Tag Archives: flash fiction

Weekend Coffee Share 11th March, 2018.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

If we were having coffee, you might need to hold me up this morning. Prop open my eyelids. I was burning the midnight oil again last night, and if you check out my previous post, I was Writing By Rainbow Light.

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You see, I was feeling a bit agitated like I needed to burn up some nervous energy. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it at the time. However, we watched a documentary by Michael Moore about gun violence in America called Bowling Columbine. Have you seen it? He was trying to understand why the rate of gun deaths are so high in America and looked at a number of possible culprits like the availability of guns, high levels of gun ownership, ethnic diversity and I could have this wrong, but I think it came down to a culture of fear. I’m not sure. I’m not sure why channel SBS had such a focus on guns in the US last night, because this was followed by a show about the NRA and attempts to tighten gun controls after Sandy Hook, which failed. No wonder I was feeling wound up and stressed after this. I felt powerless and gun violence literally makes me feel sick. I lead a very quiet life when the rest of the family goes out, and I just don’t encounter such things. The worst I might see is a rumble between my pups, and so I haven’t been desensitized. I must say that it’s a different story when everyone else comes home.

In other news, I am still fighting off the sinus infection. Fergus the Phlegmeister…buzz off! Today, I bought some kind of sinus flushing kit. I swear I’ve lost weight since I caught this thing and the kilos just keep pouring out my nose.

Last week, it was our son’s 14th birthday. Being a school day, it was fairly low key. However, my mother came up and we went out for lunch together, which was really great. This is quite a rarity as we usually do things with the kids in tow, or she has the kids so I can have a break. It also happened to be International Women’s Day, so it was good to spend it with her. In previous years, I’ve gone in the local march but it wasn’t held this year due to the council amalgamation. Wasn’t real happy about that as I like to do my annual thing  to fly the flag, especially as I can feel it’s the last bit of independent woman left in me. Anyway, these days disability rights are more my concern.

Anyway, I made my son what could have been the richest cake in history…a chocolate cake filled with Nutella and butter cream and topped with lush chocolate icing, and I decorated it with strawberries. It looked scrumdidillyumptuous, but I didn’t get to try it. He took it off to youth and, as expected, they scoffed the lot. Didn’t expect anything but the crumbs to come back. They were down on the waterfront and gave him a bit shout out.

On Saturday, I finally managed to watch our son sailing his boat…Fury, a Flying 11. Since I’m usually driving our daughter to and from dance, I don’t get to the sailing club very often and my husband misses out on much of the dancing as well. Anyway, the weather was glorious with warm blue skies without too much heat and the wind seemed to be about right. At least, I didn’t hear any complaints. If you’d like to read more about it, you can click through here: Sailing On The Wings of Poesie

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By the way, just a brief commercial break to say that I just found Rosie, our Border Collie x shark, chewing on my watch, which she’d picked off the bathroom vanity and she chewed through one of the bands. Grr! This chewing is starting to add up. I’m off to the butcher today. Next, she’ll be off to the dentist for extractions!

I also had a bit to say about that in Puppies of Mass Destruction.

In terms of writing, once again I took part in Friday Fictioneers. This week’s effort, A Stone In My Pocket, addressed the spiritual ramifications of suicide and also referred to a philosophical dilemma known as Pascal’s Wager. This proposes that it’s safer to believe in God than not, because there are no consequences if God doesn’t exist.

Well, I think that sums up the last week fairly well. How was your week? I look forward to popping round and catching up!

Best wishes,

Rowena

BTW The featured image this week was taken in Cologne in 1992 and I’m drinking a mug of Hot Chocolate with cream. Yum!

The Last Rose of Summer…Friday Fictioneers.

There was something different about this rose…the last rose of Summer. While the harsh Autumn winds had claimed the rest of her kin, she stood firm, holding her petals in tight. Clearly, she was waiting.

Once upon a time, I would’ve known she was waiting for me. That she would be my bride. I’d have pulled out my violin, and accompanied her sweet song. Kissed her tenderly, sweeping the dew drops from her heart.

However, the winds had changed. Tortured by her thorns, I only knew love’s scars.

I did what I must.

It was off with her head.

……

Rosa_'Old_Blush'

“The Last Rose of Summer” is a poem by the Irish poet Thomas Moore. He wrote it in 1805, while staying at Jenkinstown Park in County Kilkenny, Ireland, where he was said to have been inspired by a specimen of Rosa ‘Old Blush’.[1] The poem is set to a traditional tune called “Aislean an Oigfear”, or “The Young Man’s Dream”,[2] which was transcribed by Edward Bunting in 1792, based on a performance by harper Denis Hempson (Donnchadh Ó hÁmsaigh) at the Belfast Harp Festival.[3]

I have been researching my Irish roots for many years and recently started researching a group of Irish Famine Orphans from Midleton Workhouse County Cork who emigrated to Sydney, Australia. These girls included my 4th Great Grandmother, Bridget Donovan. I have been trying to pick up a bit of Irish cultural history and came across this dramatic poem.

– Wikipaedia.

“The Last Rose of Summer”

‘Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

Thomas Moore

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields. PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

 

Dying Diva…Friday Fictioneers: 2nd Feb, 2018.

“They’re not getting these!” Grandma  snapped, clinging to her diamond earrings. “Chopping away at me like I’m some sort of bonsai… Enough is enough!”

Catherine was determined to keep her ear lobes, and she sometimes wondered if that’s all she’d have left after the docs had finished chopping away. The virulent melanoma had spread its poisonous ugliness through almost every vein, artery and cell. There wasn’t much left of her anymore.

Yet, she hadn’t forgotten who she was… Madame Butterfly. She might not be able to walk anymore, but she still had her wings and she knew how to fly.

This has been a contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted b y Rochelle Wishoff Fields. We are required to write a 100 words in response to a photo prompt. This week’s photo is © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Have you ever been in a difficult spot where you felt everything was being taken away, but you took a stand. Drew a line in the sand, which you wouldn’t cross? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

Back in my 20s, I refused additional brain surgery, largely out of concerns about losing my hair. They’d already hacked hair off the back of my head and this time, they wanted to put a probe in the front and shave more off. I’d had enough. Lucilly, I recovered without the additional surgery and ended up with a full head of hair.

xx Rowena

Love Shack…Friday Fictioneers.

In a reverse-journey from riches to rags, Moet to Marxism, Kylie was dossing down in a dilapidated squat, albeit with Daddy’s credit card. Hugh, the acting student, knew nothing about that. He was a foreign student.

“Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair.”

Kylie peered over the rusty, corrugated iron rooftop, beaming a knockout smile.

“Alas, handsome Prince, my hair has been cut.”

“What about a ladder? My chariot awaits.”

Gobsmacked, Hugh watched Kylie leap acrobatically over the rafters, and land at his feet…an enigma, a question mark.

Although the pressure was mounting, she said nothing. The gold medal could wait.

……..

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields. BTW the Hugh in the story might just happen to be Hugh Jackman who was our local heartthrob when I was at school. I still remember a friend going Hugh Spotting on the trains and I’m sure she wasn’t the only one. However, that doesn’t play into this story. I only borrowed the name.

xx Rowena

 

 

Captain Clean – Friday Fictioneers.

“Mum and Dad built this place after the war,” Muriel said. “Lived in the garage, while they built the house.”

Captain Clean was very tempted to add that nothing had been thrown out since, but bit her tongue. Condescending self-righteousness never worked with hoarders. So, she stuck to the script.

“Keep or throw? Keep or throw?”                                                                                                                                                                     “There you are,” Muriel smiled.

Captain Clean screamed, bolted and drove away.

Muriel had finally found her spare set of teeth, playing hide & seek in her husband’s old shoes.

“I could’ve handled a dead body,” she told the psychologist. “But not false teeth.”

…….

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields. PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

xx Rowena

 

Weekend Coffee Share – 27th August, 2017.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

Despite the sun shining outside and the smoke lifting, we’re having a day indoors doing jobs today. That’s what happens when you swan around all week watching your daughter perform. Or, as in the case of our son, spend the week at the snow, arriving home with a wet and stinky backpack. I was intending to go into Sydney today to attend the celebrations at the Irish Famine Memorial. However, they’re doing track work and it was all too hard.

As much as I should be offering you a cup of tea of coffee and something scrumptious to munch on, I could well be asking you to help out. All my research materials seem to multiply, and I’m struggling to find somewhere for them all to live. I say this is the product of an active mind. Or, am I just a scatter brain?

Amelia Showcase 2017 rotated

Last week, our daughter performed in Central Coast Showcase on two separate nights. Wednesday, she sang in a combined schools’ choir and Thursday night, she danced with her school. She wasn’t the star of the show, but we always love seeing her perform as well as being inspired by the other performers. Indeed, some were sensational, very professional acts which knocked my socks off. This is, in addition to very young performers as young as 5 and 6 who, for example, were performing in a junior dance ensemble.

Needless to say, performance = driving. It also = $ + time.

I guess if you wanted to write that as equation, it would read:

P = $ + T + D = joy

Our son had a fantastic week at the snow. I touched base with his PE teacher who took the more advanced skiers and he said: “He smashed it!!”

Well, I was understandibly ecastatic.

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Our son leaving for snow camp.

Living in Australia only metres from the beach, snow skiing is an “interesting” sport. We live 6-7 hours away from the snow. So, even getting there is an incredible effort. Most of the kids around here, have never seen snow. Indeed, many Australians have never seen snow. I was about 12 when I first saw snow, and it wasn’t during Winter either. Our family went hiking through the Mt Kozsciosko National Park in Summer and I had the thrill of sliding down a glacier on a plastic garbage bag. That was some time around New Year’s Eve, when it’s stinking hot in Australia and anything but snow season.

Our family has been skiing three or four times and the kids have been through ski school. This meant our son had a good chance of doing well on this trip and I was praying so hard that it would be his turn to shine. Not that he’s not performing well in other areas but he’s had a rough time lately a needed a boost. I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be 13 and it isn’t easy to navigate your way through the murky depths of puberty.

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Dingo at Fraser Island.

In terms of my writing, I participated in Friday Fictioneers again. This week’s flash fiction Dingo Attack.  I also shared an amazing piece of street art called  “The Eye”, which mesmerized me and I only wish I could experience it in person. There’s also Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational– an inspiration set of “words”. I also stumbled across an incredible piece of street art: “The Eye”.

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“The Eye” by Cece, France.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to get on top of my research. I have a wooden chest next to my lounge chair and the theory is that all the books, folders and paperwork get stashed away in there to be conveniently pulled out as required. All great in theory, but the poor chest is looking like an overpacked suitcase and all my stuff is sprawled across the couch and also in piles on the back of the couch. BTW, there’s also stuff on top of the chest, stopping me from even accessing the “bowels of the ship”.

I should just stop thinking.

Stop writing.

Then, I might just have a tidy house.

In many ways, it’s not the best time for me to be concerned about the house. I’ve been struggling to breathe for the last couple of weeks. I’ve had the flu and a chest infection but these struggles have been stretched to the very limit by smoke produced by bushfires known as “hazard reduction burning”. As much as I support this measure to reduce the severity of Summer bushfires, the smoke has truly bordered on life threatening to me and quite a few locals. I’ve managed at home with three trips to the doctor in the last week. A friend ended up at Emergency with asthma. It’s terrifying. However, the smoke has cleared today and I’m hoping it’s finally gone. PLEASE!! I’m down on my hands and knees…a begger. It’s hard to explain just how difficult it’s been to simply breathe.

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Bushfire Smoke Viewed from Woy Woy Bay.

These periods of down time, however, provide me with the space to get on with my family history research and I’ve really taken some huge leaps forward. I have been researching my 3rd Great Grandmother, Bridget Donovan, for a few years on and off. She was an  Irish Famine Orphan who was brought out to Sydney via the Earl Grey Scheme. She had her passage paid for, and each of the girls were given a trunk of provisions for the journey and their time here, including clothes and a Bible. Bridget arrived onboard the John Knox. She married George Merritt and I recently found out that they had a store on the goldfields near Mudgee. I even found her mentioned in an old newspaper clipping. I was stoked. I have been unable to find out where and when Bridget or her husband George died and were buried and it really frustrates me. It seems like such a basic, and yet it eludes me. Anyway, I was contacted recently and found out that three of George and Bridget’s sons intermarried with the Aboriginal community around Yass. This adds a whole new cultural dimension to my research and I also hope to meet up with this side of the family somehow. I have also found out that most of my Irish ancestors came from County Cork and this is now consolidating what appeared a diverse array of names into a much more integrated past. Indeed, I’m starting to think these various branches could well have known each other back in Ireland. I’m also hoping they don’t overlap or interconnect, which is currently looking likely. One of the first unwritten hopes of family history research, is not to be related to yourself!

So, despite not being well, I’ve been pretty busy in both thought and deed.

How has your week been? I hope it’s gone well and I look forward to catching up further. What have you been up to? 

This has been another contribution to the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Diana at Part-Time Monster. I hope you will pop over and join us for a cuppa.

xx Rowena

Minding the Dog…Friday Fictioneers.

Emily was minding Jess’s place. This also included her precious Border Collie, Oscar, AKA “the Surrogate Man”. Although, Jess had left copious instructions, Emily was more laissez-faire  and gave up after the first page. A dog was a dog.

So, she didn’t read: “Keep the bathroom door SHUT!”

Tonight, Emily had invited Tom over for a candlelit dinner. Tom was so hot, he lit all her fuses at once.

Emily slipped into the bathroom.

“OMG!”

Knickers round her ankles, the door flew open and Oscar barged through wanting a pat. Eyeballing Tom, Emily wished she’d read the fine print.

……

You may well be aware that our Border Collie, Bilbo passed away recently. However, he remains such a part of our lives, fused into so many memories and like so many dogs, he had his “quirks”. In addition to being totally ball-obsessed, Bilbo never liked closed doors, even on a cold day, he’d insist on having the back door open. He’d also routinely open the bathroom dog and come in for a pat if you weren’t careful. Indeed, our house sitter mentioned that we we arrived home from holidays once. Not that this was quite the scenario in play, but I felt like a laugh today.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wishoff-Fields Photo prompt © Rochelle Wishoff Fields.

xx Rowena