Microfiction Monday

Took a break, but now I'm back.  140 characters, everything counts, i.e., punctuation and spaces. Look at Susan's illustration and be creative!  Link up with her, then visit others...Thank you Susan for posting this each week. We know you've got your hands and arms and life full, so we appreciate you doing this.

I didn’t know how to dress up for Halloween. Claude Daigle’s ghost told me this costume would get everyone's attention!

Happy Halloween!

Perfect Sunset

Yesterday evening was the last regular season football game for my son.  It was a great game, under the lights at the High School stadium, hard-fought. Our team ultimately prevailed but they had to work to get there, which is good as it prepares them for the play-offs they'll be going to later this week.  The real treat though, was because we were up high on the stadium bleachers, I got the most amazing sunset photos.

THIS GAVE WAY TO

THIS

Spirit of Music

This morning I was at the sink rinsing dishes.  My husband was standing next to me fiddling with the coffee maker.  Our son was practicing trumpet downstairs. (NOTE: he was playing well.  It was the music in the air that prompted my question) I asked my husband, "what do you think the great composers like Mozart and Beethoven would have said about how beginning musicians these days sound playing their great pieces? You know, those painful first recitals?"

All of a sudden the plastic cover on the light over the sink fell off into the sink.

Husband said, "I guess there's your answer."

Wherefore Art Thou, Emajean?

For those of you who are new to the story, this is one I've written for our Friends of the Library blog. It is almost weekly, depending on what is going on in my life.

Wherefore Art Thou, Emajean?

A Friends of the Library Mystery

prior installment

When she got outside it was dark. Celia leaned against the wall of the barn and gazed up at the clearest stars she had ever seen. The night was cool, but the warmth of the sun lingering on the barn felt good. She just rested there for a while, enjoying the view. Even with the light spilling from the barn, it seemed that the heavens were illuminated more brilliantly than she’d ever seen before. As she stood there she saw a falling star trace its way across the sky.

Star light, star bright, first falling star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. Please, I want to go home.

Celia heard a voice in the darkness.  “No!” a girl’s voice was saying. “I’m not going back to Lincoln!”

Celia realized it was Emajean’s voice. She held still, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed. Maybe this way she’d get some answers to this mystery.

“But I won’t be here, and your family needs you. Your father is not well and I need to go to Hungary to bring my mother here to Chicago. When I return I’ll come to Lincoln to get you.” The voice was clearly Lazlo’s.

“I’m afraid you’ll never come back from Hungary,” Celia heard Emajean say quietly.

“I promise, I will,” came the soft reply. Next Celia heard a rustling noise and László continued, “this is my only possession of any value. I’ve put it on a chain for you so you can wear it under your uniform each day, near your heart. So a part of me will be near your beating heart. I like that thought,” his voice rumbled.

Celia could hear the couple kiss and tried to ease away, but to her horror, she heard an awful ripping noise and felt a sudden draft. Lazlo and Emajean stepped into the light spilling through the doorway. Celia tried not to look like an eavesdropper.

“Will you please keep my secret?” Emajean asked. “You know I would be asked to leave school if the nuns find out I’m seeing someone, even one of their own doctors!” Celia started to argue that no school would throw out a good student in her last year, but once again, remembered these times were not her times.


"I won't say anything Emajean," she heard herself promising.

“There, you’ve said it again,” said Emajean. “Rosa said you were strange tonight, and I think I agree with her. But I do know you’ve always been a good friend, so I’ll trust you to not say anything to anyone. Thank you, Celia,” Emajean finished speaking and pressed her hand on Celia’s arm as she leaned close to her. A faint scent of floral perfume wafted up to her nose.

Celia suddenly felt woozy and began to sway. She heard Emajean’s voice as from far, far away, calling her name. Celia wanted to answer but couldn’t get the words out. The edges of her vision were growing gray and she slipped into a faint.

Bumper Sticker

I saw one this morning that I've been mulling over all day.  What would YOU say to the person who had this on their car (given that you could talk to them without them realizing you followed them to their destination so they wouldn't think you're a stalker!)...

BORN RIGHT

THE FIRST TIME

MUFFED TARGET

Our erstwhile host, Thom "Bite Me" Robinson (I liked that so much I had to borrow it from Quilly!), has once again challenged us to post one of our photos that didn't quite make the cut. He describes it thus:

Each Tuesday post a picture which is completely crazy, messed up, with nothing on etc, which normally you would immediately delete. It can be everything, like only shoes instead of the whole person, a blurred building or whatever you want. Then tell us the little story how it happened and what it should have been. 

 In the midst of this . . . 

 and this . . . (mine is 65)

I also got this...

but it was a beautiful day,

and they won again.

To the playoffs!

Wherefore Art Thou, Emajean?

Wherefore Art Thou, Emajean?

A Friends of the Library Mystery

prior installment

Celia must have looked horrified because the other woman broke out in peals of laughter. “It’s fake, Celia!  Look at my costume!” she cried. Celia looked and realized that the other woman was dressed like a hobo. She had a tattered jacket over a threadbare vest, and under the vest a tunic of some kind. It might have been light blue at some point but it was covered with grayish stains wherever it showed through the vest. The pants were held up with twine around the waist and the girl had mis-matched, striped socks on. Most of her hair was pulled back into a red bandana, but some wild curls escaped around the edges. The only part of the costume that wasn’t authentic was her shoes. They were the same kind of sturdy white nursing shoes that Celia now had on her feet.

“Come on, Celia, I want you to meet our Hungarian. He’s here to give us real authenticity to the party!” The girl dragged Celia over to a table where a bowl with pink punch sat, poured her a cup, and then dragged her over to where a handsome, dark man was talking to several people.

“Hey everyone, Celia’s here now!” she exclaimed happily. “László ,” the girl said, “I’d like you to meet Celia.”

“Another nurse?” The man took Celia’s hand in his, kissed it, and said, “it is my pleasure to be surrounded by so many beautiful women.” Celia blushed and took her hand away. He was tall and thin, with jet black hair combed back from a widow’s peak on his forehead. His eyes were dark and hooded, and his skin was a beautiful olive complexion. He had a generous mouth and even white teeth. His personal magnetism obviously had a pull on every girl around him.  As Celia tried to think of something clever to say that would not reveal how out of place she was, another girl came over dressed in nursing whites.

Celia turned to look at the newcomer and was shocked to see the face of the young girl from the 1933 Loyolan! “Why,” she began, “you’re Emajean!”

The girl laughed at her. “Celia, no one around here calls me that and you know it! Ever since I left Lincoln, Michigan I’ve been just Jean! Although some here might refer to me as ‘Maw’.” The other girls all laughed at that. She greeted everyone in the circle and leaned in to give Lazlo a kiss on his cheek. Celia tried to remember the names – especially the name of the first girl she’d encountered. Rosa. Okay, I just have to remember Rosa.

A commotion at the front of the barn revealed that several young men had arrived. A couple of them had more musical instruments. They threw together a few hay bales and began tuning up. Temporarily forgotten by László and the other girls, Celia walked over to the musicians. A drummer started laying down a beat, starting a fast rhythm that the others began to follow. Pretty soon a real tune was getting going with brass and even a clarinet, and couples were starting to dance. Celia looked over to where she had left the others and saw László and Emajean beginning a complicated dance together.

I’ve seen this on an old movie. I think it’s called the Lindy Hop! Celia’s foot began tapping to the rhythm. She thought the poetry of the couple moving together was exciting and energizing! A part of her longed to go out on the dance floor but she resisted.

“They’re really good,” commented a young man at her elbow. Celia opened her mouth to agree enthusiastically but was cut off by a second young man. 

“That dance is obscene. White girls should not be doing a dance like that with old Hungarian men,” he snarled. Celia was surprised by the venom in his voice. She couldn’t help herself. She turned to him and asked, “are you upset because the dance is energetic, the girl is white, or because she’s not dancing with you?”

 The young man turned to her in fury. “White girls should not dance with foreigners, especially gypsies!” he spat.

Celia was shocked and her mouth fell open. “What is wrong with you?” she cried. And then she suddenly remembered that if this was 1933, the issue of who white girls should dance with was still very much strictly controlled by societal mores. Being Celia, she plunged ahead anyway, “any girl should be free to dance with or date or even marry whoever she falls in love with!” she exclaimed. 

The tall blonde athletic looking young man sneered, “if you really believe that, try selling your daddy on a Gypsy son-in-law.” He spun on his heel and marched out the barn door.

“Just ignore him,” said the remaining man, “and enjoy the show.” They both turned back to watch László and Emajean execute a series of swirls and dips that left both of them laughing and breathless and the surrounding watchers clapping and cheering.

Rosa reappeared and asked Celia if she was having fun. “Oh yes!” she answered. “Well, except for that one insufferable man. What a racist!” she said bitterly. 

Rosa looked at her askance. “Racist? What does that mean?” she asked. “Oh you know, someone who dislikes other people because of their race and wants to keep the races separate,” Celia answered. 

Rosa responded, “I've never heard that word used for people like him." She sighed and added,"it's too bad he's so unpleasant. He’s a brilliant doctor.”
Celia said, "brilliance is more than just brains. What's his name, anyway?"
Rosa stared at her, "Celia, you know that he is Anthony Harper! You have been doing rotations with him these last couple of weeks!"
Celia tried to think of a quick recovery, "oh my, I must be losing my mind. I need to get some air." She turned and went outside, leaving Rosa's puzzled expression behind her.