Caramel Apples At The Fair October 20, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, People, Poetry.comments closed
My niece Emily, now 21, loved horses growing up ~ real ones with toothy grins and wooden carousel horses racing in perpetuity on Merry-Go-Rounds.
In August, I shared a 25-word story about Emily urging a carousel horse to go faster, Falling On Deaf Ears.
That reminded me of this horse tale from years ago.
* * *
Emily and her horse Trixie are ready for fun
School’s out for three months. Summer’s begun!
They’ll go to horse shows and compete for first place
They’ll ride round the farm and win a horse race
They’ll see the excitement at the State Fair
And make new memories while they are there
* * * * *
The day of the Fair dawned bright and clear
Emily headed to the barn, overflowing with cheer
She saddled up Trixie with her usual care
All the while chatting about what they’d see at the Fair
They headed for the trail and cantered up and down
Until they spied the Ferris Wheel towering o’er the ground
“Oh, look, there it is! We’ll have such fun, me and you.”
Trixie neighed as if to say, “I’m excited too!”
On the midway, they smiled as they took in the sights
Clowns, rides, barkers, and colorful flashing lights
When Emily got hungry, she knew just what to do
She stopped for a caramel apple and ended up with two
“Trixie loves apples . . . and sugar cubes, of course ~
a caramel apple is perfect Fair food for a horse!”
Emily held out the caramel apple and Trixie bit in
After swallowing the treat, she shared a toothy grin
That night, with Trixie in the barn, Emily curled up in bed
Smiling at the images twirling and dancing in her head
She and Trixie had made memories they would always share
Of the day they ate caramel apples while visiting the Fair
Aah . . . that’s better!
Beyond A Reasonable Doubt September 3, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Books & Movies, Fiction, People.comments closed
Beyond a doubt, Beyond A Reasonable Doubt is not reasonable . . .
Many facets of the contrived plot don’t make sense because people wouldn’t act that way in the real world. The performances aren’t anything to get excited about. And the timetable of the movie is way off.
That said, we enjoyed the film’s predictable twists, turns, and straight-aways.
The basic premise: An investigative reporter sets himself up as the prime suspect in a murder by fabricating circumstantial evidence after the fact to boost his career and expose a corrupt district attorney who is fabricating D.N.A. evidence after the fact to boost his conviction rate.
Life is full of pot holes on the journey from Here to There. This film emulates life. Navigate around the plot holes and you’ll reach the beginning in the end.
Aah . . . that’s better!
Short Short Stories August 20, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Humor, Word Play, Writing & Writers.comments closed
A local newspaper solicited short short stories (25 words or less) to run in the paper during the month of August.
At the end of the summer, one story will be chosen as “the winner” and its author will receive a culinary prize from . . . The Lazy Lobster.
I like lobster. Even lazy lobsters, which are easier to catch. I also enjoy playing with words, so I submitted a few short shorts:
The Best Thing About Getting Older
Audrey watched her 97-year-old neighbor sail by on a bike: “You’re such an inspiration, Vivian. What’s the best thing about getting older?”
“No peer pressure.”
[We have a 96-year-old neighbor who still rides his bike and NEVER worries about peer pressure.]
Killing Time
Sophia hated waiting.
Killing time.
A woman in purple scrubs passed by, “Sorry, Sophia. Your chemo will start soon.”
Great. More time to kill . . .
[Fiction. Through and through. The only Sophia I know is NOT undergoing chemo. Which is good since she’s only 9.]
Busted
Busted light. Sparks flew. Son professed innocence. Mom’s cross-examination shed light. Son came clean.
“I might have hit the hot bulb with a wet towel.”
[Fiction. Sort of. Borrowed from an anecdote Janna shared with me.]
Where’s the ESC Key?
Memories erased, a hard drive malfunction. A lifetime abased, software keeps crumbling. Circuits and synapses fried, no longer firing. Fumbling thoughts stumble, a graceless nosedive.
[Prompted by watching “creeping senility.” No, not mine! My parents.]
Following Our Gut Instincts
Ralph leaned over his bike’s handlebars, revealing serious belly bulge. John pointed, “That’s not a 6-pack . . . it’s a keg!
Ralph laughed, “I’m following my gut!”
Not Ralph
[Prompted by seeing a guy in tight biker shorts with no shirt.]
Pretty Swift, eh?
Category: 19th Century Authors.
“Jonathan Swift.”
“What?”
“Final Jeopardy answer.”
“Alex hasn’t revealed the clue.”
“I know.”
Cue clue. Contestants stumped.
Answer announced: Jonathan Swift!
[True story. Just one of the amazing Winks, Whispers, and Nudges I’ve experienced from the Universal Matrix/Web.]
A Secret Made For Sharing
Mom hid dad’s birthday cake. “It’s a secret.” Jamie nodded. Seeing dad, the cork popped and 2-year-old Jamie squealed, “Cake in ‘ere! Cake in ‘ere!”
[True story. For 2-year-old, birthday cake is too exciting to keep secret.]
How Do You Do That?
My husband waved an opaque bag, “Guess what I bought!”
The answer drifted in . . . “PEZ dispensers.”
“How do you do that?!”
“Sometimes I just know.”
[True story. Sometimes I just know. And it always freaks BFF out.]
He’s Five. I’m Three. Do the Math!
Terrified by my older brother’s taunts, I screamed for back-up. “M~O~M!!! Jamie’s gonna hit me!”
Mom (a clueless only child) replied, “Well, hit him back.”
[I am NOT a tattle tale! Or a cry baby. Stop saying that . . . or I’m gonna hit you! And don’t go running to mom. She won’t do anything anyway.]
Stay
“Stop rocking the boat!”
“Learn to sway.”
“No. I’m leaving. Today.”
“Where to?”
“Can’t say.”
“Then stay.”
“No way.”
“Come back.”
“I may . . . one day.”
[Fiction. Just playing with rhyme time.]
Falling on Deaf Ears
As the Merry-Go-Round slowed to a stop, my 3-year-old niece kicked her wooden carousel horse to urge it forward. “Don’t Stop, Horsie! Don’t Stop!”
[True story. The niece in question is now 21 and knows that kicking wooden horses will not make them speed up.]
Aah . . . that’s better!
Her June 18, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Books & Movies, Fiction, Life Balance, Mindfulness, People.comments closed
In the Spike Jonze movie, Her, Joaquin Phoenix and Scarlett Johansson are perfect for each other . . . if you’re willing to overlook the fact that Samantha is the Operating System of Theodore Twombly’s computer.
The new wave of artificial intelligence packaged with a sexy voice.
Her, a quirky, amusing, and thought-provoking film, reminds me of issues raised in Robot & Frank, when Frank Langella, a retired cat burglar who’s tired of retirement, befriends a robot and creates a shared history.
In these days of cyber friendships, when gadgets and apps connect us via screens around the globe, the criteria we use to evaluate relationships is changing.
Someday, perhaps, dating an Operating System will be commonplace.
Aah . . . that’s better!
Have you seen the film? What’d you think?
Related post: The Odd Life of Timothy Green
Häagen-Dazs & Pretzel: A Fairy Tale March 22, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Humor, Word Play, Writing & Writers.comments closed
Once upon a time, an extremely unattractive and petulant misanthrope grew tired of living in close proximity to a bunch of Nosy Parkers.
“Hell is other people,” Mizzie Borden muttered while stirring a cauldron of Cream of Newt Soup. “Always butting in where they don’t belong.”
She decided to follow Thoreau’s footsteps into the woods. She surfed MAXEDOUT.com and found a small cottage with a large oven and great curb appeal. Real eye candy.
Mizzie purchased the cottage without requesting a home inspection. An army of ants nibbling the gingerbread siding wasn’t the worst of it.
Walden Township raised property taxes, FEMA hiked flood insurance premiums, and subsidies under the Unaffordable Health Care Act never materialized.
Desperate to make ends meet, Mizzie advertised on Angie’s List as an unlicensed child care provider (a/k/a “a babysitter”).
The next day, a woodcutter left Häagen-Dazs and Pretzel in Mizzie’s care.
“I’m off to protest mountaintop removal by short-sighted privateers intent on raping the earth of its coal. Soon, there won’t be any trees left for me to cut. I’ll be back at 5.”
Häagen-Dazs and Pretzel proved to be both crude and rude.
“Spoiled brats!”
Impatient for lunch, they pulled the gingerbread siding off her cottage and ate it. Ants and all.
“Insubordinate beasts!”
When the woodcutter didn’t show on time, Mizzie shoved Häagen-Dazs and Pretzel into the oven for a “time out.”
Unbeknownst to Mizzie, the oven was blazing.
“Oh, well. I warned Häagen-Dazs not to play with matches.”
Following a half-hearted investigation plagued with bureaucratic foul ups, bribery, and corruption, the police dropped all charges. Mizzie returned home and became a writer (the best occupation for misanthropes).
Unable to find a publisher for her horror stories and fractured fairy tales, Mizzie self-published. Fueled by her recent notoriety, Eat Mor’ Children took off in a blaze of tweets.
Paparazzi became a nuisance, sitting in trees with long lenses.
“Every blessing is cursed!”
Mizzie stormed the glade, “Get off, the lot of you! Go shoot Cumberbatch’s bitches!”
When entreaties failed, Mizzie invited them for lunch. As lunch.
If not for government-sanctioned invasions of privacy, Mizzie would have lived happily-ever-after.
“No one’s gonna miss a few pesky paparazzi.”
Except for other Nosy Parkers.
NSA (National Screening Agents) intercepted Mizzie’s e-mails, including her recipes for “Paparazzi Primavera” and “Children Cacciatore.”
“Hell is other people,” Mizzie muttered, when arrested. ”Always poking about where they don’t belong.”
* * *
Join the fun ~> Susanna’s March Madness Writing Contest is Here!
Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking. ~ Lawrence Clark Powell
Related post: A Fairy Tale Tribunal
Illustrations: Wikipedia ~ Hansel & Gretel (in Public Domain)
No Regrets January 28, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Gratitude, Happiness, Health & Wellness.comments closed
Barb heard a knock on the door and looked up.
David, hat in hand, stood framed in the doorway.
“David! Come in . . . it’s so good to see you.”
He hung back. “I figured you’d never want to see me again.”
“I do want to see you. Very much. Please come in.”
He looked at Barb and frowned, “This is all my fault. You’re stuck in here because of me. If I hadn’t dropped you . . . ”
“It was an accident.”
“You make it sound like I spilled a glass of milk.” He nodded at the chart at the foot of the bed. “What do the doctor’s say?“
“Well . . . the psychiatrist is frustrated. He’s waiting for me to be angry. Or sad. Or angry. Angry would make him happy. He wants me to grieve. To rail against fate.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Besides the fact that I’m getting a kick out of doing the unexpected?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
“I don’t know. I’m just not angry. The psychiatrist is sure I’m in denial. He scowls when I smile and shakes his head when I laugh and tell him about my day. He scribbles madly on my chart when I say anything positive.”
“So you’re driving him crazy.”
Barb grinned. “Yes. And I take great pleasure and pride in that.”
“Maybe you are in denial. Maybe it just hasn’t caught up to you yet.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think I’m in a state of acceptance. At peace with the “what is.” Any day could be my last. If this is my last day, why would I want to spend it crying over spilled milk?”
“This is NOT spilled milk, Barb. You’re paralyzed from the waist down. I ruined your life. Forever.”
Barb reached out and touched the back of David’s hand, “No, you didn’t.”
“How can you say that?”
“Easy. Even in a wheelchair, I’m not as crippled as those who allow emotional scars to eat them alive. People like that walk through life without seeing the good. They are blind to the present moment. Being paralyzed may keep me from walking, but it’s not going to blind me to the wonder and delights of life.”
“I just want those 5 minutes back. If I hadn’t been showing off . . . ”
“Let it go, David. I forgive you. Forgive yourself. Let go of the guilt. Let go of regret. You’re my best friend. I don’t want you to destroy your life.”
“You mean like I destroyed yours?”
“Shall I be honest?”
“Yes. Give it to me. I can take it.”
“I would not choose to be in a wheelchair. But I don’t get a choice in that right now. It is the “what is.” How I relate to that issue is the issue. I can crawl into a ball and cry . . . or I can look for opportunities to laugh and smile. I can hang on to anger . . . or I can embrace peace. I can choose to be sad . . . or choose to be happy. I choose happy.”
Barb reached out again and covered David’s hand with hers. “I want you to do the same. For me. Be happy. Live life with no regrets. Find whatever joy you can. Don’t take life for granted. Life is good, but life is short. Bad things happen. Laugh when you can.”
Aah . . . that’s better!
Is happiness an inside job? Are we buoyed up or dragged down by the thoughts we choose to think?
Is Barb right? Does hanging on to pain, regret, guilt, fear, anger, and sadness weigh us down more than losing the ability to walk?
Quote to Ponder: How refreshing the whinny of a pack horse fully unloaded! ~ Classic Haiku
Just Cause January 27, 2014
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, People.comments closed
Wikipedia ~ Lawyer
“I don’t care what the judge said. No way am I going to convict him. He and his family have been through enough already.”
Charlie grabbed the pitcher and poured a glass of water, sloshing some over the side of the glass.
Swiping the water off the conference table with his hand, he continued, “I would do exactly the same thing if anyone did that to my wife. That animal deserved to die.”
Joe jumped in. “Even if the guy deserved it, that’s not a defense. We can’t continue to exist as a civilized society if everyone who has a gripe against someone takes the law into his own hands . . . ”
“A gripe?!” said Allison. “Give me a break! That fucker raped and tortured the defendant’s wife for hours while the defendant was forced to watch. As long as animals like that are roaming the streets, we cannot claim to be civilized. Sam did what any decent husband would have done. Not Guilty.”
“We can’t do that,” Steve said. “We took an oath. We agreed to follow the law. You heard the judge. We have no choice. He’s guilty.”
“Yeah, I heard him . . . and you heard me,” said Charlie. “I am NOT going to convict him of murder. I don’t care if we sit in this room deliberating for the next 12 months. You will NEVER get me to change my mind. That fucker, as Allison put it so well, deserved to die. That’s a sufficient defense for me. I vote to let Sam walk out of here a free man.”
Other jurors sounded in on one side of the debate or the other. Then Sue turned the tables by asking, “What about the psychiatric testimony?”
“What about it?”
“Well, the psychiatrist said that people can *snap* with less provocation than this, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, if Sam *snapped* that’s temporary insanity. We could find him not guilty by reason of temporary insanity.”
“We could . . . except that Sam testified that he knew what he was doing, he knew that it was against the law, and he did it any way.”
“Yeah, Sam didn’t leave us much wiggle room. It’s almost like he wants us to find him guilty.”
“You’ve got a point. Maybe he feels guilty about mowing the guy down with his car as the bastard left church.”
Cal snickered, “Perfect timing for a hypocrite like that.”
“Wait. Back up. Didn’t the judge say we could accept or reject ANY of the testimony?”
“He sure did.”
“Even undisputed testimony?”
“Yup. Hey . . . I see where you’re going. If we reject Sam’s testimony that he understood what he was doing, we can conclude that he was temporarily insane at the time of the accident.”
“Exactly! He’s not a psychiatrist . . . what does he know?”
Joe looked around the room, “You’re all determined to let this guy walk?”
Everyone nodded, except Steve.
Joe nodded in Steve’s direction, “What say you?”
“I’m not sure. The judge expects us to find him Guilty based on the law he gave us. But . . . ”
* * *
The Courtroom stood at silent attention as the jurors filed into the jury box.
Barney O’Grady sat at the prosecutor’s table chewing on a pencil. Sam Williams, the defendant, stared down at his hands. His attorney, Jack Riley, attempted to read the jurors faces.
Several jurors glanced Sam’s way. Usually a good sign. Not always.
After the preliminaries, the Judge looked at the foreman, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.”
“What say you?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant Not Guilty.”
“So say you all?”
“So say us all.”
Aah . . . that’s better!
What say you? Did the defendant have “Just Cause” to do what he did? Did the Jury?
Halloween Horror House October 30, 2013
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Word Play, Writing & Writers.comments closed
“C’mon, Karen! Let’s go into the Haunted House. It’s Halloween.”
“Nah. Let’s ride the Ferris Wheel, Brad. It’s more my speed.”
“I thought you said you wanted to try new things.”
“I did, I do, but . . . ”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Just think how romantic it will be. The two of us, wandering through the dark, with only ghosts and ghouls for company.”
“I don’t know . . . ”
“It’ll be fun. I promise!”
“OK. OK. Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Hand-in-hand, Karen and Brad groped through the dark doorway . Spider webs brushed Karen’s cheek, “Eeek!”
“It’s nothing, just some silly string.”
“Right.”
Unable to see, Karen slid her feet across the planked floor, straining to hear amid the screams that filled the house with decibels of surround sound.
The noise creeped her out. As did the dark. She let go of Brad’s hand to scratch her leg, then held her hand up in front of her nose. Nothing.
“I can’t even see my hand, Brad. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough.”
Karen swung her arm out to reconnect with Brad, finding nothing but chill air.
“Stop playing around, Brad. It isn’t funny. Where are you?”
“I mean it, Brad. Answer me!”
Just ahead, Karen heard a gasp, followed by a scream, then laughter.
“Oh, my god! I think I stepped on a bloody corpse! Eww!”
Nervous laughter erupted from the group.
Karen inched forward in the dark. Being with a group of strangers would be better than being alone. Right?
Where the hell is Brad?
As she reached the group in front of her, a beam of light flashed over the bloody corpse splayed across the wooden floor.
Karen rolled her eyes in disgust, “Very funny, Brad! Get up now. I’ve had enough Halloween Horror for one night.”
The girl holding the flashlight pointed it straight at Karen. “You know this guy?”
Karen held a hand up to shield her eyes, “Yeah. That’s my on again, off again boyfriend. Soon to be ex-boyfriend if he doesn’t stop playing games.”
The girl aimed the flashlight at Brad, sprawled motionless in the middle of the dark corridor. She nudged the body with the tip of a black boot.
Karen stepped forward, “Brad, if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to kill you.”
“I don’t think he can hear you . . . he’s dead to the world.”
Karen noticed blood pooling under Brad’s head and started to scream.
She didn’t stop until the lights came on. By then, a flood of mummies and ghoulish figures surrounded Brad’s lifeless body.
Karen took in the surreal scene, transfixed by the blood. The girl with the flashlight touched her arm, causing Karen to flinch.
“We called the police. They’re on the way. I’ll stay with you until they arrive. They’re going to want to question you. I’m Rachel, by the way.”
Karen nodded, “I told Brad I didn’t want to come in here. I told him the Ferris Wheel was more my speed. He didn’t bloody listen. That’s always been his problem. He’s doesn’t bloody listen.”
Aah . . . that’s better!
Want more? For a True Ghost Story ~ When The Dead Refuse To Leave (Living on the Edge of the Wild)
Cackle . . . the Spooky Black Cat October 28, 2013
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Humor, Word Play, Writing & Writers.comments closed
On a dark gloomy night in a gloomy dark wood
A black cat rapped as he prowled his hood
“Don’t mess wit me . . . cuz I’m all that!”
“They call me Cackle . . . the Spooky Black Cat!”
Trolling the corner of Cauldron and Newt
Cackle bumped into a chick in a witch’s suit
Raising one finger to the wart on her nose
Winnie applauded with glee, as Cackle froze
Cackle hissed and growled, arching his back
Winnie laughed at his antics, “Enough of that!”
She waved her wand with a “Zim Zither Zee”
Cackle’s hackles melted, “You’re THE witch for me!”
Join Susanna Hill’s 3rd Annual Halloweensie Contest ~> No tricks. Just treats.
Related post: Halloween Drives Me Batty * Halloweensie Contest 2013 Winners! (Cackle => “Most Original Format” . . . for his Rap!)
Circle of Friends September 8, 2013
Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Humor, Music & Dance, Word Play.comments closed
Wikipedia ~ Dredge
I scanned the room, wondering who had dredged the bottom of the gene pool to compile this motley mess.
Gyrating hips and hipsters occupied the dance floor.
Transfixed by the less-than-smooth moves of countless flailing limbs, I stood on the perimeter of the precipice, sipping a frozen margarita.
Is this what social gatherings had become in my absence?
A sea of misfits twitching and twisting and twerking around in a lawful, yet lewd, display of claimed carnality?
In horrified fascination, I watched writhing torsos engaged in blatant mating rituals designed to entice the preferred gender to take a gander.
Satisfied this foray was not the way to expand my circle of friends, I fled the scene ~ claiming a pert and perky pink parasol as a suitable souvenir.
Aah . . . that’s better!
Jumble Prompt: Dredge, Occupy, Frozen, Social, Lawful, Entice . . . Circle of Friends
Related post: Sidey’s Weekend Theme ~ Circle
Spirit Lights The Way 