Friday Fictioneers… MUCKING OUT

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MUCKING OUT …A Drabble for FriFic

At a brownstone in Wicker Park, the new apartment manager goes to work…

“Where do we start?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘What do I mean’, Ethel? You asked for help, this place is a disaster! Who the hell was this Doug guy, look at this junk!”

“He was a sweet guy, very poetic, and he loved the sea. Did I tell you he was a submarine commander once?”

“Didn’t look the sailor type to me, Ethel, more of a mountain climber, and definitely not a poet.”

“That’s why he moved to Hawaii, to live on a mountain. Pick something out, Cheryl.”

“He took all the good stuff, Ethel!!!”

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Friday Fictioneers’ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has given us a photo by her BFF Douglas M. MacIlroy.  To see a story I wrote about meeting Doug ➸ ABOVE THE CLOUDS

To see other stories based on Doug’s photo ➸ 

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PAINTER OF DOGS BECOMES A DIFFERENT KIND OF STORY TELLER

The other day, I shared this ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos video of a guy playing with puppies, with a friend on facebook… she is not just any dog lover, but a world-renowned artist who specializes in paintings of dogs.  Other animals sometimes come out of her brush, but mostly… Dogs.  She is also President of the Animal Shelter on San Juan Island and an all around champion of animal rights.  Here she is in her studio holding my favorite Dog Painting, and you can view her work here… JAIME ELLSWORTH

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So, she makes this smart-aleck comment about the guy being her brother, and I like a dope say “Is it really your brother?”  I was astounded by her reply, and immediately thought… TedBook!

Jaime Ellsworth No…but we could be long-lost twins separated at birth by a baby snatching nurse who sold him off for money for cash to gamble away in Vegas. She drank too much and lost all the money, and then felt so guilty about her dirty deed that she became a hooker to try to buy the baby back. Sadly that was her downfall as she became addicted to heroin and spent every penny she had on drugs. My brothers faux parents could never figure out why he preferred the company of dogs so much because they were told his real parents were busy astronauts and never had any attachment to animals or children as they were always in space. As a child he was never allowed to have a pet and made up for it in his adulthood by stalking people at pet stores who bought puppy chow and followed them home, waited until they went to work and climbed in the puppies play yards to fill his heart with all the puppy love he was so denied as a child……….to be continued…. “

So what do you think?   Artist becomes Author?  I for one am looking forward to the ‘to be continued…’

To see a previous TedBook story about The Painter of Dogs,  and a show at Waterworks Gallery in Friday Harbor…

DOG SHOW… Sort of…

 

Friday Fictioneers… STOP THE MUSIC!!!

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STOP THE MUSIC!!!… A Drabble for FriFic

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s me.”

“I know it’s you before I pick up the phone, stop telling me every time.”

“Well get over here, the shit’s going to hit the fan!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ethel?”

“The kids, the kids downstairs playing music! I’ve called the cops!”

“No. I thought they were pretty good.”

“Well, you don’t live above them and have to listen to it night and day. Besides, I seem to remember you were pretty pissed when we were watching Big Brother, and now you won’t come over for Survivor.”

“Oh Yeah!!! I’ll be right over.”

♬ ♪ ♫ 𝄫♩♩♬ 𝄆 ♪ ♪ ♫ ♭ 𝄡 ♪ 𝄫 ♩ ♪ ♬

friday-fictioneers

A 100 Word Flash Fiction for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers, based on her photo.

To see more stories…

 

DIVING

DIVE

DIVING by Ula Grace

As we put on our bulky Scuba gear I smile in anticipation of the underwater trip we are about to take. I haven’t been diving in a couple of years so I’m a little nervous. But as soon as we get in the water that all goes away, and I immerse myself in the beauty and mystery of the ocean we are part, if only for a short time. We swim deeper and deeper toward our destination: a sunken ship. I am so enthralled by the fish that I fail to notice the huge shadow in front us until it looms up ahead recognizable as a boat. We swim over it. It is it’s own whole habitat, separate yet in union with the ocean. There is all kinds of coral and underwater plants growing on the hull and deck, and along the railing of the ship. Fish are everywhere, miniature purple ones swimming in schools, and large ones swimming solo. It makes me sad to leave this underwater paradise.

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This installment in Ula’s Cuba Stories takes place in Playa Girón.

A view from the 57 Chevy that brought them to the dive beach.

A view from the 57 Chevy that brought them to the dive beach.

The author pointing out the two dive sites she and here parents explored.

The author pointing out the two dive sites she explored with he parents .

To read other stories…  THE CUBAN DIARY

Photography for this story courtesy of Steven Gutmann

THE SPEAKEASY #176… A Cautionary Tale

 

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A CAUTIONARY TALE

Cook County General… Chicago, Illinois… Room 317… 11:30p.m.

Everything hurt. Cheryl looked at her friend and that’s what she saw. And that is what she would probably say when she awoke.

It had all started with that damn PennySaver ad. “Why waste money on a repairman when You can fix it?” “Let us show you the easy way to Do-It-Yourself!”  She had told Ethel there was no easy way, and that a few online classes wouldn’t make her an expert on fixing things. But Ethel had replaced the cord on her window shade and fixed her blender, though she was out of her protein shake phase, so she had to give her credit for that.

Earlier that day, Cheryl had just fixed lunch and was going to watch the Big Brother episode she had recorded when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Is this Miss Cheryl?”
“Hi Dominic, why are you calling me?”
“It’s Miss Ethel. She is going to hospital and you should know.”

Cheryl shifted in her chair and continued filling out the crossword in the Trib. ‘What the hell was Ethel thinking? Well this should teach that do-gooder a lesson. Let the landlord fix the damn dryer.’ Cheryl immediately felt sorry for that thought. ‘But really, any damn fool knows you unplug something before working on it. It says so on the back of the machine. Maybe they didn’t teach that in their fix-it class.’

The nurse had looked grave when Cheryl got to the hospital. Nurse Betty explained that her friend had received a serious electrical shock, but was expected to live. She was sedated and would sleep for sometime, they would call when she was awake. The doctor hoped there would be no lasting effects, but you never know. Cheryl thanked her, and said she would wait with Ethel, if that was okay. ‘It would serve her right if she got one of those white streaks in her hair like Angela Lansbury had in that movie.’

2:30a.m.

Cheryl was wishing there was another bed in the room when Ethel moaned, stirred and her eyes popped open.
“Where am I?  What are you doing here?”
“I’m doing my crossword while I wait for you to wake up. Your dryer repair job didn’t go so well. Do you remember what happened? How do you feel?”
“Ooh, everything hurts.”

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

The Speakeasy is back from summer vacation!

 

  • Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
  • Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
  • The following sentence must be the FIRST line in your submission: “Everything hurt.
  • You must also include a reference to the media prompt.

A RIDE AROUND THE CITY

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A RIDE AROUND THE CITY… by Ula Grace

The wind rushes through my hair as if in a hurry.  We breeze down the ocean side highway in our neon pink Caddy at the start of our tour of Havana.

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Our first stop is the Hotel Nacional, a hotel built in the 30’s and famous for housing people like Al Capone and others. We speed toward our next destination: Vedado. On the opposite side of Havana as Old Havana, otherwise known as Habana Viejo in Spanish. Next the Plaza de la Revolucion, with the black outlines of Cuba’s greatest now dead heroes: Ché Guevara and Camlio Cienfuegos. Below Ché there is his famous quote “Hasta la Victoria Siempre” (in English “For Victory, Always”). IMG_2806

 

We leave the plaza and drive onward. My favorite place is next: The John Lennon Park. I had been waiting to go here throughout the whole drive. We arrive at the park to find dry, scraggly, yellow grass and burning bronze benches, one of which a bronze statue is lounging with the words “Ustede puede decir que soy soñador pero no soy el único” (in English “You may say I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one”).  I rush out of the car to sit next to my Idol for a picture, but I have to sit on my bag because the bench is too hot. As we reach the bench we are met by an old man holding a pair of eyeglasses for the bronze John. He carefully places the glasses on the statue and waits for us to finish taking pictures. As we walk back to the car, I look back and smile to see how carefully the little old glasses man handles the little bronze glasses.

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We go next to a lush green park and stop for a beverage.  When we leave I decide to sit on the back of the seat and my auntie Krissy sits up with me. We ride like that to our next stop: a green house that my mom specially requested to see. But we couldn’t go inside. To end our tour, our guide took us through a tunnel under the ocean to a castle. All in all it was a fantastic tour in a ridiculous car and was thoroughly enjoyed by all.

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Another installment from our Foreign Correspondent, Ula Grace, as she recalls her visit to Cuba with her parents Krista and Steve.

To see other stories… THE CUBAN DIARY

 

 

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers… ANTIQUING

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 ANTIQUING…  A Drabble for FriFic

Somewhere on Maxwell Street… Chicago’s South Side…

“Come on, Cheryl, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It’s dirty and gross here!”

“Wait till you see it. It’s beautiful. An antique!”

“Old and dirty does not antique make, Ethel. You know I don’t like used.”

“Get off your damn high horse.  Besides, there’s pork chop sandwiches, don’t try to tell me you won’t like those.”

“That’s the only reason I came. Where’s this chest of yours?  Stop!  Wait a minute… I love this!!”

“But, it’s old and dirty, plus the glass is cracked, Cheryl.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Ethel.”

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 Love the photo of Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s writing desk, by her husband Jan Wayne Fields…. To see more stories prompted by his photo… FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

 

 

Friday Fictioneers… HOT STUFF

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HOT STUFF… A Drabble for FriFic

In a brownstone three flights up… the sound of food being spit out.

“Good God, Ethel, what the hell is this?”

“It’s my new ‘culinary de force’, Cheryl. I’m bringing excitement to my cooking.”

“Excitement!  Inedible, it’s so damn hot. I hope you meant ‘du jour’, because I don’t want to taste that again.  And, don’t pull that pouty face with me!  What did you put in that soup?”

“It’s my new thing. ‘Rooster Sauce!'”

Ethel proudly displays a bottle of Sriracha.

“Rooster sauce my ass, Ethel. There should be a Dragon on that label. One word… ‘Moderation'”

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Check out other stories inspired by Marie Gail Stratford‘s photo see Rochelle @ Friday Fictioneers

HORRU… Thru a Pinhole!

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I recently received this photograph in the mail.  Jesús Joglar, who specializes in pinhole photography sent it to me from Barcelona, Spain.  I was involved in a postcard exchange and was delighted when this month’s postcardpal sent me such an interesting print.  I was going to post the photo on my photoblog, but thought it really should be on TedBook for all to see.  Here is the information Jesús furnished describing the photo.

Enclosed please find a contact copy of my pinhole photograph entitled ‘horru’, the name of the raised granary, a typical way of keeping the food (corn grain, pork cured meat, etc.) in Asturias, a region in the North coast of Spain where I come from.

I made it with a Zero Image 45 pinhole camera with a pinhole ø of 0.28 mm, a focal length of 50 mm, what gives an f/176 and <116˚ using 4×5 black&white Fomapan 200 [ISO 200] film with an exposition time of 10 sec.  I developed in homebrewed Ilford ID-11 stock at 20˚  C for 6 min [12 sec 0 / 1 min] and made the contact copy in Ilford Multigrade IV RD De LUXE Pearl.

I hope you like it!  With warm regards… Jesús Joglar

 

Well, I not only like it… I love it and am going to frame it and hang it on my wall with other works of art.  I have no idea what Jesús said in his second paragraph, but I imagine my photographer pals Joan Benney and Jaime Powell Shepard will be all over it.  The only pinhole photographer I know is Fiona Small here in Friday Harbor… a talented artist and actress, and one of my favorite people to photograph at the County Fair.

To see a bit of Spain and learn more about Jesús Joglar’s Pinhole Photography… LIGHT THROUGH A HOLE

 

 

TORMENTED… A Vignette

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TORMENTED… A Vignette by Ula Grace

I remember that night, that night of sorrow.
I am responsible for what happened to them. I hear her voice in my thoughts, during my nights.
I hear all of their voices. They torment me. Their words accusing, all except hers.
They blame me for it all. I have no escape. Everyone is gone, those who survived left after that night. I’m alone, wandering this darkened, silent house in search of some escape from this torment.
I see her walking in the halls, our grandmother’s nightgown draped over her thin shoulders, the back trailing on the floor like the train on a wedding dress. My little sister, only six years old when her life was ended. I see her open her mouth, and read my name on her lips… Caleb. It seems to take a lifetime for the sound to reach my ears, and when it does, its distant, a shadow of her voice. She’s searching for me. I try to tell her that it’s all right, that I’m here. But all I hear is silence, where my voice should fill the emptiness with comforting words. I reach out to stroke her hair and pull her into my embrace. But then she’s gone, as if she never existed, ever walked this Earth. Leaving a trail of tiny footprints behind her as she walks.

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Guest Author Ula Grace

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Ula Grace is a frequent contributor to TedBook.

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Photo of the little girl is on the cover of Ransom Riggs’ novel Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children   

Of course I bought the book… after I read it, I’ll give it to UlaG.

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THIS STORY IS FEATURED ON THIS WEEK’S MOONSHINE GRID AT YEAHWRITE.COM

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