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Could not resist this one. Nice and short, just like I like ’em 😉 Should you want to participate, click on Sammi’s challenge box and add your link in the comment section.
It is rumoured
~ I neither contest nor agree ~
I was a tempestuous child
Latterly, my aunt’s: “Dale,
What happened? You’re so nice!”
notwithstanding…
was surely an exaggeration?
‘Tis Wednesday! Vacation’s over and it’s time to participate in Friday Fictioneers. Would you look at that? Rochelle, our ever-reliant leader has chosen a pic from yours truly. Can’t be rude now, can I? Should you want to play along, click on my pic to swing over to Rochelle’s for the how-to. Already know? Then click on my frogs below and drop your link to your 100-word story. Just like that. Boogie on, Dudes.
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I cannot count the number of Fridays and Saturdays Roxie and me would doll up (not that much as neither one of us were “poupounes”) and head our way to L’Entente, the discotheque in my town. We always made sure we got there early – 9:30-10:00 pm – to have the dance floor to ourselves before the throngs arrived around 11:00. Ooh ooh ooh ooh ah ah Illusion. It was our favourite.
Many moons later, I found myself in some dance club on Crescent Street, Montreal, with Patti and her friends to celebrate her whatever-ith birthday.
The music and the people were all wrong.
*poupoune – girls who get too dolled up
‘Tis Wednesday. Mid-week. Hump Day. Or, for us Friday Fictioneers, the day the weekly challenge opens for business. This week, our Fictioneer-in-Chief, Rochelle, chose this photo from Rowena Curtin. What 100-word story can you come up with? Click on the pic to find out how. Or, if you know how, click on my frog below and add your link to join the squares.
©Rowena Curtin
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I came home from school to find boxes of petunias and impatiens lined up along the back wall of the house. Ugh. Flower time. Wait, this was new. Normally Dad wanted his stupid marigolds. Guess he was tired of yellows, oranges and reds around the pool. I bent down to take a sniff. Blech. Just as stinky as the other ones.
I don’t even know how it became MY job to plant the damn things. My sisters were always spared from this particular chore. Dad tried to bullshit me into believing I did “such a good job”. Yeah, right, Dad.
Sammi does love to challenge us with words we would never (most of us) use in conversation. This weekend’s was a case in point! I thought and I thought and then I knew. Should you have 97 words to say about “Anfractuous”, then click on the word below and you’ll be brought to her post. Just add your link in the comment section.
I walk down one of many “Via-del-Somethings” to the famous Piazza del Campo, in the Medieval town of Siena. It’s impossible to capture completely, but I try my best.
I turn around, go up a street, searching for a certain restaurant, only to find myself not where I want to be. Up and down the anfractuous, ruled-by-pedestrian streets, I keep returning to the piazza, thinking ah hah! That’s the street I came down! Nope.
Exhausted, over 30,000 steps later, on the other side of town, I find a hotel, where they call me taxi.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
Which way do I go?
Restaurant I searched for
Last year, on this very date, I lost a good friend. Somehow, it also being Mick’s birthday, and for reasons I cannot truly understand, I just didn’t do him the justice he deserved. I started a post and then, before I knew it, it just felt too late. I know, it makes no sense. However, today, I want to right that wrong.
Marc was such a jovial, outrageous, and fun-loving guy. He was brilliant, too. Like many brilliant kids, he couldn’t sit still. Luckily, this was back in the days (he arrived at my school in 1978, and put into my grade: Secondary 3 (which is the equivalent of grade 9) – should have been 4, but that’s another story) when it was unheard of to dose hyper kids with drugs like Ritalin.
He didn’t do the cool vs nerd vs athlete thing. He was an everyman. He spoke to everyone and anyone who came across his path; often going out of his way to ensure they were not alone in an abandoned corner.
He was naturally cool.
He was in my class for each of those three last years of high school and never failed to make me (and most of the class) laugh.
We graduated in 1981 and, as happens with most of us, went in different directions, different colleges.
But we never really lost touch. On a regular basis, I’d get a phone call out of the blue for a dinner date and we’d be back to jibber-jabbing like we had never spent any time apart.
There were hight school reunions – 5, 10, 15, 20, 35 – and we went to them all, never wanting to miss a chance to catch up with each other and the others we went to school with.
In 2004, there was a 150th anniversary of our school reunion, which we, of course, attended!
To think I found out then that a party I was so sick at (no comment) was at HIS house – I didn’t remember it was there… sheesh.
The summer of 2015, after Mick died, one of our friends, François A. really insisted we all had to get together. So we did! It was the Montreal Jazz Fest and François got tickets to see Al DiMeola.
Marc H. François A. Tania (François’ wife and not a graduate!, Chantal D. Martin L., me, Sylvie L. Marc G., Dany B.
This led to suppers and barbecues and oyster nights that have continued to happen on the regular. The players change but the core still got together.
Jan. 2016 at my house: Marc, me, Martin, Sylvie, Julie, Chantal, Dany, Giselle (not a graduate but an honorary one), Isabelle L.
He dragged me to some Jeep Christmas Party – can you imagine a roomful of people who all drive jeeps and go on wild rides/trips? Bloody hell I was bored to tears! Still. Was fun to seem them all one-upping each other with their gadgets.
November 2019
And then Marc got sick. He fought for more than two years, all the while keeping up his good humour. He went through many rounds of chemo, lost his beautiful head of hair, it grew back, more operations…. There were good months where he was sure he kicked it to the curb, only to later on, get sick again, and finally to find out it had metastasized.
I’m so mad we forgot to take a picture when he was looking particularly fine. Goes to show, eh? It was more important to just hang out without any other distractions.
In the last few months, before he was truly too ill, he would spend his time up at his cottage, for want of another term. We would video chat for hours.
Near the end, he was at home and I was supposed to go see him. The problem was, every time I called, he was not feeling up to par and so we’d try again another day. That day never came and, two days before his 60th birthday, he finally rested.
He told me he had zero regrets; that he had had a wonderful and full life. No, he never got married nor had kids – wasn’t in his cards. He did have some long-term relationships but his true love was his toys. Boy did he love his toys. It’s a good thing he had a very successful computer business so he could afford them! He was an avid downhill skier, he loved to sail – and had a beautiful 40′ sailboat that I somehow never got invited on (and made him feel guilty about, once he sold it), his racing Porsche and his other one, that was just for driving in summer (that I got a wild ride on 😉 ); his jeep and all the paraphernalia that he got for it – tent on the top, etc. Whatever new thing he was into… he was ALL in!
I miss getting those out-of-the-blue phone calls.
It took me a few days to have a lightbulb moment on what to do with this picture by Roger Bultot. But light it did, with a memeory, so no fiction. And here I am, once again, on a Friday for Friday Fictioneers…. What the what? That’s just crazy, I know. As always, there is a big thank you to Rochelle for not giving up on us lot week after week. Should you be so inspired, or if you just wanna see what others have come up with, click on the frog below to be taken into a world of 100-word stories related to this pic.
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D’you see them? It’s those same racks! I swear they’re everywhere!
They are. Including our basement. And garage. And shed.
On those cooking shows, did you notice them in the pantries?
Every time you point them out. Every show.
I think they’re cool.
Really? You sure?
You’re such a smartass, Rog. Seriously, though, if PJC¹ or Couche-Tard² starts using ’em, I’m outta business.
Not gonna happen. These can’t hold a candle to the display cases you create, Mick.
Yeah, maybe you’re right.
No maybes about it. Yours have way more style and personality. And personality goes a long way…
*snort*
******
My late husband, Mick, created display cases and these were two of his major clients.
Of course, I can only find one display for one of the two stores, but here are a few others he created.
¹PJC is Pharmacy Jean-Coutu – huge pharmaceutical chain in Quebec, with some stores in Ontario and even a few that made it south of the border.
²Couche-Tard is a chain of convenience stores, usually part of the Esso gas stations.
Back in March, there was a dVerse challenge to use a list of titles of songs with the words Dad, daddy or father in them. I started to write and then realised, no… I must save this one for today. I am still struggling with the fact that it has been ten years today since my father chose to stop “our” suffering.
Today marks the tenth anniversary
of My old man leaving this earth on his terms
His sideways glance and grimace at such term
meant, of course, to discourage us,
didn’t work
My father’s eyes twinkled blue
with mirth (mostly)
or turned steely grey
in anger (rarely)
How did none of us inherit them?
My Daddy’s hands were the standard
all my boyfriends’ were judged against
(few could compare)
His were capable of many things
and in my father’s house
was proof of his prowess
He always thought he wanted boys
to pass on his name, father to son
but soon realised how much he was blessed
to have not one daddy’s little girl, but three
My dance with my father was as special to me
as it was for both of my sisters
and he never hesitated to say
Your daddy loves you
For ten years, I have missed you, Daddy
and still go to pick up the phone
to share news or ask your opinion
So here is a a song for dad
I think of you every time I hear it
January 5, 1998, I was quite pregnant with my eldest (he would arrive March 31 – almost three weeks late). And our world froze. For some, there was no electricity for over three weeks. For us, it ended up being over two weeks.
My sister Lisa chose to haul her three toddlers up to my mother’s, because, even though she had no electricity either, they were better equipped to handle things. Plus, misery in company always goes a long way.
My sister Tracy was also pregnant with her eldest (arrived May 28) and, living next to the refineries, was only without power for less than 24 hours so we were invited to stay with them, bringing our dog, Chakotay, along. We had just bought a quarter cow and half a pig so there was meat galore… Iain and Nicolas definitely were not lacking in iron! Sébastien told us that we were welcome to bunk with them any time if it meant eating like kings like that! We ended up burying lots of it in the snow and ice and lost nothing. My houseplants did not fare so well. Every last one of them froze to death.
Unfortunately, I did not venture out to take my own pictures of that crazy time. There were no risks to take. We ended up staying with my sister and her hubby for two weeks, in all.
Global News (click on the image for article on the comparison between the two ice storms)
Fast forward twenty-five years and three months to the day.
On Wednesday morning, April 5, 2023, I had a job interview at 11:00. It had started raining just before I left – a freezing rain. By the time I got out of the interview, around 11:30, this was the state of the cars in the parking lot.
After scraping off my windows (quite a sight, surely) while trying to hold my umbrella and finally deciding “screw that!” and shoving it in the car, I caught my breath, drove the five minutes home and was ever grateful for my garage because no way was I leaving my car out in that!
Before closing the garage door, I had to take this. My goodness, not an hour of rain had created this!
Just before 1:00 pm, I stuck my camera through my back and front doors to capture these:
Around 4 pm, I heard “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” and the lights went out. Surely they were transformers blowing up left, right and centre. Crap. I was pulled back to the windows then, and again later, to get more shots. It was so impressive to watch the ice accumulate.
The lights came back on five minutes later and I sighed in relief. Made myself a lovely pasta supper and enjoyed my date night. Till 8 pm. And that was it. Lights out.
I woke up to still no power and was grateful I had already filled up my wood bin so I got a good fire going. Then I was grateful that I insisted I get myself a gas stove so was able to make myself coffee and breakfast.
I decided to go for a morning walk, to capture the results of this crazy weather phenomenon before it all melted away. I was not disappointed. The frozen branches, the unfortunate broken ones lying all over the place (nothing compared to the pictures I saw of Montreal), the fog. It was all surreal.
As I was photographing the trees (it is SO hard to choose which ones to share) I heard a splash. Darn! I missed the landing of this lovely couple!
I just wish the day was not so grey. Then again, if it had been sunny, I would have had nothing to photograph! And this would not have popped quite in the same manner.
I was walking through one of my favourite parks to run through, on my way to my friend Linda’s to catch up, see if she was also without power and if she needed anything. Her neighbour and neighbour’s neighbour suffered damages to their trees.
After chatting with Linda for a bit, and helping her bring in some wood, I left her to enjoy her book and returned home.
It’s crazy. As I was returning home, through the same park, I was struck by the sounds. Just so you know, this is NOT rain!
Of course, I did not dilly-dally under any branches during the filming; nor during my walk! There were no chances to take! As I turned towards home, the fog really came in.
Hard to believe that by my 3:00 pm run, there was not a single sign of the ice from that very morning. (And I was still without power.)
Was happy to go to my sister Tracy’s and brother-in-law’s for supper, along with my mother (hardly ran out of power) and my sister, Lisa (whose power had come back) and her hubby. Just before returning home, we checked the Hydro-Quebec site and it showed that power had been restored in my home. Hallelujah!
Way to end this saga! (To this date, there are still people without power. What in the blessed hell is up with that?)
I know I went a little overboard with the photo exposé and I thank you for sticking with me to the end! I just had to share this with you all. (And, this is just a small sample of the 200+ photos I took!)
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.
This was supposed to go out yesterday but one thing lead to another and before I knew it, it was bedtime! It seems that this time of year, a certain someone takes over my muse. Yesterday was the eight-year anniversary of Mick’s heart attack and well, hell if this prompt didn’t apply. So, thank you, Sammi, for once again, bringing forth a word that I can use…
There’s nothing quite like
that person
who’s joie de vivre
is so infectious
They remain engraved
in your memories
long after they’re gone
Proof of how much Mick left his mark on any and everyone who met him, his (our) friend Leonard Yelle wrote this on his FB page yesterday:
“About 7-8 years ago I was misbehaving at my company’s Christmas party telling the band that it was a coworkers birthday. . As the band in the restaurant played happy birthday to my confused colleague my phone rang. It was my buddies wife Dale informing me that her husband had suffered a terrible heart attack. I left the party trying to understand it all. I went to see him the next day but he never came out of the coma.
Every year, at this time, Leonard changes his profile pic or cover image to the following:
Hello my peeps. Lovely to see you on this first hump day in August. How it is already August when July was barely a day long is beyond me, but I digress. Rochelle may be off cavorting in the ocean on vacay but she still manages to host this weekly shindig. She is a rockstar, eh? When I saw this photo by the super-talented Sandra Crook, I knew exactly where I wanted to go. Then I remembered (vaguely) that I was pretty sure I had written about this experience before. Dang it! A search revealed that I did. Back in June, 2017. Wait… back in 2017… who the hell is gonna remember it anyhow, right? Right. And, hey, it happens that others repost old stuff. This is more of a rearranging. Apologies to those who do remember it. I was surprised to see the number of Fictioneers from then who are still around today. Hope the newbies enjoy… If you’ve got an idea for a 100-word original story, then by all means, do click on the frog below and add your link. G’head. It’s fun 🙂
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“Total gridlock, Mon, in Sint Maarten! We’re gonna miss the boat!”
The walkie-talkie crackled with Sébastien’s voice. “If I make a move, you guys gonna follow?”
“Hah! Go? There’s nowhere to go!” Mick grumbled.
Karl’s voice came on, “We’re in!”
Suddenly Sébastien’s jeep, followed closely by Karl’s, passed us on the left. On the sidewalk. People scurried out of the way.
“Are they stupid?”
“You best be stupid, too, if you don’t wanna miss the boat!” I yelled. The song “Bumpy Ride” came on the radio. Serendipity? A sign?
“Put the music up louder!”
“Whoo hoo! Go, Daddy, Go!”
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