Monday, November 24, 2014

injaynesworld we are "Thankful for Mornings..."


Blessed are the mornings, for they are filled with such promise – Me

It’s hard for me to believe now that there was a time – long, long ago and far, far away – in the land known as “my youth,” when I was not a morning person.  I recall lying in bed looking at the clock, which might have read “10:15 a.m.,” and thinking, “Great.  It’s not even eleven yet.  I can go back to sleep.”  Which meant my “useful” day would start at about 1:00 and, during the winter months that would give me only about four hours of sunlight.  No wonder I was so cranky back then.  I was seriously Vitamin D deficient. 

The fact that I rarely got in before 2:00 a.m. in those days and that I currently live in a community that rolls up the proverbial sidewalks at eight should probably be mentioned.  The most raucous club in town closes at ten.  People here have cows and horses to feed in the morning.  

I love mornings, and if I don’t have to come down off my quiet, little hilltop, all the better.  The idea that a day is new and as yet unsullied appeals to me.  Morning is a frame of mind.  As long as I don’t take off my robe – even if it’s 3:00 in the afternoon – it’s still technically morning. Conversely, if I have someplace I need to be at 9:00 a.m., even if I’m home by 10:00, morning is lost.

I realize that I’m getting older.  I can see the “Exit” sign from here, so these days I’m happy just to wake up and find that I’m still alive. “Score!  Got another one!”  One hears about people unexpectedly dying in their sleep all the time and, while it sounds peaceful, it would seriously piss me off.  Let me have one more morning. 

Afternoons wear on me.  I’m tired by then and completely understand the Latin tradition of napping the afternoon away.  Have you noticed that people will say that they’re a “morning” person or a “night” person, but no ever one says, “Hey, me?  Yeah.  I’m an afternoon person.”   With apologies to the British and their penchant for afternoon tea, I’m of the belief that those hours are just there to fill the space between morning coffee and evening wine. 

Thanksgiving would be the exception, when the feasting in my world starts at around 3:00.  Even I would not want to wolf down turkey and sweet potatoes for breakfast and, after 6:00, such overindulgence will stay with me for the entire night, causing me to wake up feeling like crap and ruin the next morning.  So yeah, for one day a year, I’m an afternoon person.

Whatever time of day it is that you gather with loved ones, I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving.



Wednesday, November 19, 2014

injaynesworld it's "Daddy's Girl..."


Day 19 of Nancy Stohlman's "30 Days, 30 Stories" flash fiction writing challenge and the prompt is "my father."

My father waits at the curb, leaning against his ’56 Hudson, a Lucky Strike burning down to his calloused fingertips. 

Despite my mother’s protest, I wear my best dotted Swiss dress, my petticoat starched and stiff against my bare legs. 

He reaches inside the car, pounds twice on the horn. 

New black patent Mary Janes pinch my feet as I rush from the window to the front door, down the three steps from the porch and out to the sidewalk.  He tosses his cigarette to the ground and picks me up, his face like sandpaper against my own. 

“Well, aren’t you Miss Fancy Shmancy” he says.

I smell the whiskey on his breath, though it is barely noon, and I know we are not going to the promised zoo. 

Friday, November 7, 2014

injaynesworld it's "The Legacy..."


Pinched in a small, white box, wrapped in a sock, buried deep in her underwear drawer, the last gift her mother would give her lies in wait for those occasions when it is brought out from the darkness and slipped onto the daughter’s finger.

Cast with diamonds from the mother’s wedding ring out of a marriage born of duty, its memories best left in the past, and a single blue sapphire added at its center for her own birth, the ring bears decades of love and sacrifice, blessing and burden.   

The daughter’s hand sinks under its weight.

From the prompt “treasure” from Nancy Stohlman’s Flash Nano 30 Days 30 StoriesChallenge.


Wednesday, November 5, 2014

injaynesworld "A Thought or Two About the Election..."


Another election is behind us. Enjoy the relative peace for about another six months until the 2016 campaigns kick in. 
 
Yes, I voted. I’m of the opinion that if you don’t vote you can’t bitch about the results and God knows how I love to bitch.

Does it really matter who wins the Senate when the choice is so pathetic?  Republicans are evil, Democrats are spineless, and they’re all blowing Wall Street.

Republican supporters can gloat today, but they shouldn’t take the election results to mean that the majority of the country’s populace supports their anti-middle class, anti-minority, anti-woman agenda. The GOP won because the majority of our citizens either didn’t care about voting or were disenfranchised by new Republican-backed voting laws that made it impossible for them to do so. Not surprisingly, most of the disenfranchised were people of color. The good news is our brown brothers and sisters will soon outnumber you old, white bastards.

Then we have the people who consistently vote against their own best interests and wonder why their lives are shit:  Those who voted for Republican governors who have fought to prevent them from access to Medicaid. Pissing blood?  Good luck with that.  Those who voted for Walker in Wisconsin, despite his blatant assault on the middle-class, because why should teachers, fire and police have decent pensions after they’ve spent their lives serving an ungrateful public?  And what’s with those who voted for McConnell in Kentucky?  Has there ever been a bigger turd in the punch bowl? 

For those who believe this was a win for the “real patriots,” think again. The big winners were the international corporate interests that have no allegiance to flag or country, only to shareholders. You might as well pledge your allegiance to G.E’s corporate logo.

But now the fun begins. Remember all the whining by Democrats over Republican filibusters and obstructionism?  “Tit for Tat,” baby.  Say what you will about the Nixon years, but we had a Congress that actually worked together.  We’ll never see that again.  Not in my lifetime anyway.

For those of you who remember my older blog posts where I was so passionately political, that torchlight has gone out.  I’m just happy to live in California where sanity, for the most part, prevailed. 

Monday, October 27, 2014

injaynesworld join the "Fiction Challenge with Link-Up..."


As you read this story, think about what is left unsaid.


He said, “It’s time to go.”

She said, “I’ll only be a minute.”

He said, “Why do you always do this?”

She said, “Why must we always leave so early?”

He said, “Because you’re never ready when you say you’ll be.

She said, “It’s only family.”

He said, “You mean it’s only my family.”

She said, “Stop telling me what I mean.”

He said, “If you don’t want to go, just say so.”

She said, “I made a salad.”

He said, “Fine.  I’ll start the car.”

She said, “I’ll only be a minute…  Wait!  Just take the salad.”

He said, “You know I won’t come back this time.”

She said, “…I know.”

Please share your interpretation of this piece in the comments. Then go write a “He said/She said” story on your own blog, come back and link it up. Check back for new links to visit others. 

You have until midnight on Friday.  Join in the fun!



Tuesday, October 7, 2014

injaynesworld "Things Go Missing..."


I’ve misplaced a brain cell.  Not just any brain cell; the one containing the pin number to my checking account.  To be fair, it wasn’t a pin of my choice, but when first given to me two years ago after a large bank gobbled up my small bank, it seemed easy enough to remember and so I kept it.

I love ATMs.  Just the idea that you can put in a plastic card and it gives you money never fails to thrill me.  I usually take out $20 at a time.  Sure I could take out $100, but then I wouldn’t get to play the game as often.  With most of my thrills behind me, I cling to little shit like this. 

It’s just a tad pathetic.  I know.  Where was I?

Oh, yes:  The missing brain cell.  Because I rarely carry a lot of cash, I use my debit card like a slot machine junkie at a casino and I’ve probably punched in that same pin number hundreds of times  always confident that it was lodged securely in my brain and it was – until this past week.

Trader Joe’s on a Saturday afternoon is not the time or place you want to have a brain fart.  

With a month’s worth of cheap wine and pumpkin ice cream already packaged up I slid my debit card through the slot like a pro and that’s when it happened:  “Enter Pin Number.”  As surely as if someone had robbed me at gunpoint, the goddamn brain cell charged with the retaining of that information was nowhere to be found.  I knew it started with a two and ended with a zero.  You’d think with enough combinations I could have hit on it, “enough” being the key word here.  But you don’t get enough.  You only get three tries and then you’re locked out.  Fuck.

The line of people behind me was not amused when I had to pull out my checkbook – yes, a checkbook – and write out the payment in longhand on paper like some relic from an era now studied in high school history classes.  As I pushed my cart from the store I’m pretty sure I heard one of them mutter “poor thing.”

I know our body sheds and replaces cells all the time, but lately I feel like I’m getting short-shifted on the replacement part.  I suspect the brain cell containing the pin number ran off with the brain cell containing my Facebook password, which I also had to replace recently.

Why the hell can’t I lose fat cells this easily?

Sunday, September 28, 2014

injaynesworld it's "The Fix-Up..."


Was it a blue jacket with a gray-and-red striped tie or a gray jacket with a blue-and-gray striped tie?  Scanning the bar area, Sarah saw only young men dressed in leather. 

She made her way across the room, slid onto a barstool and ordered a Jack Daniels neat, something else she’d never done before the divorce, but had always liked the way it sounded when uttered by self-possessed women on TV. 

Maybe he’d said Luke’s on Fifth near the bay and here she was at Duke’s on Fifteenth.   

Freud said there are no mistakes… or was that Jung?


From this week’s Five Sentence Fiction prompt “confusion.”


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