty throne at Baking in a Tonado. And we, her loyal subjects hasten to comply...

Each month, we volunteer words, which Karen then shuffles and re-distributes. We don't know who will get our words. Or what they will do with them.

Until now!

My words this month? clinical ~ fought ~ insinuate ~ perfect ~ tail

There were supplied by my wonderful friend, Rena at: Wandering Web Designer 

Rena, I (and Sally and Gwen) thank you. You are amazing!

Here are the other participants. Read them, I guarantee it'll be a treat!

Baking In A Tornado                  

Wandering Web Designer

Climaxed 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

What TF Sarah

Elevated

“Well, I can’t believe you’d just recycle it without at least letting me know it had come!”

“Come on, Sal, it was just a stupid letter from the bank. One of those ‘We can make you glowingly rich if you give us all your money’ offers.”

“Addressed to me!”

“Or ‘Occupant’.”

“Well, it was my first one and I would like to have been able to at least read it.”

Mort spoke up for the first time. “Isn’t it still there?”

We both looked at him.

“Isn’t it still there? I mean trash day isn’t until tomorrow. So doesn’t that mean the letter will still be in the bin at home?”

“Huh.” Sally suddenly grinned. “Yeah! Clever boy, Mort!” She and Mort shared a high five.

“Come on, you two.” Mom waved a hand. “The elevator’s here.”

“I love these old elevators,” Sally said as she and Mort followed Mom and me inside. “The ones with the old accordion gates. It’s like stepping back into time!”

“Yeah.” Mort’s freckled face was dimpled with smiles. “Cool!”

He and Sally carefully pulled the door shut.

I shook my head. “Well they make me nervous.” It’s true. They do.

Mom looked at me. “Don’t worry, Dear. They inspect these things all the time. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe!” She pushed the button for ‘six’.

I snorted. Of course, we were going to the sixth floor. Why couldn’t the eye doctor take up residence closer to the ground? Like sensible people?

The elevator groaned and started to rise. Slowly. I rolled my eyes and leaned against the brass rail that ran around the inside wall.

Mort and Sally were watching the floor indicator above the door as it passed the two. The three. The four.

And that’s where it stopped.

Along with elevator. With a galvanic jerk that nearly sent us all to our knees.

I gripped the rail. Perfect.

“There’s no box,” Mom said.

“What?” I looked at her. She was indicating the wall beside the controls. “No box.”

“No phone?”

She shook her head.

“Better and better.” I pulled out my phone. “Well I, for one, am not about to…” I held the phone up. Then lifted it above my head. Then walked around the prison…erm…elevator. Then shoved the useless thing back into my pocket.

“No reception?” Mom asked.

“Of course not,” I told her. “We’ve actually stepped back in time.”

“Oooh!” Sally clapped her hands excitedly. “An adventure!”

“Cool!” Mort added.

“Are you kidding me?” Okay, I wasn’t in the best of moods to start with. Because…letter. And maybe a bit of animosity. And now this?

Sally bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

I put out a hand. “Please stop that.”

She did, but her wide grin went on. And on.

 “Well, we’ll just have to wait until we’re discovered,” Mom said.

I stared at her. “In this centuries-old box? Hanging from a geriatric string hundreds of feet in the air?”

“Honey, I’m sure it’s been inspected…”

“Then why didn’t they install a call-box?”

Mom was silenced.

We slid to the floor, well, Mom and I did. Sally and Mort were making fun new discoveries.

“Look, Mort. Behind this little door is some of the old wiring!’

“Cooool.”

“And this little light. I don’t ever think I’ve seen a bulb like that.”

“Nice.”

“Wow. Think how old this elevator must be! Probably the oldest one in the whole city!”

Or the oldest one…ever. I tried not to listen.

“I think they just painted over the old wallpaper. Look. It’s flocked. I’ll bet it’s as old as the elevator itself!” The two of them went on.

I put my earbuds in and turned on some music.

Eight songs later, Sally, who had finally been convinced to sit down by the entreaties of a tearful Mom, got to her feet. “Well, I’m not going to sit around here and wait. Come on, Mort.”

I pulled my earbuds out. “What?”

“We’ll be right back.” Sally climbed on Mort’s shoulders.

“Can you reach it?” he asked.

“Yep!”

I stood up as well. “What are you…?”

Sally was pushing up on a little hatch in the ceiling.

“It’s a door,” she said. “Probably for the people who inspect this elevator.”

“Sally, it’s never been inspected in its entire existence.”

Sally grabbed the upper edge. Then she pulled herself up. “Hey! Lookit this!” A moment later, a rope ladder tumbled down from the hatch. “Come on Mort!”

Mort tested it with a foot. Then with his weight. “Looks good.” He started to climb.

Mom stood and put out a hand. “Mort, honey, I’m not sure if this is wise.”

I rolled my eyes. Sally and/or Mort and ‘wise’ in the same sentence?

“It’ll be fine, Mom. We’ll be right back!” He disappeared.

Mom and I stared up at the little hatch, listening to the sounds of the two of them finding their way out.

“Yay!” we heard them say, faintly. Obviously, they had been successful.

Mom and I sat down once more. And waited.

I kept expecting to hear the sounds of men and equipment. Maybe a siren or two.

Nothing.

Then…

“We’re back!”

Mom and I looked up to see Mort’s smiling face in the hatch opening. “Here. Take these!”

He handed down a little tray with four ice cream cones in it.

Mom and I got up and reached for them. “Erm…”

“We’re coming down!”

First Mort, then Sally descended the ladder and were once again standing with us in our little box.

Mom and I stared at them.

“Sally,” Mom began. “Did you…?”

“Better start eating them,” Sally said. “You don’t want them to melt.”

Instinctively, I reached for one of the cones and started licking. It did taste good.

Mom did the same.

Sally and Mort happily sat down, enjoying the treat.

Just then, we heard the sounds of knocking. Someone…outside. “Anyone in there?!”

“Yes!” Mom and I jumped to our feet. “Yes! We’re in here!”
“Stand away from the doors. We’ll get you out!”

The doors opened a crack and we could see the tip of a large pry bar. Then, as the doors were forced further apart, we could see faces. And emergency gear.

Hallelujah.

Finally, the doors were forced fully back. A man in a fireman’s hat was looking up at us.

“You folks been in here long?”

“Oh, an hour or so,” Mom said.

He looked at the ice cream cones melting in our hands. “An hour?”

“It was so cool!” Sally said, jumping to her feet. “This is the most awesome place! Have you seen the old wiring and lightbulbs?”

“Uh…yeah, we have.”

The four of us were helped down to the floor by some very confused-looking emergency workers. 

We thanked them and headed for the nearest stairway. 

Finally, standing, once more, in the foyer on the good old ‘safe’ ground level, I couldn’t wait any longer. “Sally, when you left, didn’t you go to get help?”

She looked at me. “Are you kidding? And miss all the fun?” 

 

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words this month were: animosity ~ elevator ~ letter ~ recycle.  And given to me by my sweet friend, Rena at : https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Come and see what my other friends have created! 

BakingIn ATornado                   

WanderingWebDesigner             

Part-timeWorking Hockey Mom    

Climaxed                                      

TheCrazy MamaLlama                            

 

Learning Manners

“Well I’m so glad to be able to have this chance to get to know you, Mrs. Townsend!” Mom took a sip of tea and smiled at the red-headed woman sitting opposite her in our living room.

“Likewise, Emma!” the woman winked. “And it’s ‘Mary’, please.”

Mom nodded.

Mary went on. “Of course I needed a behind-the-scenes glimpse of how your family survives when I realized that you, too were the mother of . . . one of ‘those’ kids. Whose mere existence is a life-changing-event.”

Mom nodded sagely and took another sip of tea. “Of course I’ve had mine a bit longer than you’ve had yours.”

“How old is Sally?” Mary asked.

Mom sighed.

I broke in. “I’m quite sure she’s been with us for—oh—a thousand years or more, right Mom?”

She smiled. “At times, it seems so.” She looked at Mary. “Sally is eighteen.”

Mary pushed the fingers of one hand through her fiery hair. “Eighteen. And Gary is eleven.”

Mom smiled sympathetically. “You have lots to look forward to.”

Now it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“By the way, how did your family end up here?”

Mary took a bite of a cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a strange story, actually.”

Mom smiled and settled back in her chair. “I like strange stories.”

“Well, my husband, Emmett, had been out of work since the pandemic started. He’s an auto mechanic. A really good one. But with no one using their cars, his boss simply laid everyone off.”

Mom nodded sympathetically.

“Anyway, he sent his resume to a company here and apparently they liked his profile and it didn’t take much convincing for them to invite him here for an interview.”

“That’s pretty exciting!” Mom said, offering Mary another cookie.

“Well, when you’ve been out of work for as long as he has, with COVID and everything, it sure is!” She smiled. “He got all his ducks-in-a-row and came. Sadly, he didn’t get that job. And to top things off, his car literally laid down and died just after his interview. Transmission.”

Mom winced. “So what did he do?”

Mary smiled. “The tow truck took him to a nearby repair place and Emmett got to talking with the guys there, and, before he knew it, he had a job offer.”

“Well, I’m glad you ended up here. And even more glad you chose our neighbourhood!”

“We like it. And now with our Gary finding a kindred spirit in your Sally . . .” She frowned. “By the way, where did they go?”

Both women looked at me.

I shrugged. “They said something about teaching Old Man Smith’s dog, Tanner, some manners . . .”

Mom snorted. “Gwen! You rhymed.”

I shrugged. “Don’t worry it won’t go to my . . .” Something moved on the front lawn. I leaned closer to the great front windows.

“What is it, hun?” Mom asked.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would guess it’s Old Man Smith’s dog, Tanner. Running for all he’s worth. And crying . . .”

“And learning some manners?” I could hear the smile in Mom’s voice.

“Well, learning something. He’s got clothes on.”

“Clothes?”

“Yeah. He’s . . .”

Just then a small, flesh-coloured streak zipped across the yard behind the dog. “Taaaaner! Taaaaaner!” a boyish voice screamed. “Come back here. Bring me my paaaaants!”

Just then another, larger streak appeared. “It’s okay, Gaaaary! You can have miiiiine!”

Then the much slower figure of Mort, carrying something in a bundle. “Saaaally! Don’t give away your paaaants! Use mine! Use miiiine!”

I glanced back at the two women seated together in the front room. "Ummm . . . there are three people outside, none of whom are wearing any pants."

Mary’s hands were on the arms of the chair as though she was about to get up.

Mom reached for her tea and took a sip. "So, a normal day, then."

Mary settled back and took a bite from another cookie.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers submit 4–6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. 

My words this month? behind the scene ~ transmission ~ life-changing event ~ profile ~ convincing ~ ducks in a row

They were submitted by my good friend, Tamara at: Part-time Working Hockey Mom

Thanks so much, Tamara!      

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado

Wandering Web Designer

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

Climaxed

The Crazy Mama Llama