Bringing Up Gramma

My sometimes ride. And chauffeur.

Looking forward to school’s end and the start of the summer holiday. Because...

For many of you, the statement: ‘The Tolley family tends to spend a lot of their summer outside on bicycles’ will come as no surprise.

I’m almost sure I’ve mentioned it before.

And it's true.

Every morning, weather permitting, we saddle-up—Grampa, Gramma and as many of the chicks and chicklets as are out of bed and/or conscious.

With 27 members of our family living within town limits, at times it’s quite a group.

But the fact that we live in a community riddled with small lakes and a veritable web of biking trails makes the whole thing . . . in a word . . . easy.

Even taking into account that our town crowns the highest hill for miles and there is, of necessity, a lot of up-ing and down-ing.

With such a trail of cyclists, it’s a blessing that we have to cross only the occasional major street.

Our mishaps have been relatively few.

In fact, the only people who have pitched off their bikes are Granddaughter #4 (our newest little rider) . . . and Grandma.

And guess which one holds the record?

And yet I still insist on going.

Sigh. 

Finally, sitting on a park bench, putting yet another band-aid on Grandma's much-abused knee, and while the kids played at that day’s choice of park, Daughter #1 came up with an ingenious solution. One, I should point out, that would still allow Grandma to continue on the rides, but would be marginally safer and include two-wheeled death traps only peripherally.

Ahem . . .

Her answer? Pump Grandma full of helium, tie a string to her ankle, and float her along behind one of the bikes.

Like a balloon.

Can’t you just see it?

Her idea sparked all kinds of responses: “Ahhhh Reel me in! Low bridge! Low brid . . .!” and “Kids! Power li . . .zzzzaaaap!” and the ever popular: “I told you not to untie Grandma! Now we’ll never get her back!” That little beauty was also followed closely by: “Good thing we wrote her address on her forehead!”

There were suggestions of “Old Air/Wind/Gas bag” and something to do with “being full of hot air”. But by that point, I was already on my bike and halfway out of the parking lot.

My family’s for sale if you want them.

 

You get the idea . . .

Entertained at the Old Watering Hole

Or you could do it that way . . .

There was no lawnmower in the early days on the Berg Ranch.

When the grass got long, the hay mower could be used, but in smaller areas, this proved impossible.

One had to get creative.

The four-footed lawnmowers were brought out.

Usually, the well-trained saddlehorses would take care of the problem—filling their bellies and tidying the area at the same time.

But one year, three Angus bulls were given the job. They spent their days tethered out among the trees, contentedly munching the long grass and growing fat in the cool shade.

For water, someone would untie them, lead them across the yard to the trough by the barn, then take them back to continue their ‘work’.

It worked well. Till the ‘incident’.

Anyone who has lived on (or near) a farm can tell you that there is no such thing as a ‘normal’ day.

Usually, the dust-ups and uh-ohs are just something to laugh at.

And, fortunately, that was the case here.

One evening, several of my Berg uncles were leading the three members of their lawn maintenance crew to water. Grampa Berg happened to be standing there beside the trough as they approached.

Meanwhile, across the barnyard, two salesmen in a car slid to a stop. Seeing Grampa out in the yard, they started toward him.

All went well to this point. Bulls. Uncles. Grampa. Salesmen.

Now the bulls were used to their Berg attendants. And knew all of them by sight.

But these salesmen were new and strange.

The bulls decided they were worth investigating.

At a run.

Towing the boys.

The salesmen were understandably alarmed. And decided, individually and collectively, that their best course was to run.

Which they did.

Right into each other.

Resulting in two stunned salesmen trying to crawl away along the ground.

The bulls stopped short and stared. Yep. Here was definitely something new . . .

I know you'll agree with me that there is all kinds of entertainment for us humans at our local ‘watering holes’.

Turns out it’s the same for the four-footed variety as well.

A Frog-ly Prince

Okay, yes, I’m taking a little bit of ‘poetic license’ here. Even though this couldn’t remotely be considered a poem. Ahem…

 

Remember the story of SnowWhite? Wherein a girl lived with seven men, married an eighth and no one thought it remarkable?

 

Well SnowWhite’s ‘happily-ever-after’ included a teenaged daughter who loved to play with a golden ball her father gave her.

I am not making this up (though someone obviously did…). Nope. Beautiful Princess Penelope had a golden ball—her favourite toy.

Now one day whilst happily playing in the garden, she lost the aforementioned ball of golden. You know how these happen.

You throw something into the air and it lands…elsewhere. Husby does it all the time with garbage and the trash receptacle.

Well it happened this time vis-à-vis ball and the nearby stupidly-deep (Penelope’s description) well. Tears ensued. And a princess-ly tantrum.

Stemmed only when a very small voice at Penelope’s feet spoke up. “Princess. I can get your ball for you!”

Admittedly, it took a while for our sweet princess to even hear the voice, openly and vocally aggrieved as she was.

But finally, she began to pay attention to the large frog at her feet. The one…you know…speaking. Human words.

Now I’ve caught a lot of frogs, what with my riverside upbringing, and never have any of them talked to me.

And, trust me, I’ve coaxed. But this one did. He told Penelope he could fetch her precious ball. For a price.

She was definitely listening now. If he didn’t have her at ‘Hello, Princess’, he definitely had her at ‘Pay me!’

The price? She had to let him eat from her plate at every meal and sleep on her pillow at bedtime.

She agreed. Because…ball. But let’s face it, she probably didn’t really think things through. A frog at bed, bath and beyond?

I know what my parents would have said. DID say. I can still hear their loudly-voiced veto from the distance of decades.

But her tearful pleas and/or her convincing story of family honour resting on the fulfillment of a contract did the trick.

She suddenly had a very entertaining and talkative new roommate. One who was with her morning, noon and night. Quite literally.

The two grew to be friends. The princess even graduated the frog from pocket to pillow transportation. A big leap. (Snort.)

Then the frog’s next request was voiced. (That’s the thing about frogs. Give them an inch; they swim all over you.)

An itty bitty kiss. I’m quite sure the princess at least…blinked. That’s quite a request. Even from a best-friend talking frog.

But, hey. I mean, they’d been friends for days now. And what’s a kiss between friends? She considered it a moment.

Then shrugged, held the frog up…and kissed it. Right on the big ol’ ‘kisser’. Can anyone say ‘Ew?’ Oh, yeah. Me.

Immediately, or maybe sooner, the frog began to shimmer. Then shiver. Then change from a…frog…into something a heck-of-a-lot more human-ish.

Before she knew it, Penelope was staring at a full-grown man. In her bedroom. All sorts of alarms went off.

A small voice from the bottom of the dogpile featuring every single one of Penelope’s body-guards finally garnered some attention.

Slowly the guards got to their feet and pulled the frog-man to his. And then the whole sordid story came out.

He was actually a prince who had been enchanted by a jealous, overly-amorous and unrequited witch. A terrible combination, you’ll agree…

The spell she had placed upon him was keyed, ironically, to the act of kissing. Only a smooch would save him.

Once the furor had died down the two, girl and former frog, discovered that their budding friendship was actually something more.

Marriage followed. And yadda, yadda, yadda…happily ever after. It’s amazing how often that happens. Fact or fiction, it makes me happy.

Today’s post is a word challenge! 

Each month one of us chooses a number between 12 and 50 and the rest craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.

This month’s number is: 21

It was chosen by Mimi of Messymimi'smeanderings!

Now go and see what my friends have created!

Baking In ATornado

Messymimi’sMeanderings

Making It Up

I've been away, you may have seen

That on my blog I have not been,

Some catching up, I have to do,

So here're some poems from me to you!

April 17: Safety Pins:

Most pins are sharp, I’m sure you know,

It helps them go where they need to go,

I’ve used a few, I will admit,

To fasten things that needed it,

I’m always cautious, those things hurt!

And I will not with danger flirt,

So ‘safety pins’ I choose to use,

Thusly named, I cannot lose,

But something more I must submit…

They all still have a pointy bit!

April 24: Pigs in Blankets

I love blankets, yes, I do,

To cuddle, and the cold eschew,

It isn’t rare to find me rolled,

Encapsulated ‘gainst the cold.

You would imagine I’d support,

Giving wraps to weaker sorts,

Most everyone would benefit,

From having blankets, sewn or knit,

But there’s one group I won’t accept

Their needing blankets while they slept,

And that group is the pigs, you see,

There’s no need. They’re not like me,

But there are other ways that they

‘Go together’ as they say…

Cause Pigs in Blankets as a treat?

There are few things have them beat!

May 1: Rhino

Sometimes in nature, we will see,

A crossing of an “A” and “B”,

Like lion with a tiger, whew!

A ‘Liger’s’ what you get. It’s true.

A donkey and a horse result,

In one big mule. It’s no one’s fault,

A donkey also features with

A zebra. Zonkey’s not a myth!

There’s Jaglions and Grolar Bears,

Coywolfs, Camas, (please don’t stare!)

Beefalos, Narlugas, too,

And Hinny’s (Just to name a few)…

But cross and elephant and rhino?

What do you get? Ellefino!

May 8: Socks 

(For this, I cheated--sorry, peers--

This is a po-em from last year...)

“Please tell us of your problem, sir,

We're here to give you aid.

Supporting is how we get through,

Speak up! Don't be afraid!”

“Just look around the circle, Sir,

There’s not but friends you’ll see.

Get the whole thing off your chest,

Then Madge will serve us tea...”

“It started much as any day,”

He said. And then he sighed,

“A run together in the dawn,

I was so proud, I cried.”

“Then changing for the workday, but

A load of laundry first.

Who knew that act would be her last?

‘Twas like we both were cursed!”

“So innocent as soap went in,

Naive as buttons pressed,

Then watched as clothes began to swirl,

And tumble with the rest.”

“All was well until the load,

Was moved into the drier.

And watching it together as

The heat was getting higher.”

“Then she was gone, t’was just that fast,

My love was there no more.

And all I had was memories

Of what we had before.”

“I’ve tossed it round within my mind,

There really is no doubt

As a pair of socks, we two went in,

As a single, I came out.”

So that is it, I've caught right up,

All that's left's today's poem. (Yup.)

I'll not abandon you, and hey!

I'm happy that you came to play!

May 15 (Today!): Chocolate Chip

It started as a cookie, yes!

T’was better, far, than all the rest,

An enterprising tollhouse wife,

A small idea. Got a knife,

And chopped a ‘something’ into bits,

And to her dough, she added it,

Then her idea just took off,

And, trust me, no one teased or scoffed,

Cause people came for miles around,

To taste that treat. And soon all found

That it surpassed all those that were,

And caused more than a little stir…

Today we add her ‘something’ to

The things we bake and cook and chew,

Deliciousness from plate to lip…

What did she make? The CHOCOLATE CHIP!

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, we'll all get musical,

Of INSTRUMENTS, you'll get your fill!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!

Topics for the next few weeks 

(with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Chocolate Chip (May 15) Today!

Musical Instruments (May 22)

Compost (May 29)

Hot Air Balloons (June 5)

Red Roses (June 12)

Kissing (June 19)

Canoes (June 26)

Mirrors (July 3)

Teddy Bears (July 10)

Emojis (July 17)

Cousins (July 24)

Avocados (July 31)

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

For Rena

 This is for Rena, my wonderful, wonderful, wise friend, co-conspirator and staunch supporter. I’ll miss you forever, dear sister!

 

When we holiday, we usually like to rent a house with several bedrooms and have our friends join us as they can.

Usually, it has worked out great!

Ocassionally, it hasn’t.

Our trip to Guadalupe in 2020 was…less than perfect.

Lost luggage for six people.

No bathroom for a household of 8.

No hot water.

No oven.

Ongoing renovations from window installations to full-sized backhoes digging up the driveway and front yard.

Let’s just say the first two weeks were a disaster and stop there.

Here is what we learned…

 

Holidaying always looks great. Relaxing and perfect.

When one is anticipating.

Let’s just say it’s not always so good when one is experiencing.

And just FYI: B&B photos aren’t always accurate. Ditto for reviews.

Always remember to pack essentials in your little carry-on. You never know where your luggage will vacation. Often it’s not going where you’re going.

When renting a car, make sure it’s not to a company waiting to pick you up on Martinique. When you’re on Guadeloupe. There’s a fair slice of ocean between them.

When your Landlady promises every day for twenty days that you will have wifi... tomorrow, it’s really okay to begin to NOT believe her.

You don’t have to stay home from your day at the beach to let workmen in. They aren’t going to show up anyway. Actually that’s not quite true. They will show up. Right at suppertime. And stay till midnight.

The noisier the tools—the later they stay.

One working toilet for eight people in the corner of one of the bedrooms can suffice. It just takes a LOT of cooperation.

A brand new bathroom (and toilet) following a week of noise and confusion and workmen at all times is definitely worth it. We think. 

One other important thing, though, is a door on that new bathroom. People get skittish when whatever they are doing is public knowledge.

Just because supposedly competent workmen have been properly engaged, it doesn’t follow that said workmen will install the new windows in the right holes.

One can do without hot water in the kitchen. As long as there is plenty of it in the one working bathroom. And one has at least one big bucket. True story.

You can think of a million and one dishes you want to make in the oven—when you don’t have one that works. Oh, and remember to watch out for the exposed wires that are the reason said oven doesn’t work. They can really pack a wallop.

Just because a toaster is top-of-the-line, it doesn’t follow that it will actually…toast.

Always keep a thick, absorbent mat on the floor in front of all the sinks. So the water will have someplace to go.

The Landlady’s idea of a beautiful swimming pool—and yours—are probably poles apart. Nine feet of mud isn’t nine feet of water. And back-hoes working on some remote building site are fascinating. Back-hoes in your front yard, digging away your driveway and your only access to your B&B are not.

Buying tools and effecting repairs yourself is totally acceptable. And may save your precious sanity. Just don’t expect a reduction in the rent.

When a foreman says he will come back and build you a front step, believe him. A pallet can be a front step.

Sometimes desperate tourists are the popular fathers of invention. Walkways made out of pilfered shipping crates will be appreciated by the whole neighbourhood!

It’s quite all right for your washer to discharge down the outer house wall. It’s also fine to use it as a shower.

And finally…

Just because a baguette is warm, it doesn’t follow that it’s fresh. OR ant-free. Please be careful when choosing your boulangerie!

 

Rena, we survived that holiday. In fact, the last six weeks of it were bliss.

Or perhaps our standards had just lowered.

Thank you for this prompt, my friend. And for the gift of...you!

I miss you.

Diane

This tribute to Rena is part of a “Secret Subject Swap”. Something Rena loved to participate in. My secret Subject was: What is one vacation that you took that was a total disaster? What went wrong?

This was Rena’s May prompt.

Please read on to see the rest of the participants!

BakingIn ATornado

Climaxed

WhatTFSarah

Part-timeWorking HockeyMom

Seeing the Specialist

 I needed an appointment,

My head just wasn’t fine,

And so I called the doctor,

They scheduled me for nine.

 

I went down to their building,

So far it all went well,

I walked into the office,

And rang the little bell.

 

The girl behind the counter,

She asked me who I was,

So I spelled out my name for her,

There was a little pause…

 

I told her I had problems,

Discomfort, bad, was mine,

She nodded, said, “Which doctor?”

I said ‘normal’ doc was fine.

Today is our Monthly Poetry Challenge.

Our topic? 

Making an Appointment

I love this!

Now go and see what my friends have created!

Karen at Baking in a Tornado

Mimi of Messymimismeanderings

Letting Down One's Hair

 Okay…I knew cravings could be…inconvenient.

I never knew they could be life-changing. Story-worthy.

Downright strange.

Maybe I should back up a little.

Ahem…

A king and queen had been childless for many long years. Something that wore away at the queen rather drastically.

 

One day, whilst out and about doing…queenly stuff, she came across a rather strange old woman who offered to ‘tell her fortune’. Or something to that effect.

The queen agreed.

Not because she placed all that much belief in the whole ‘fortune’ scenario.

 

But because she was a kindly person and could see the old woman needed both a vocation.

And some money.

Not surprisingly, the prognostication pronounced upon the queen took a bit of a turn.

Yes, she was promised ‘That which she most desired’.

 

But also that she would experience some distinctly powerful cravings.

The queen was both elated…and a little…erm…dismayed.

I mean things like pickles and ice cream, okay.

But let’s not stray into the whole chalk and dirt fiasco.

Like a friend did.

Moving on…

 

A few months later, the queen found she was, indeed, pregnant.

Between bouts drifting from elation straight through to nausea, the queen began to crave something.

Something green and tasty.

And that only grew in the (hereinafter known as Gothel the Sorceress) neighbour’s garden.

 

Now, normally, this wasn’t concerning. I mean a quick knock on the door. A smile and a ‘would you mind…?’

But Gothel was one of those neighbours. The nasty ones you hope aren’t out on the street while you’re climbing into your car.

 

You have to know, the king did try. He sent servants with entreaties, reasonings and finally, gifts to attempt to secure the neighbour’s cooperation.

But they didn’t make a dent. Let’s face it, this woman was hard as glass all the way through.

 

So the king resorted to theft. And because he couldn’t place any of his beloved subjects on the wrong side of the law, he went himself.

Of course, during one of his forays, he was caught.

Of course there was a hefty penalty.

 

Somewhere between six and nine months later, the neighbour appeared to claim her tearfully agreed-upon prize.

The newborn baby girl.

Soulful pleadings did nothing to sway her. Not even one iota.

I had a neighbour like that once.

We moved.

Because…yikes.

 

For years, the little girl lived in a tower located on one of Gothel’s remote properties. The only entry was by climbing the girl’s once short, now long and lovely locks.

Which Gothel did.

And my girls cry when I brush their hair…

 

Now we get to the exciting part.

A prince, out and exploring, happened upon Gothel climbing the ‘all-natural-and-no-animals-were-harmed-in-creating-this’ ladder.

It tweaked his curiosity.

A glimpse of the lovely face distantly attached to that hair tweaked something even more.

The prince began to hang around.

 

Finally, he overheard Gothel utter the magic words, “Rapunzel, let down your golden hair” prior to that long, golden braid granting entry.

And he thought he’d give it a try.

No sooner said than done.

And he and Rapunzel were face to face.

 

Things went surprisingly well, and, after a few visits, she was more than ready to follow him anywhere.

I mean, he was quite literally the only guy she had ever known.

Literally.

Only.

Of course he looked perfect.

She was easy to convince.

 

Then, that slip of the tongue so common to fairy tales.

One day Rapunzel, in her girlish innocence, asked Gothel why she was way easier to haul up than the prince.

Of course there was surprise.

Remonstrations.

And consequences.

The end result was Rapunzel, shorn and fairly helpless, and banished to a far wilderness.

 

Gothel hung the newly-shorn hair from a hook and, a day or so later, when the prince requested his ‘hair’way to paradise (snort), she obliged.

I’m not really privy to what happened interim-ly, but mere moments later, the prince expeditiously exited the window.

 

He landed in some rose bushes planted conveniently at the base of the tower that (1) Broke his fall, but (2) Damaged his eyes.

Blinded, the prince began a helpless wander of the countryside.

Said wander took him, finally, to his beloved Rapunzel.

 

Rapunzel bathed him, both figuratively and quite literally, with her tears.

And when said tears touched his eyes, his sight was restored.

What is it about fairy tales and tears?

I think there is a case for medical research to be made.

Right?

 

The prince, sight restored, was finally able to find his way back to his kingdom. Whereupon the oft-postponed marriage between he and Rapunzel could take place.

I’m assuming a tearful reunion with Rapunzel’s parents.

And an apropos shutting of Gothel in a tower.

 

And everyone—with the exception of Gothel—lived happily ever after.

Now what do we learn from this rather hair-y tale?

Don’t steal—even a king is subject to his own laws.

And never allow cravings to dictate your actions. They are poor decision-makers.

Today’s post is a word challenge! 

Each month one of us chooses a number between 12 and 50 and the rest craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.

This month’s number is: 43

It was chosen by me!

Now go and see what my friends have created!

Baking In ATornado

Messymimi’sMeanderings

Finishing the Laundry

 “My turn to do laundry!”

I sat up in bed. You have to know that, immediately upon waking, I am seldom coherent.

And yes, that condition flees pretty fast (out of necessity).

Because, you know…Sally.

This time, as my mind began to clear, I frowned.

Had I really seen her face at the door? Heard the barked-out words? The closing of said door?

Because, if I had, we were in trouble.

Ahem…

Sally really doesn’t do many of the chores around the house.

It is her house. And the rest of us who live there rent-free are generally happy to do them.

Mom has just carried on with her ‘mom’ stuff—albeit with a little less stress because the bills are all paid and she has Dad, the former Uncle Pete.

I happily do things that require the use of any sort of machinery because it has always satisfied something in me to…you know…do them.

Sally has simply spun in the middle.

Oh, she has tried to help. She’s willing and eager.

She is also accident-prone and known for her snap—let’s call them interesting—decisions.

After which, someone, usually a professional, tidies up.

So…today and back to that voice at my door.

It could have been part of the dream I was having.

Or it could have been real.

Either way, it would still be a nightmare.

I sighed and threw back the covers.

I climbed out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Then opened my door and poked my nose out into the hall.

At first, it was happily deserted. Then Sally appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, laundry basket in her hands. “Gwen! Come on! Mort and I are waiting to start!”

I think I know why she had suddenly become interested in doing everyone’s laundry.

Sally has an inventor friend who is working on a new incarnation of a washer and drier combination. You know—the one machine to rule them all.

And he has given a prototype to Sally to try out...

I sighed and went back into my room to get my hamper and we hauled everything downstairs.

Now you have to know it’s not that she plans any of this. Or deliberately sets out to destroy.

It just…happens.

The first few loads went surprisingly well.

Baby stuff into the machine first.

Then into the basket for Mort and I to start folding as the first load of whites was shoved inside.

Then a load of colourful clothes was inserted.

I stayed on the periphery. With Mort.

Folding and keeping my head down.

Because who knows when ‘something’ is going to happen?

This went on for much of the day.

The first, second, third and even fourth loads had been washed, dried, and folded. And, I have to admit it, the machine was doing a great job!

A load of towels was cheerfully tumbling, nearly at the end of the drier cycle.

And that’s when it happened.

Can’t you just hear the tight ‘Eee! Eee! Eee!’ of the orchestral strings?

There was a muffled thump, followed by a thick ‘click’ and what sounded like metal screeching against metal.

And then the door of the drier blew off.

I am not making this up.

It blew off.

Landed across the room, like, 20 feet away.

I was supremely glad that no one (ie. me) was standing in the way of it. I think it could have done some real damage.

A tongue of flame licked out of the tub.

I think I screamed.

I know someone did.

And then Sally flew in, fire extinguisher in hand and, with a flick or two, put out the few flames before they did much more than singe a couple of towels.

Say what you will about Sally, she usually gets herself out of difficulties even faster than she got in. And usually, while the rest of us are just starting to react.

Then she pulled the electrical plug out of the wall and looked at me. “I’ll have to tell Daniel there are a few kinks to work out,” she said, grinning.

I should say.

Mort, ever the posterior backup, was busy talking to someone at ‘911’.

A mere moment later we were hearing the sounds of sirens.

When Mom and Dad and Ivy Jean pulled up that evening, it was to see Sally, Mort, Peter and I seated on the front lawn, hemmed on one side by leafy bushes.

And on the other by firefighters. We were watching them roll-up hoses and chat happily about ‘doing safety checks’ and ‘another successful mission’.

Mom, clutching the baby, just stared at the house, her colour fading. “What hap-pend?” She managed at last.

I glanced over at the firefighters and shrugged. “Ummm…Sally did the laundry?” I said.

Mom gasped and leaned back against the arm that appeared around her shoulders. Dad patted her shoulder with his other hand and she smiled up at him and took a deep, sustaining breath.

“The good news is: the laundry’s done!” Sally said brightly.

I looked at her. Then at Mom. “So’s the drier,” I added.

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: everything ~ laundry ~ safety ~ click ~ posterior ~ leafy

Submitted by, Jenniy at 

https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com 

Thank you, my friend!

Now check out my fellow bloggers! 

BakingIn A Tornado 

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