Just sharing this

So, apparently in Math today, my son finished his quiz early and was told to just write something. So he did. Obviously he hates it and thinks its crap, but I don’t. No, not just saying that. There is a hidden side to him that he has been denying but has been creeping out more and more for the past year. Even his tastes and critiques in anime have changed.

Here is what he wrote:

Hole in the Wall

It couldn’t have been me.
See, the direction the spackle protrudes?
A noisy neighbor? An angry friend? I’ll never know.
I wasn’t home.
I peer inside for a clue.
No! I can’t see. I reel, blind, like a film left in the sun.
But it’s too late. My retinas.
Already scorched with a permanent copy of the meaningless dark.
It’s just a little hole. It wasn’t too bright.
It was too deep.
Stretching forever into everything.
A hole of infinite choices.
I realize now, that I wasn’t looking in.
I was looking out.
And he, on the other side, was looking in.


Rory’s Imp and his Questions

Rory has turned over his blog (at times) to what he calls a Pimp Imp. Now, I’m going to venture and say that “Pimp” means something different across the pond, because all I can do is laugh and cringe thinking of those poor elves out trying to earn a penny at night…lol

My favorite pimp

On to his questions:

Do you believe in the big guy in the red suit, long bushy white beard and overhanging belly and reckons he can flit between chimneys like he’s Superman or summit? If yes, why??? If not, why not?

No, I do not believe in the jolly fat man who lives at the North Pole and plays with elves. However, I do believe in the spirit of Christmas in terms of caring and kindness.

How many times have you been bad this year, as in pranking, joking around, losing your temper and getting up to no good?

Losing my temper? I have a young teenager!

Are you always polite and squeaky clean? Dot your i’s and cross your T’s? Or like me don’t get bovvered with all that malarkey? If you do, why’s it so important like?

I try to be polite…well as polite as a fully embracing introvert can be polite. It’s important to treat others as you want to be treated, regardless of who they are. We can’t control others’ behavior, but we can control our own.

Are you a right ol’ whiner and moaner? I like a bit of wine meself if honest! If so, ‘ow much do you gargle down per week? Or maybe you be one of those who like to get into the spirit of fings?

Um…whiner and moaner? Based on the rest of the question, I assume you’re asking if I drink. No, I don’t drink and know very little about alcoholic beverages.

Right, can’t believe l am asking this question, but it’s a norty list question from the big guy. What’s the nicest thing you’ve done all this year? However mine is, what’s the sneakiest thing you have done?

I’m not a sneaky person by any means. As a kid, I was a snoop like many kids. I don’t know what the nicest thing I’ve done all year except not kill my kid 🙂

How many people have you not upset this year with your sneakies and nortyness?

Everyone I know personally has been irritated with me at least once this year. Oh well, such is life.

The other day Glubby turned up at the door an’ he wos wearing the most hideous cape and unmatching hat lhad ever seen! EVER, now l told him that it was not just ugly but right Fugly! he was not best pleased. How would you ‘andle it, be truthful, lie or summit else?

If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

Whilst walkin’ in the street, you come across a fifty [of your currency] lying on the ground, whaddya do wif it?

You kidding! Keep it. Sorry, but I have found money before and unless its in a wallet or I see the person who dropped it, it’s mine.

Do you always do the best that you can for yourself? [Didn’t expect that question did ya?]


When you wos young and at that fing called school, how many detentions or stay behind after class did you end up with per week?

I never got in trouble at school past fifth grade when I skipped school for a week. After that I never got in trouble no matter how much I skipped.

You’re at the shop and the person in front of the till is 9 cents/pence short of their bill being paid, whaddya do …?

If I had a dime, give it to the cashier. Used to do it all the time. No big deal.

A friend of yours after eating dinner or grub, has got a right ‘orrible stain on his/her shirt and hasn’t seen it and ‘as to go out to an important date, do you tell ’em?

Obviously! Who wouldn’t?

Are you a right proper prankster? Tell me your best Norty prank for 2018

Not a prank player. Son is too literal for that.

Finally, do you cuss/curse/swear a lot? [Don’t worry like, Imp’s promise, won’t tell a soul!!]

Like a drunken sailor. Although I rarely read or write swear words. My son is the opposite.

The Chapel (FTS, Dec #1)

The Chapel

Far beyond the city, in the middle of nowhere, sat a tiny chapel. No one knew who built it, why it was in the middle of nowhere, or why any traveler in need would always find the light on – but I know these things. I am alive because of Father Chris and the little chapel in the middle of nowhere.

I just turned eighteen and was so sure of myself. I knew everything I ever needed to know – at least I thought I did. I was an adult and didn’t need anyone’s permission to leave. So I did. I left home the morning of my birthday with a few clothes and what little money I had stuffed in a backpack. Mom and Dad weren’t up yet, which made it a little easier not having to listen to Dad ask why or listen to my Mom cry and ask me to stay. No, it was better the way I did it. At least it seemed that way at the time.

I boarded the Number 3 bus heading out of Jasper and noticed the light on in the chapel. I was curious as it was a shade of green I had not seen before. In the vestibule was Father Chris. He was a tall man, taller when he stood up, and he was standing there looking at me as I passed.

I watched, as around him, the green light seemed to throb as if suspecting I was flying the coop of my hometown. He was dressed in his customary black, but his clerical collar radiated a blinding white light. I looked away with a sense of betrayal and guilt.

I looked back through the window of the bus and found myself just passing the chapel, green light and Father Chris. This disturbed me, as the bus appeared to be travelling at a rate of knots by now having cleared the town limits.

Three times this happened, and I started to feel stuck in some sort of ground hog day. I then pulled the stop cord above me and alighted.

As the bus moved away I saw across the road the chapel, now dark, lights gone and Father Chris standing in the doorway in his radiant collar.

I found myself crossing the road and coming up to Father Chris who opened his arms as if he’d embrace me, his face collapsing into a picture of welcome relief.

“What is it?” I asked, for surely something had happened to cause him distress. But more than that, I wanted to know what that green light I had seen.

“Oh, my lad, my lad,” he said. “I’m so glad you have come. I’m to have a visitation.”

“A …? What, as in Jesus? Or a saint? Or …” I slapped my hand over my mouth “… no, you don’t mean the devil? Is that what the green light?”

He flicked his fingers into my face. “Silly boy! That ‘green light,’ as you called it, is just off Old Bess. But Old Bess is the problem.”

(I’d best explain. Old Bess was Father Chris’s exceedingly antiquated computer—steam-powered I shouldn’t wonder, it’s so old).

“So what’s up with her?” I asked.

“I think she’s not well. She refuses to access my records. And I have the bishop due any moment to inspect them. I don’t suppose …?”

The way he looked at me … what could I do but check out the ancient machine.

The fool of a Father Chris. He’d crammed a communion wafer into the thin slot of the floppy drive. I pulled it out and held it out accusingly. He colored up.

“But, my boy, my boy, I am so grateful. And just in time, for, Hark! That’ll be the bishop now.”

And true enough, a vehicle of sorts was drawing up outside the chapel. But when I looked out of the door it didn’t look like a sort of transport the bishop would use. It was strangely shaped carriage, drawn by some creatures, which weren’t anything I had seen in my life. They had the body of a horse but very large wings attached to it. In fact the carriage came flying through the air on these “flying horses” and landed near us.

The person driving or flying the carriage stepped out and opened the door for the person inside to alight from it. The person who came out of the carriage could be a bishop, I suppose but from some other world. The whole of his body was emitting a strange white light. Father Chris welcomed him with utmost joviality and warmth. He was not deterred by the strange aura surrounding the bishop. In fact he acted as if it was nothing out of ordinary.

“Your Excellency, how kind of you to visit us in our humble abode,” gushed father Chris. “Please come inside, it’s too cold to stand out and chat.” He then instructed the coachman to take his flying horses to the side where a large barn stood. The bishop and father went inside and I followed them. I was wondering who this mysterious bishop was. Was he from some magical place or was I too tired and was imagining things?

When I entered the chapel behind them, the sight which met my eyes was so unusual that I let ought an audible gasp.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?” I heard a voice say.

“Father Chris?” I asked, “Is that you?”

“No, I’m not your father, kid,” the voice said.

I opened my eyes and looked around. I was still sitting on the Number 3 bus and the driver was talking to me. “What’s going on?” I asked him.

“You we’re having some sort of nightmare and you started screaming,” he said. “Listen kid, we’ve reached the end of the line. I’m heading back to the terminal on Main Street in Jasper. Do you want me to drop you off on my way back into town?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can you drop me at Center Street?” As the bus headed back into Jasper, I saw the small chapel again. But there was no green light shining from within. Just the yellow glow of a standard light fixture. That’s when I realized that the whole thing — Father Chris, the green glow from the old computer, the flying carriage with the flying horses, and the strange bishop — was all just a dream. And now I was headed back home to be with my father and my mother for the holidays.

Even though it was not real, it was my dream encounter with Father Chris that made me see that I didn’t know everything and that what I really needed was be home with my family.

The End

This story was brought to you by:

The Haunted Wordsmith
Crimson Prose
Keep it Alive
This, That, and The Other

Rory’s Advent Calendar Adventures #1

So today, I learned something new….

Luxury Hamper

This (the basket) is called a hamper in the UK (British English).

Now, in America this is a wicker picnic basket (picnic implies there’s a lid).

Isn’t language fun 🙂

Anyways, his challenge today is to pick five items for five bloggers and put into the basket. Part two is to write a post saying what you put in and why.

So, first, my five bloggers/blogs: Fandango (This, That, and The Other), Kristian (Tales from the mind of Kristian), Chris Hall (Luna’s On Line), Lana (Welcome to Our Campfire), and Rory (A Guy Called Bloke and K9 Doodlepip).

All my readers ( I really hate to say followers…makes things sound like a cult – although that might be interesting lol) are great, but I wanted to thank these four for all the great times, both on the blog and off, that they have given me in the seven months I have been here. Rory made Halloween fantastic with all his prompts, Lana loves kids books as much as I do, Chris is a fantastic writer, Fandango is always good for a laugh, and Kristian will eventually grow tired of my FTS tags 🙂

Now on to what I put in the basket….hmm….I going to break the rules and give everyone the same thing. These five videos (please tell me if they don’t show up) that I think about when I think of them (videos are not in the same order as the names 🙂 )