Sunday Calls From The Cell – Flash Fiction

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 Enisa. Thank you Enisa!

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Here is the photograph and my story:

Sunday Calls From The Cell

When I first moved from Iowa to San Francisco,  I’d call home at suppertime on Sundays.

“Mom.  Hey!” I’d say. “What’s cooking?”  Sometimes,  wanting to sound all grown-up and happily living on my own,  I’d have to rehearse those first few words.

“Pot roast and football,” she’d consistently reply.  Could have been basketball or baseball.  Always pot roast.

“I can smell it from here.”

“Are you settling in alright, Bella?”

“I am,  yes.  Just can’t wait for you and Dad to see the place.  It’s colorful in an abstract way you’d like.”

The place was a 500 sq foot studio with a view overlooking a Trader Joe’s parking lot.  The top-level had a jogging course.   Cameras everywhere.   And that neon colored wall visible from blocks away.

“We can’t wait to see it,”  Mom would say. “We should come this winter.   Take advantage of that great climate you have.”

“Let’s plan on it,”  I said during one such call.

“Let’s,” Mom replied. “Here,  sweetheart,  talk to your dad.”


(168 count)

My Blue Kitchen – Prose & A Short Poem

Ever since May, I am driving my best friend to her breast cancer treatments  Last week, we started the every day radiation – and hopefully last – part of her treatment.

I view life in a different way these days. My friend really needs my care. She needs this time to be all about her and helping her keep going with her treatments and to encourage her. And I intend to stand by and be there for her.  Her life is teaching me so much about my own.  And she says mine is teaching her.

On the other hand Ive been examining my own life. I don’t have children and live far from my family of origin. There has never been anyone in my life who has really needed my care before. Nonetheless, I have taken good care of those, close to me in my life, more – I believe – than was necessary or healthy for anyone. It’s become tiring, actually. And I have decided not to do that any longer.

I don’t know how I will carry out this or exactly what I want to accomplish in order to put myself first. I just know that something will be accomplished. My friend has another month of radiation. That gives me four weeks to feel my way through this. I, along with many others, wasn’t raised to take care of myself. I’ve heard about the concept and embrace it…living it will change my life.

There are such fragile balances to work out in life. I don’t doubt I can work them out, I just hate chaos.

If you’re still here,  here’s a poem I wrote about this:

My Blue Kitchen

We morph into something
someone unknown to us
and no one notices
until we are caught in the kitchen


Moments We Don’t Forget

On 9/11 you and I had only been married 3 months.  It was my first day working, as a secretary, at a nearby  Law School.  I was driving to work.  I was nervous.  I turned on the radio.  Some strange repeating nightmare kept coming from my car’s speaker system.  Our country had been attacked.  Not ‘over there’ but here.  Lives were violently lost.  Life, for so many of us in the entire world, forever changed.

Bless the dead.
Bless the living.
Bless our homes.
Bless our cities.
Bless our country.
Bless our world.
Show us the way to peace.
Amen we say.


Most Probably – Probably Prose

Most probably, I’ll be moving – usually these days – away from my poetry (which I am collecting now and editing for publication) more into prose and flash fiction.  I may still write some poetry but…

creative passions are changeable – thankfully.  An artist is passionate about something and creates it and works upon it endlessly.  Then one day to awaken and discover that that particular passion has waned.  One can be quite passionate about pink – at 6 – and then more passionate about blueberries – at 63.

And that’s what’s happening.  And what’s happening is good for my creative spirit.  I’m grateful.

I’ll begin this this evening.  Sometime later.

And what she said floated
as though above a waiting  scroll
and landed
ancient to her.


The Pots & Pans Of Life

The French pots I’d had for decades were becoming too heavy.  Well traveled and well used pots.  Then there were your pots.  And your pan.  And then there was our one pot.  The pots never merged  into one family.  And it was complicated.  So I tried explaining that to you this morning.  And I was going to go out to buy a new set of pots.  Then suddenly you were coming with me.  You cook, too, and you wanted to have a say.  We headed to Costco.  To the pots and pans sale.  It always discourages you to see the size of a Costco grocery cart.  I always have to tell you we don’t have to fill it up.  And then there we were in front of  THE POTS!  What?  $699 and a sales pitch?  I’m devastated.  We turned into the nearest isle.  Whew!  There they were!  The sale pots!  A whole set of matching pots in all the perfect sizes.  You put the box in the shopping cart.  I couldn’t wait to get home to cook and be domestic.  Wow!  You insisted on keeping your pan.  You’re not sure you’ll be able to learn how to use the new pots.  Hmmm…