Blending In


Noah looked worried. It was his first day of kindergarten and he wanted to look just right. He carefully picked out camouflage pants, matching drab shirt, camouflage sneakers, and to top it off a camouflage baseball cap. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder he faced his mother. “Don’t you look so handsome!” He beamed.

At the foot of the driveway she kept watch while he leaned against the oak. “Here it comes!” He stood but the bus zoomed by. “We’ve got to call the bus barn. I’ll drive you in.” Noah was thoughtful. “Mom, do you think it thought I was a tree?”





The prompt is:

“… Noah looked worried…”


100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups


Before Midnight US Time



She was determined to get everything unpacked before tomorrow; after all, there wasn’t much. Having lived in a single room there was no furniture to speak of just more junk than anything else. Exhausted yet undaunted she opened a box of desk odds and ends finding the second toothpick holder. “So there you are… how’d you wind up here?” Chuckling she put it aside. She turned to move the collection of office supplies closer to the desk then reached. “Where… where is it?” She turned, turned around, put on the light but found no sign of the cylindrical holder. “Huh, but it was there just a moment ago.”





This week’s prompt:

“… but it was there just a moment ago…”


100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#163



Nothing Like The Mythology I Was Taught


          I’m reading this upscale magazine. Upscale. What’s that supposed to mean? Anyway, I’m reading this magazine that’s supposed to be higher-end writing and I find this hideous, painfully long piece of prose about ankles, ankles in boots and I stopped reading, stunned, thinking, “That can’t be what they want.” They’re so reserved, conservative, they say upscale but maybe that’s underlying. Looks to me like someone knew someone who published their work, you know, slid it in under the radar. Maybe this would be the time to submit something and they’ll even publish me! Ha! I had something written I thought too risqué but who knows.

What I wanted to say:

My Father is dying, Dad, wasting away. At 125 he’s developed so much the doctors can’t keep track. No he’s not 125 years old but down to 125 pounds, not that he was a huge man to begin with, still he weighed more than that.

He’d be on my unit if I were still in medical, Skilled Nursing, in a family of multiple train wrecks so he wouldn’t be alone. After writing these few words he might be down to 100, maybe less. We stopped getting along a while ago; he couldn’t make me anymore yet I thought, “What will I do when you’re not here for me to be mad at?”

Well, not really mad at better to say just taken aback by.

There can never be another, you’re one who’s unique, there’ll never be another you. That song you taught couples to sing at encounter meetings so much like AA, to convince them they should stay married and for what? They found they don’t like each other anyway and they know without a doubt, “I’ll never find another you. Maybe one of us ought move out. Shouldn’t have found you in the first place – ha, a mutual feeling setting one free. We, together, don’t want to find another you, each other, what are you doing here with me?” Interesting concept.

But this is nothing like reading about ankles in boots.

Getting back on track. So, who will it be to cause me to be taken aback? Who will others use to be better than whom I portray? I’m a lot like him you see. If he were a girl he’d look like me. It’s been a long hard road this life we’ve had and I can’t get distance enough between us but I know I’ll never come across someone like you in the most euphemistic way. If we weren’t so alike I’d be free but I’ll never find another you because that’s me.

I never knew someone who hated a parent, not personally, not firsthand. Always examining I looked inside myself and knew I’d never hated, knowledge is so unfair, I could be surprised and hurt but not for one second was love ever gone or just not there, nor for less than a second. “You might not have made it”, I’d thought, “now that you’ve passed”. Of course you would have. With the design quite grand I crossed the Plain of Lethe and drank deep from Mnemosyne. I knew I accepted the overall design. It’s just something I’d do. I could remember even being born. I was sent back by something greater than us both, a creator of a masterful plan.

It wasn’t necessary I be appeared to, no manifestation necessary for a secret to be revealed. Nothing mystical really but everyday, it had always been clear though my thought following after was “how do I tell him” all the things I always understood. “He’s not here anymore, or…” Imagination being what it is I put my head on your shoulder and said, “We’re ok, you and me, you know we really are, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when your time breathed its last.” No retrospect would inspire nor dictate another path. I am whom I am you see that I know, and of that truth I will never let go.

The Cool Morning Air

“She had the door open just for a change. The sliding glass had been pulled back and the breeze filtered through the screen cool, almost invigorating. Two windows had been opened for cross-ventilation, not perfect but nice. After finishing her post power-walk energy drink concoction she stripped off her sweaty clothing dropping each piece into the basket…”

Worlds Collide



Part of me is in storage in another storage space

Part of me is here under my own nose

Part of me awaits help to move into one place

Part of me is longing for when I’ll see your face

My home is not where I live now

That part of me not far

But these pieces need to come together

A puzzle to be designed

Will I be at peace at last?

At ease will it be my mind


Happiness it could exist if parts fall into place

Another part of me moves closer

Filling empty space

Here I sit for lack of sleep

Martini ebbs away

A movie now keeps company

Closing out another day

Fill me sleep rest now my heart I command

Look toward those better days

Though I cannot see so far beyond me

Yet a magnet I now play






But what will I write

Yes I could

I would, now

But what will I write

You know I should

I feel it inside

Come out from hiding

Let’s see

The muse is knocking


Spend time with me

But what will I write

Impromptu as it seems

It’s on the tip of my tongue

I love it

The passion, the fever

The longing

The fun

Eagerness waiting

No, awaits poetic licensing

To my head tain’t no gun

I wish each morning at the keyboard to stay

And bang out a novel

Pages every day


But what will I write




100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#160


This week’s prompt is:

 …but what will I write…



Dead Of Winter


          I came into consciousness on the floor. Slowly I got to my feet, looked around in the pitch black of what I knew was the living room and drew a complete blank. Where were the light switch and my clothes? How many times had I been here, why couldn’t I find anything? Staggering a little I made it to the kitchen and looked out the window at my house where my children and his son slept. I’d never liked this arrangement, never liked being separated from them. The night was breathtakingly frozen, trees covered in ice, the drive in plowed snow. I found my way back and put my hand on the arm of the couch directly onto my keys. How did they get there? Breathing a thank-you I grasped them tight. Not caring about anything else, I firmly positioned the one in my hand that would unlock my door.

Making my way back to the kitchen door, I breathed in, opened it, stepped out and ran. I let my body tense forbidding the cold to touch me. My feet didn’t slip as I became a mythical creature of the night bounding a few graceful strides to the front steps. I slid the key into place, and the door opened onto a vision of children asleep under piles of blankets. With the final stride I entered and slid under with them as it slammed behind me. No one stirred. My body began to tremble from the shock of below zero; I calmed my breathing and felt warmth begin creeping up from my toes.

I awoke a few hours later, the sun blazing through a window onto my face and no other sounds but soft breathing. I rose, pulled on a pair of men’s sweats, a cowl neck sweater, my favorite oversized flannel shirt, slouchy socks, and walked over to the phone. I had one chance that he’d wake and let me in so I could get what was left behind. He answered on the third ring and I crossed the drive. I gathered things together surprised at how close they’d been to where I’d stood. Arms full, I teased a goodnight and left. The children slept peacefully as I made coffee. I walked to the window with my steaming cup and looked out on a perfect frozen morning, stunningly brilliant, intoxicatingly crisp.