injaynesworld we are "Still Haunted By It..."

Stop watching.

I was only a child and they made it sound like so much fun.   I went with them eagerly.

There’s still time.  Turn away. 

How could I have known it would end like this?  

Close your eyes!  Now!  

But I didn’t.   The blast of a shotgun, the look on his face when he knew he’d been betrayed, his body – lifeless in a bloody heap on the ground – all forever burned into the cortex of my brain like the brand of a hot iron.   The scream exploded from the deepest part of my broken young heart…

They shot Old Yeller!

From the prompt “Stopwatch” at One-Minute Writer.   And, by the way, a true story.

 

injaynesworld we ask “Now What The Hell Was I Doing Again…?"

This morning was like any other.  Rise, pee, drink coffee, pee, check e-mail, pee, begin work on a new post – Oh, wait.  I have to pee.   I’m beginning to suspect that all this loss of bodily fluids may now include a considerable seepage from my brain.   It was bad enough when I was unwillingly drafted into the “Can’t Remember Shit” brigade, but now my simple daily-living skills appear to be under assault, as well.

My right eye is red, bloodshot and feels like I dumped sand in it – because I pretty much did just that.  I’ve been wearing contact lens for more decades than I care to admit.   I know full well that the bottle with the red cap contains the corrosive cleansing solution that should never, ever, ever go into your eye, while the bottle with the blue cap holds the oh-so-comforting wetting solution.   And yet this morning my brain, clearly believing I should have this chore on auto-pilot by now, was engaged elsewhere.  Holy mother of  f*^king God!!  

As I quickly grabbed for the tiny plunger to pluck the shard-like lens from my painful and tearing eyeball, I realized that this kind of thing has been happening with greater frequency lately.  My brain leaves me to my own devices while it goes off to ponder why Mitt Romney won’t release more tax returns, or where I can find the best deal on a case of Skinny Girl Margarita.

Meanwhile, something as simple as making coffee can go horribly awry.  I realize that the container needs to be filled with water BEFORE hitting the “on” button lest I burn out the whole damn unit.  Conversely, I know that putting water in the container without any coffee grounds in the top will only get me hot water.   Yet I’ve done both.  

I routinely walk to my car and settle inside only to realize I’ve left the keys on the kitchen counter and then, upon returning home later, driven right past my own driveway. 

I write grocery lists and neglect to take them with me.  I remember to take my reusable bag only to pull my cart up to the checkout stand and find I’ve left it in the car.  I’ve gone to the store for one thing – just one thing – oh, let’s say toilet paper – and come home with a whole bag containing everything but that.   You’d think I’d remember something as important as toilet paper what with my penchant for peeing and all.  

Recently, I read that eating of blueberries can improve brain function – at least in rats.  Good enough for me!   I’ve committed to eating a whole carton of the wonder fruit every day – that is, if I can remember.  

If my pee turns blue, you’ll be the first to know. 

injaynesworld it's "The Bridge..."

We had grown up together but, at 75, the years had not dimmed her beauty one bit.  I smiled as I recalled all the times her magnificent scarlet span had seen me safely to and from my busy life in the City so many years ago.   It was fitting that she should take me on this final passage home. 

I gave the old girl a kiss, and as I leapt into the cold, fierce wind, one delicate shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the top of the bridge’s south tower with such beauty that I longed for just one moment more.

But I could not turn back time.

This post is in response to the Five Sentence Fiction prompt “scarlet.”  

injaynesworld we reveal "Our Celebrity Crush..."

Oh, come on.  Don’t try to tell me that you haven’t fantasized about hanging out with a celebrity.   It’s worth it for the discarded swag alone.  I mean really, how many free bejeweled iPhones does one person actually need? 

At first I went the high-brow route with Hillary Clinton or Rachel Maddow, two gals I admire the hell out of, but let’s face it, while they might find me amusing for an hour or so, after that I would bore the crap out of them.  I require someone with much lower expectations.

Besides, my special someone needs to share my love of gossip, shopping, good food, good wine and, above all, laughter.   Oh, sure.  Loyalty and honesty are important too, but that’s why I have a dog.  It’s laughter that seals the deal.   So while George Clooney and Ryan Gosling are super hot, my celebrity crush is super cool. 

Ross Matthews

I mean, seriously.   Look how adorable he is.   I just want to pinch those cheeks, which I know would totally mortify him – because bffs know these things about each other – so I would never ever do that.   

Right off the bat, I was struck by how much we have in common.

I would totally watch Clay Aiken sleep on a plane for six hours or steal a hair from Angelina’s head.  I would!   I might not actually pluck it from her scalp because it’s my understanding that Sky Marshals have no sense of humor, but you can bet I’d comb every inch of her seatback as soon as she got up – and then I’d sell it on Ebay – something I’d like to think Ross would do, too, but probably under an assumed name. 

Ross and I would make great bffs.  He likes to cook, while I’m happy to wash dishes.  He has a cute little dog named Louise.   I have a cute little dog named Dixie.   He has a place with a pool in Palm Springs.  I would like to have a friend who has a place with a pool in Palm Springs.   Oh, what a match we would make.

But the very best thing about Ross is I’d want to be his bff even if he wasn’t a celebrity.   He strikes me as a warm, caring person who, as a bonus, just happens to be hysterical.   There doesn’t seem to be a mean bone in his body and every time I watch him on TV, he makes me feel good.   Plus he loves “Nurse Jackie,” and I’m pretty sure he’s a Democrat.   

Seriously, how can you not love this guy?

So, Ross, if you’re reading this, give me a chance.  Sure, I’m an old straight broad, but clearly we both have a strong belief that maturity is vastly overrated.   

Okay.  Spill it.  Who would be your celebrity bff?  Leave a comment or write about them on your own blog and leave a link.

injaynesworld it's "A Taste for the Kill..."

Cool as the ice in her vodka, she sat at the bar and waited for him to approach.   He’d been watching her since she first walked in, no doubt anticipating the delight of her blood on his lips.   At first, the family had laughed at headlines of a vampire on the loose – it was all those damn movies – but now this amateur’s sloppiness was giving them all a bad name.  She lowered her eyes demurely and gave him an inviting smile.  Tonight it would be she who would feast – to the very last drop. 

This post is in response to the Five Sentence Fiction prompt, “Composure.”

  

injaynesworld "Marching Bands Make Me Cry..."

Or maybe it’s just the horn section.

As a child, nothing signaled the true start of summer like the 4^th of July parade, fair and rodeo.   Today we tackle the big issues like freedom and all that entails, but back then it was about  marching bands, silver-saddled horses, and cotton candy, and when the flag went by we stood proudly never questioning that America was everything it was hyped to be.  

After the parade, we’d drive to the fairgrounds and watch cowboys ride, rope and wrangle, with nary a thought about animal welfare as we licked melting blue snow cones in the hot, dusty stands.   Back then I rooted for the cowboy.   Today, I root for the bronc.   

At 25-cents-a-ride, a month's worth of allowance bought us hours of thrills on the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Bullet, and the Hammer.   Throw a ping-pong ball into a goldfish bowl and win a fish for just 10 cents.  Knock a stack of bottles over with a baseball for a nickle and a stuffed animal could be yours.  

And the food – hotdogs, sodas, freshly-made taffy – yours for pennies, because pennies were actually worth something, and belly aches signaled a good time had been had by all.   

The powerful beat of a marching band awakens emotions that have me longing for my childhood belief in the endless promise of summer and the endless promise of America and, for those few moments, I allow myself to revisit that time.   Happy 4^th of July.

Visit my friend and wonderful writer, Michael Whiteman-Jones, for his outstanding piece on this holiday.