The Best View In The House

Adam walked through the family apple orchard that had been started by his great-grandfather. He hoped to be able to pass it down to his daughters one day. The old orchard had seen the family through good times and bad times, droughts and feasts. He wasn’t going to lose it now, thought as he got in the old Ford, tossing the letter from the county tax assessor into the passenger seat. There wasn’t anything he could do about it that night, so he tried to push it to the back of his mind.

Driving down the old dirt road listening to his favorite artists, he started singing along. Songs about learning how to drive brought back memories of his father, and watching the dirt kick up behind the truck reminded him of how he met his April. It was as if his late momma was trying to tell him something when he pulled in front of the house with Lonestar playing and saw his gorgeous wife and little blue-eyed blondes standing there waving, welcoming him home. He sat in the truck as the song finished. “Thanks, Mom.”

This was inspired by the Three Things Challenge

The first thing that came to my mind though  were three songs:

Lonestar’s Front Porch Looking In

Alan Jackson’s Drive

Sara Evans’ Suds In The Bucket


Bright Yellow Tent


“Let’s get you guys this one,” Lucy said, picking up a dome tent.

Amber and Gin moaned.

“Girls, the tickets alone were nearly a thousand dollars. I am not buying a top of the line tent for a music festival. Besides, how many people there will have a bright yellow tent?”

They knew she could still change her mind about letting them go and she had a point about the color of the tent. No one wanted a bright yellow tent. When they arrived and was blinded by sunlight lying on the ground they learned how wrong she was.

This was written for the Carrot Ranch’s 99-words flash fiction challenge


Alex waited in the wings of the Evergreen Elementary auditorium fidgeting in his muftis. He would have been more comfortable in his BDUs. Heck, he would have been more comfortable in his dress uniform. Everything felt tight and he didn’t know why. Maybe they shrunk when he was gone. After six months away from his family, everything felt different. Tight. Constraining. He didn’t know why, but the guys down at the VA told him it was probably just PTSD and everyone had a different reaction to coming home.

When they told him that last month, he stopped at the bookstore on the way home and picked up a bunch of books on PTSD, self-help, and even a few written by former soldiers like himself. Jenny supported him in everything he did. She even started reading some of the books. As they read though, they would look at each other confused because the things the books talked about just didn’t seem to fit him. She had left early that morning to see family friend that was a support worker at the local hospital to see if she had any ideas.

He didn’t have panic attacks, flashbacks, sudden explosions of emotion, or any of other signs they discussed in the books. Alex phoned the guys at the VA again and they said it takes some time to accept that one has PTSD and they left it at that. Something told him that his time with the military, was not the source of his unease.

Alex tugged at his shirt, when Miss Sharon, the third grade teacher, announced his name. As he walked on stage, took a seat, and started telling his daughter’s school about his time in the Special Forces, his clothes began to feel even smaller. He did his best to ignore the discomfort and loved answering the kids’ questions. He could feel his ego swelling just a little as the kids were enthralled with his stories.

When he was done Lizzie ran up on stage and gave him a bear hug. The clothes felt like they were going to rip apart. She was laughing and grinning, then pulled him down close so she could whisper in his ear. “Why are you wearing mommy’s clothes?”

This was inspired by:
FOWC with Fandango — swollen
Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day — mufti


Blogging Mad Libs #6

Since several readers (include myself) enjoy the Blogging Mad Libs series, I will continue, but I am moving it to the noon time slot (it’s late today because of real life requirements).

If you are unfamiliar with Mad Libs, they are short stories with words missing that you, the reader, fill in based on the noted requirement (i.e. noun, name, verb, color, etc.). Step 1 is to read the list of blanks for the mad lib and write down the words you select for that item (i.e. Name 1 = Bill, nouns = stars, etc.).

There are two ways to participate in this new daily adventure:

  1. Copy the story and make a post of your own with the missing pieces filled in
  2. Post your responses in the comments below

List of Blanks for this Mad Lib

-ing verb x 2
Body part
Plural noun x 2
Noun x 5
Name of a book
Period of time
Singer/Musical artist


Are We Too Early?

The plural noun began arriving two weeks earlier, but hardly anyone believed what they were -ing verb. That satellite had been there for over a period of time sending recordings of singer, President Roosevelt, and passages from name of a book every hour, but they had never received a signal back. Dr. Keepler looked at the computer noun, took off his plural noun, and stared at the new research assistant in disbelief.

“When did you start getting this?” Dr. Keepler asked.

“The day I started,” Gonzo said. “I was told I could move the noun if my gut told me to, so I did.”

Dr. Keepler perked up. “Moved it? Where did you move it to?”

Gonzo and Dr. Keepler walked over to the adjective radio telescope’s noun screen and Gonzo pulled up a noun. “There,” he said, pointing to a blank noun on the screen.

“Hmm.” Dr. Keepler scratched his body part. “Did you check for interference from a media satellite?”

“That was the first thing I did, because it didn’t make any sense, but then…”

“Then what?”

“Well, then I thought maybe I should send out a different message since the incoming messages were —-ing verb more frequently.”


“Sir, I asked them to come to celebration.”

Dr. Keppler looked confused, but then his confusion turned to horror as he read the last incoming message – Hope we’re not too early.