Friday Fictioneers: End Of The Diet

I’ve been hibernating. Injured back, too much on my plate, heavy stuff and too much rain… feeling bad that I haven’t been able to keep up with reading other stories… take your pick; I had to take a break. But oh, those photo prompts tease me! They sit in my inbox, urging me to come back and play. This week, Dale Rogerson’s photo won out. And so, here is my tale for the week. As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback. Thanks Kate for reading an oldie and testing that theory!

If you’d like to give Friday Fictioneers a try, check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog Addicted to Purple. She keeps runs this show flawlessly!

dale-rogerson-pizza

© Dale Rogersons

 

The End of Diets

 

“Fuck’m ifee cantake a joke,” she slurred.

A chill hit her shoulders, and she sank deeper into the warmth. A half slice of pizza dangled beside her glass of wine. She pushed it back from the edge with one wet toe, as remnants of her favorite dinner grew cold.

She rubbed tears, which had begun again.

“Thre’s not nuf moisturizer to make me that youngandthin agin.” Her voice grew thicker as the room spun in and out of focus.

The phone rang–– him, calling with more lies. She slipped beneath the scarlet water as it all faded away.

(98 words)

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GIPYKAPOW!  I didn’t meet the 2016 goal for Likes on the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page; missed it by 14! So this year, I’m not setting a goal. I’m grateful for each Like I get. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (yes, for real)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2017  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

 

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Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep…

This is a hard day, and the irony of Facebook sends a chill up my spine. This morning, I heard the news that a friend from high school lost his daughter in a car accident two days ago. M. and I have not been close friends for years; we weren’t close friends in high school. I didn’t know his daughter. But M is an amazing person who just lost his child. He and I grew up in a very small, unique place, and this past fall when we all reunited, and hung out again, spending time with M. was a highlight. He’s an incredibly funny guy–– he was in high school, and he is still. M.’s also thoughtful, kind and loves his family. I know that, because we talked about our kids and spouses during a long, meaningful conversation that evening. The conversation and connection took me by surprise, but was one of the most lovely moments that weekend. We caught up on 35 years; it’s what you do at reunions–– but M.’s warmth and sweet character made that conversation extra special.

We talked about other things, but that is what haunts me today. M. loves his family, and two days ago it was shattered. Anyone who has known him, can’t imagine M. without a smile… until now. I imagine he’s feeling broken right now, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. This kind of loss is just as inconceivable and terrifying, as it was when I first wrote this pot. All day, the reality of it interrupted my other thoughts. All day, a piece of my heart was grieving… for M, for his family, for the the way the world just shifted, for his beautiful 19 year-old daughter that is gone, and for all the reasons I wrote this piece… exactly four years ago.

A lot’s happened since I wrote this post. All three of my kids have gone off to college, two have graduated, and one has her own baby now. That little boy is the light of my life, and now his fingers and toes, are as precious as those I’ve loved forever. I can no longer slip in and make sure my own babies are sleeping soundly. Most days, I don’t know what they’re doing, at any given moment. Two months ago, a friend lost her 27 year-old son, a boy who had graduated with my daughter. I was struck immobilized, unable to reach out and tell her how sorry I was–– shocked by the proximity of that tragedy. And today, I am shaken again.

A lot has changed in four years. But what hasn’t changed is that when I hear news like this, and I’m reminded that the boogey man is still out there, nothing has changed at all. It’s 12:30am and I can’t sleep. My head is full of the horrific news that a dear man, has lost his child. Facebook has an uncanny way of pointing out that life is not fair, and while it goes on, some days there is nothing you can do but count your blessings and hold someone else in your heart.

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

When my babies were small, and slept in their own beds. When my babies were small, and slept in their own beds.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. That’s not totally unusual. I’m a woman of a certain age— there are many things that keep me awake these days. However, last night it was the most horrible of thoughts, the darkest of the dark. Yesterday I read in our local paper that a vibrant young girl, who graduated from the high school that my kids have attended, was killed in a scooter accident overseas, over spring break this week. I knew the girl. Not well, but I knew her face, remembered her personality. She was a baby, just having started college— so much life ahead of her. She was doing something joyful and fun, with her sister and friends. She was having an adventure… All I could think, as I lay in bed last night, the dark pushing in around me, was…

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Friday Fictioneers: And Round We Go

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction challenge, led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more details, or to join in. This week’s photo comes from Jennifer Pendergast. As always, I welcome honest, constructive feedback.

jennifer-pendergast5

© Jennifer Pendergast

 

And Around We Go

Joe and I never did anything in a straight line. From the day we met, we wore each other down, with our inability to do things traditionally. We were never on time for anything; never followed patterns our friends forged toward good careers and stability. Joe and I never minded the scramble that comes from free-falling.

It wasn’t a straight-line plan when we had baby Sam; we’d barely decided to live together! Timing isn’t our forté either, but he’s the best thing we’ve done.

Predictably, Joe didn’t use a straight line to seal the deal; a perfect gold ring did.

(Exactly 100 words)

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GIPYKAPOW!  I didn’t meet the 2016 goal for Likes on the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page; missed it by 14! So this year, I’m not setting a goal. I’m grateful for each Like I get. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (yes, for real)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2017  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneer: The Temple Divine

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly 100-word flash fiction challenge, with a photo prompt. This week’s wondrous photo comes from Shaktiki Sharma. For more information on how to participate, or to read the other great stories in the collection, check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog Addicted to Purple. She herds cats every week, and makes it look easy. As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback. Please leave a comment.

yellow-bug-shaktiki

© Shaktiki Sharma

 

The Temple Divine

“Close your eyes baby, and just breathe. Clear your mind.”

Anya sat still, her mother’s hands firmly on her shoulders. She inhaled slowly, deeply, then exhaled, trying not to think about the others.

“Now remember this: there’s all kinds of beauty, and no one is perfect. God created the deep blue ocean for one person’s heart, and a simple desert rock for another’s.”

Breathe in; breathe out.

“Every pattern–– every shade of color out there, makes someone’s heart sing. You need to look in this mirror, and see that your ebony is no less perfect than the deepest emerald green.”

(Exactly 100 words)

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GIPYKAPOW!  I didn’t meet the 2016 goal for Likes on the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page; missed it by 14! So this year, I’m not setting a goal. I’m grateful for each Like I get. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (yes, for real)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2011-2017  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

 

 

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I Flinch

This gallery contains 10 photos.

Originally posted on The Huntington's Chronicles:
I’ve done a true disservice to this blog, to this topic, to readers, and to my own internal world, by avoiding writing about the realities of living with HD in our family. I…

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Friday Fictioneers: First Love

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompted, 100 word writing challenge. Warning: it’s highly addictive, and involves very fine people. If you’re interested in joining, or would like to read more of the stories, check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog; she’s our talented ringmaster. As always, I welcome honest, constructive feedback; please leave a comment.

clouds-above-the-trees

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

First Love 

“Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way”

“There’s Micky Mouse, waving his big glove.” Allie pointed, “lower right.”

Jen squinted. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s fading already. I think rain’s coming; our picnic’s ruined.”

Allie felt tears sting her eyes, and wiped them, embarrassed.

Jen took her hand and kissed her palm.

“I see angels smiling through the dark clouds; their rays of light make everything seem possible. Nothing’s ruined when we’re together.”

Allie shyly moved closer, as they watched the sky change.

(Exactly 100 words)

The minute I saw this photo, one of my favorite songs came to mind. Take a moment to enjoy Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now

 

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KAPOW!  I didn’t meet the 2016 goal for Likes on the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page; missed it by 14! So this year, I’m not setting a goal. I’m grateful for each Like I get. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (yes, for real)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2017  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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Friday Fictioneers: No Words

I was late last week with my “nasty” story, but appreciated the comments; thanks all y’all! That was one of my favorite photo prompts ever! Out of the park, Liz! Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more details, or to join in.

Big changes at Huffington Post, and my piece about the March on Washington was not published until last week. Delayed, but still much my thoughts. Some great photos from DC! As always I appreciate honest, constructive feedback; please leave a comment.

january-snowfall-nighttime

© Sarah Potter

 

No Words

Jordan stared out the open window, watching the snow fall. The house was silent, and the flakes landed with a soft whoosh, wrapping her in icy peace. She blew out softly and watched her breath disappear in a vaporous cloud.

When Doug told her he was leaving, she was silent.She remained mute as he left–– unable to plead, apologize or seek reconciliation.

There was no point; he’d left her long before he said the words. She smiled at the beauty that mocked her grief, and closed the window.

The house was silent, her heart as cold as the dark night.

(Exactly 100 words)

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GIPYKAPOW!  I didn’t meet the 2016 goal for Likes on the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page; missed it by 14! So this year, I’m not setting a goal. I’m grateful for each Like I get. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, LeBron James does (yes, for real)! Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. Honest, constructive feedback is always appreciated. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email,  no spam.

©2017  All content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, I’m grateful, but please give proper credit and Link back to my work; plagiarism sucks!

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