Tag Archives: marriage

A Shimmer of Moonlight…Friday Fictioneers.

Engulfed by a grief which knew no bounds, Bernadette refused to light the candle for Jim. No point. Whether God was dead or asleep, he wasn’t there. Otherwise, he would’ve stepped in. Plucked her husband right off the road before the truck hit. He came to rest on the banks of a creek…too late for the kiss of life, let alone a goodbye. She could still feel his arms wrapped around her in an unbroken chain.

The candle stood as still as a statue, while an owl peered through the window, eyes glowing in the moonlight.

…..

This has been another contribution for Friday Fictioneers. This week’s photo prompt © Janet Webb. 

xx Rowena

The Boss

The Boss was THE Boss. No one dared challenge company policy, which demanded staff only used triangular paperclips, not the usual ones with rounded ends. Despite our degrees, our role wasn’t to question why. Actually, we weren’t there to question anything.

That came much later, when I found a photo of him and his wife in the paper. She’d fled with the kids, charging him with domestic violence. His former secretary, I remembered how her office was chaos, and his was anal.

Sure, opposites attract. Yet, somehow I knew, that using the wrong type of paperclip, must’ve caused their demise.

……..

This has been another contribution to  Friday Fictioneers  hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Photo prompt Copyright Claire Sheldon.

I would love to hear your comments on the whole opposites attract thing too. Most people I know, marry their opposite and yet it is also fraught with tension. 

xx Rowena

Colette…Friday Fictioneers.

“Colette, ma Cherie. Je t’adore! Ma belle…”

Oh! How the mighty have fallen!

The glass smashed against the mirror and champagne dripped over her shattered reflection. Almost blurred beyond recognition, yet still there…along with an anguish so intense, it burned. Filled her veins with such fury, she had to let it out.

Showered in roses. No broken bones. No bruises. Then, there were the gates. The constant surveillance. Always breathing down her neck, following her every move. She couldn’t breathe.

“Mrs Windsor, back to bed. Your husband’s on his way.”

Colette smiled. The staff were always so obliging.

Rowena Curtin

This was another contribution for Friday Fictioneers. PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

 

All for Love…Friday Fictioneers.

Watching the horses outside in the snow, Joan tried to be thankful. “Every day write down three things you’re thankful for.”

It wasn’t working.

All she could think about was shifting gears and driving her life in reverse.

What was she thinking marrying a Yankee sailor she hardly knew?

It was Sydney, 1942 and he’d swept her right off her feet.

They were still in love but Silverton, Colorado could never be home. There wasn’t a beach in sight and she hated the snow.

Now, mother had passed and she couldn’t get back.

Why did love always demand it all?

Rowena Curtin

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers. This week’s photo prompt was taken by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can click through to the linky here.

Never too old for divorce…Friday Fictioneers.

Since retiring, Bill’s been escaping to his cave.

Constantly under attack by his wife’s monomaniacal cleaning, he couldn’t put his feet up in the house, let alone put a glass down.

Now, he could finally breathe without her pissing all over him like a territorial cat.

“Bill, why don’t you leave?”

“But there’s nowhere to go.”

“You could just go…”

Instead, he nailed up The Scream 1. and drew a mustache on her face.

“Lady, I’m your knight in shining armor and I love you
You have made me what I am and I am yours…2.”

Bill switched the radio off.

References

  1. Edvard Munch, The Scream

2. Kenny Rogers, Lady.

This has been part of Friday Fictioneers. The featured image is PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr.

Forget-Me-Not…The Legend.

Every Spring, a field of forget-me-nots appears in my parents’ front yard.

In some ways, they’re not the most showy of flowers and aren’t unlike lantana in appearance, which has become a weed of plague proportions throughout the Australian bush.

Yet, there’s a sweetness about them and although the flowers are quite small and seemingly insignificant, they’re a brilliant blue and for so many of us, there’s that sentimental connection. They remind us of someone, perhaps somebody who has passed away and they remind us of once upon a time.

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Walking Through the Forget-Me-Nots. Photo: Rowena Curtin.

What I didn’t know, was that there are a few legends about how the forget-me-not received its name.

In one German legend, it is said that as God was naming all of the plants, one tiny blue flower did not want to be overlooked, so the flower called out, “Forget me not, Lord.”

forget-me-nots

In a different legend, it is said that a boy and a girl were walking by a river that flows into the Rhine. The girl saw a lovely flower growing just by the water’s edge. The bank of the river was steep and the water swift.

“Oh, the beautiful flower!” she cried.

“I will get it for you,” said the boy. He sprang over the side of the steep bank and, catching hold of the shrubs and bushes, made his way to the place where the flower grew.

He tried to tear the plant from the earth with both hands, hoping to get it all for her who was watching him from the bank above.

The stem broke and, still clasping the flower, he fell backward into the rushing stream.

“Forget me not!” he cried to her as the waters bore him down to the falls below. She never did forget her blue-eyed friend who had lost his life trying to get her a flower.

“Forget me not!” she would say over and over until her friends called the little blue flower by this name.

river

Not unsurprisingly, forget-me-nots remind me of my Mum and Dad but also my Mum’s Mum for some reason. I could see her liking them and she was a very sentimental person and like my Mum, she also had the most incredibly pretty blue eyes.

So when I saw a forget-me-not tea cup, saucer and plate for sale on eBay, I had to have it. However, the forget-me-not seems to be associated with tragedy because although the tea cup arrived safely in the mail, it fell and broke shortly after. Indeed, I’d only used it once. It sat on the sideboard in pieces looking sad and forlorn, for some time and I wondered whether I should simply throw it out but how can you forget a forget-me-knot and eventually my husband got out the Superglue and fixed up a host of my mistakes. Like so many of us, it bears the scars of experience but through this near loss, it’s gained appreciation and an understanding that even a tea cup doesn’t need to be perfect!

Do forget-me-knots have a special meaning to you? Any stories? I’d love you to share!

xx Rowena

Sources

Project Gutenberg Classic Myths Retold by Mary Catherine Judd with drawings entirely from classic sources http://www.gutenberg.org/files/9855/9855-h/9855-h.htm#xxxviii

The River by Phiz (Hablot K. Browne). August 1850. Steel etching. Illustration for chapter 47, “Martha,” in Charles Dickens’s David Copperfield.

S- Shakespeare Time Travels Four Hundred Years 1616-2016 #atozchallenge

Good Friend, for Jesus’ sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here:
Blessed be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.

Saturday 23rd April, 2016…NOT…1616!

Shakespeare! Shakespeare! Where for art thou, Shakespeare?

What a coincidence that I am writing to you on the 400th Anniversary of your death. Should I be wishing you a Happy Death Day? My apologies if that offends. Prior to writing this series: Letters to Dead Poets, I never had to think about such things. Indeed, it’s been quite awhile since I’ve written much of a letter at all, since we now have much faster forms of communication, which I don’t have time to explain.

Anyway, I’ve brought you a cup of tea and a piece of cake so you don’t miss out on your celebrations entirely while we chat. You can even blow out the candle.

Click here to view London in 1616 at the time of Shakespeare’s Death.

While others are coming here thinking about 400 hundred years ago, I’m here to ask you about love. I don’t know whether you are the ultimate authority on love but you’ve certainly been much quoted on the subject. Indeed, 400 years later after you died, you’re still famed for your sonnets on love, which have definitely stood the test of time.

SONNET 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare

Many would say this opportunity has been wasted on me. That there’s a plethora of Shakespearean scholars and experts who would “die” to have just five minutes with you and are far more deserving. They could finally quiz you about the “Forgotten Years” and have all their conspiracy theories answered. I also wouldn’t mind having a bit of a look at now and then, exploring London 1616 and now. However, unfortunately this tour is well beyond my capabilities as I live on the other side of the globe. By that, I don’t mean the Globe Theatre, Rather, I live in Australia on the other side of the Earth. Rewinding the clock 400 years, this won’t mean a thing to you. However, you might have heard of The Great South Land or Terra Australis. Indeed, for all I know, you might believe the Earth is flat.

By the way, you’d be incredible surprised to know people have actually landed on the moon and there’s currently a telescope zooming beyond the outer reaches of our solar system.  Of course, it will never reach a star but we’ve been getting some magnificent photos.

Anyway, I digress.

Returning to your views on love, my husband and I had Sonnet 116: recited at our wedding:

Us-crop2

Our Wedding Day….The Happiest Day of My Life. I smiled so much, my face hurt!

Let Me Not To The Marriage of True Minds.

 Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand’ring bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov’d,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

 William Shakespeare

As time’s gone by, these words have gained a deeper resonance and meaning. After all, it’s all very well to fall madly and deeply in love with a mirage. However, what is the secret to staying in love as the image fades and reality sets in? Nobody is perfect and so often opposites attract, just as surely as opposites repel. Why engaged couples might feel overwhelmed planning a wedding and financially crippled by the expense, that’s nothing compared to what lies ahead when those two separate lanes merge. Oh boy! That’s one very bumpy road through unchartered terrain. So, perhaps, we should stop asking why marriage fails and start asking how it’s survived?

Naturally, I started to wonder about your love sonnets. So full of love, surely there had been some incredible romance worthy to also inspire what must be the greatest love story of all time: Romeo & Juliet.

Shakespeare's_family_circle

Shakespeare with his family circle.

Unfortunately, my search came up rather short. Although you married Anne Hathaway and had a family, that marriage seemingly lacks the spark to light the fire. After all, when it came to your Last Will and Testament all you left her was your “second best bed”

So, were these sonnets simply made up and make believe? Something you conspired to put bread on the table and pay a few bills? Or, like so many of your plays, did they take their lead from someone else and the flame burned in another writer’s heart?  No matter which way I look, you remain a mystery.

That said, apparently you did write this for Anne:

Sonnet 145 Those lips that Love’s own hand did make

Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’
To me that languish’d for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,
That follow’d it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying ‘not you.’

William Shakespeare.

So, once again writing these letters to dead poets has become complicated, confusing and yet again, I am finding that the  more I discover, the less I know. As Shelley wrote:

“The more we study, the more we discover our ignorance”
― Percy Bysshe Shelley

However, Shakespeare, when you leave people in the dark and play so hard to get, when you emerge you might find, that there’s no one left.

Mind you, your mystique has hardly impinged on your fame. Indeed, all these conspiracy theories have kept you alive.

Anyway, on that note, I must bid you adieu. Unfortunately, question time is over and my train’s about to leave.

Yours sincerely,

Rowena

PS: Do you know what happened to your head? Apparently, recent scans have shown that it’s no longer in your grave. Do you have any idea where it went? No doubt, you’re even haunting the thief in death!

Further Reading:

To find out about Shakepeare’s:  400 Year Celebrations

Shakespeare’s Missing Head: http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2016/mar/23/shakespeare-stolen-skull-grave-robbing-tale-true