Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge. This week’s photo prompt is provided by BarbCT/Gallimaufry. Please follow little froggie for more stories.
Here is the photograph and a memory:
The Reality of Pirates
When I first saw this photograph, I thought about living 50 years in New Orleans – right on the Mississippi River. I thought of what an honorable profession it is to be a tug boat pilot. I thought of all sorts of stories I could write but…
Nothing held a candle to reality. Being a Girl Scout during the turbulent 1960’s. Pitching our pup tents and sitting around the campfire singing:
This is a great rendition of that song, and thanks PJ and BarbCT for bringing back this memory.
Stuff like this, ya know?….lead me to me.
Just now reading that Pete Fountain has died and had a proper Jazz Funeral down the streets of the New Orleans French Quarter. Swoon on now y’all. Wish I’d have been there for the march…
My brother plays the clarinet – ever since our high school band….and still when he’s blue.
Always a soft spot in my life…those two.
It’s raining and flooding in my Louisiana this weekend. Terrible news. I place my thoughts and prayers there. And I thought of this old Bessie Smith song….performed by Irma Thomas
After 8 months of thinking 2016 – and turning 65 – was gonna be one of the few years of my life I’d hate, it seems today turned a corner…I’m scolding myself for being so impatient.
Just now, I’m listening to George Winston’s Summer Album. I can’t decide which moves me the most, the cello or the piano.
50 years ago, in my tweenies, I took piano lessons. Throughout my life, as a writer and a secretary, I’ve been grateful for those lessons in posture and proper hand alignment to the keys.
I can carry a tune and a secret until death us do part.
My piano teacher was an old bitter nun. She was horribly bitter and mean with a ruler.
That’s when I decided not to be a nun when I grew up. There are days, of course, when I long for the solitude of nothing to do but write and pray. There aren’t too many of those days, though…so I’m likely to have been some bitter old nun instead of having choices.
I like George Winston, though. He has a familiar style. Mesmerizing. Sometimes that’s comforting – and days like today.
photo via pixabay
I’m wondering how I ever allow myself to be as I am..sometimes. And that’s what I write about and what I want to write about when I’m writing poetry and fiction. The way life just creeps up and attacks you before there are any defenses. Case in point…that time ex and I took Aunt Wanda and Uncle Roddy and my parents to some Jazz supper. Early spring…probably early 1980’s. My aunt is a very strong Catholic married to a not so strong one and my parents somewhat agnostic/Catholic (yes there is such a thing). I had no idea this song would enter our realm of reality that evening. I just anticipated a ‘nice’ Jazz event. Until this song…sigh
I’m working on this memory.
Is all this shit really happening in our country and our world?
Still suffering thru a cast on my broken arm. Please accept this as my offering for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge. please follow little froggy for more stories.
This week’s photo and my entry…
April 16, 1985
Mr. Malcomn Weil, Pres.
Dear Mr. Weil,
Thank you for contacting us.
My partner, Sam Judd, and I will be arriving – from Chicago, on The City of New Orleans – April 19 (Friday) at 5PM.
It would be our pleasure to meet with you that evening. Our Beale Street gig is at 10PM. Anytime, before then, would be preferred.
of Tilly & Sam
This week’s photo prompt is provided by BarbCT/Knotholes and Textures. Thank you Barb!
Merle Haggard (4/6/1937 – 4/6/2016)
I’m reflecting and wondering and posting this – again – this Easter week…