A dog's life...

Magpie Tales

Mag 128

image by Zelko Nedic

"Here's how it works, Thor. I take you to the park and you get to play with the ball. And in return, you bark at strangers who knock at the front door.  I feed you a big bowl of kibble with gravy every day and you keep me company when I'm alone.  I scratch your ears and keep the fleas off your back and you stay off the sofa. I don't leave you in the car with the windows rolled up and you don't chew on my boots. If we are going to be a team here, then you can't keep lifting your leg on my ficus tree.  Do we understand one another??"

Laurel. Just give me a cat.

Sharing today with my friends at Magpie Tales, who probably have less literal interpretations of this artwork prompt.

Dinner Date...an Ode to Pearl

Magpie Tales

Mag 126



artwork by Jack Vettriano

She even dreamed about it last night...how she would say it.  She wouldn't be cruel, even though he deserved words that ladies aren't accustomed to using. He certainly didn't have any trouble reeking havoc on the ordered life she carefully maintained, so why should she concern herself with his feelings? She waited, watching to see if he'd show. The ash of her third cigarette fell silently to the polished floor. Forty minutes past the hour and her anger bubbled beneath the surface. She heard the door of his precious Bugatti slam shut, leaving nothing but the rhythmical hum of the engine to break the silence.  She waited for the knock. She mustered her courage as he burst into the tiny apartment.

"Ready?" a Richard Gere lookalike mouthed sheepishly.

She swept passed him, curdling the air as all sense of decorum followed. She turned to face him, noting his chiseled chin quivering ever so slightly.

"I can promise you, Big Boy, it WILL be our last date if you take me to Round Table again."


Laurel. Not single and ever so grateful.

Doing today's with Magpie Tales , that fancilful place where writers visit every Sunday.

Where's Papa?

Magpie Tales

Mag #117

The Meal, 1891, by Paul Gauguin


Did you wash your hands?
Yes Mama.
Did you finish your chores?
Yes Mama.
Did you see your father leave?
Yes Mama.
Boys, you will have to feed the goats now.
Yes Mama.
And Katia, you will learn how to make the cook-up.
Yes Mama.
We will be fine. We will be just fine.
Yes Mama.

See other inspirations from this Paul Gauguin painting from my friends at Magpie Tales.

Laurel.  Happy Mother's Day everyone!!!

River of Thought

Magpie Tales

Mag #116



image: River Irwell by R.A.D. Stainforth

My pole lingers near the shore where I last saw the telltale bubbles.  I wait patiently, my thoughts meandering to the quarrel over a silly bookcase.  She should have asked me. My reverie is interrupted by a rhythmical splashing far away.  The canoe passes swiftly by and my bobber wiggles joyfully in it's soft wake. He nods at me in passing and I return to my mulling.  In its own time, the river gives up a perch. Perhaps I should be more generous myself.



Please visit my friends at The Mag to peruse other great writings inspired by this peaceful photo of the River Irwell in England. Thanks Tess for a beautiful photo promt this week!

Laurel. Float peacefully today.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

Magpie Tales

 Mag #115

image by Manu Pombrol

Wall Street was merciless this week. Joe left his briefcase on the floor amid the Lego's and Barbies. "Idiot CEO," he muttered to himself. His prize Hermes felt like a noose, cutting off circulation to his soul. He bypassed the kitchen where wondrous smells and cheerful humming filled the air. "I can't breathe," under his breath.  He stared into nothingness as the hot water filled the tub. As he slipped into the warm womb of comfort, he ignored the cat scratching at the door.  The baby cried. "Now, where was I," as he flipped through the pages of his Harlequin.

Catch other prose and poetry on this Sunday's photo prompt on Magpie Tales.

Laurel. It's Sunday...read a good book!

The Master's Eye

Magpie Tales

MAG #113

He worked tirelessly all night, under the watchful eye of the master.  There could be no mistakes.  He wasn't as proficient as he used to be, in an earlier time and more familiar place. He couldn't see as well and his fingers didn't seem to obey the cadence of his brain as he counted out the steps, one by one. If he placed just one card haphazardly, his entire house would come crashing down. His hands shook.  He heard the master sigh quietly. "You better lay off the beer", the master quipped. "You seem to have lost your mojo".

Please visit my friends at Magpie Tales to enjoy other interpretations of this Marc Chagall painting, Red Roofs.  Thanks Tess for your great prompts each week!

Laurel. Use your imagination today!

I see you.

Bloggers have the opportunity to interact with each other using link-ups, challenges and blog hops.  I participate in a couple of writing challenges because they give me a chance to stretch a little.

This writer's challenge caught my eye. From Jenny Matlock's blog, a Saturday word challenge:

The prompt this week is: "Why oh why oh why..."
Number of words: 100 PLUS the five words of the prompt for a maximum word count of 105
Style of writing: Query

So when I am asked about the biggest "why" in my life, I think of Jon.

You came in the middle of the night and you left the same way. You weren’t exactly a blessing in the beginning, coming on the eve of divorce. But you were cute, and I grew to love you.  You had a knack for living large with big dreams, and I became a believer. I did not know you deeply nor understand your wildness. I’m thankful that you made me laugh in the midst of my frustrations. Why oh why oh why did I not get you until it was too late? Your candle snuffed out too soon, but I see you now.  I see you.

Laurel. 'Nuf said.

The Garden

Magpie Photo Prompt #109 - Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

He tried in vain to regain a slice of sanity. She was gone. He thought of her in her plastic clogs, rusty shovel in loamy hand, poking at the empty rows that were once her garden. He wondered how nature could be so cruel to her, innocent and mercurial, her knarled fingers unable to stave off the inevitable. The weeds and upstarts had conspired against her in an all-out attempt to rid her of their space. Her faded beauty had perished with her and the earth lay fallow before him. He hated the garden. He loathed nature. He despised the ticking of time. He relented for one moment and the madness swallowed him again.

Visit my friends at Magpie Tales to see other prose and poetry for this photo:

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Laurel. Cultivate Happiness!

The Quiet Beach...

As the rain poured down on the roof, she daydreamed of summers past...another wedding on the Cape, fireworks by the lake and cheap wine in plastic tumblers.

And then there was Vegas in November - how many people dreamed of that, she mused.

It was all lovely, but she yearned for the beach as she huddled by the fireplace that she was only allowed to use on low particulate days.

She remembered that it was hot on the beach that year.

A man and woman nursed a couple of Buds in the scorching sun as they watched the wannabe surfers struggle with their boards.

They had been married for quite a while, so words were no longer necessary...nor did they want to break the peaceful lapping of the surf as it edged its way toward their toes.

It was a dream vacation with no expense spared.

They contemplated dinner in silence...another evening at Joe's wouldn't be too hard to take.

Are we going to play golf tomorrow, he wondered?

Not again, she thought.

How 'bout some shopping and you could buy me an anniversary present, she shot back noiselessly.

Another surfer bit the dust as he picked up his Bud and slogged back to the luxurious condo to nap.

They ate at Joe's that night. It was fabulous.

I'll write about this in my Christmas letter and my friends will be green, she mused, as a huge wave pounded her sand chair into the beach...she didn't write a Christmas letter that year.

Laurel. A re-post from early blogging days...revamped.