Day 20. Two hands are all I’ve got

The joys and delights of DIY.

As I struggled to hold the ceiling panel up and manipulate it into position, cross words were spoken. There we both were, holding up the heavy gib ceiling panel – and just where is the drill, the screws and/or the hammer?  Yep – as far away as possible – on the other side of the room!

“I need another hand”, says I. 

“Two hands are all I’ve got”, said he. 

We were both stuck!  One of us would have to let go to reach the drill and screws. 

Bad preparation on whose part?

Oh – to be someone else’s building mate

Home renovations with the husband can be just a little bit fraught. 

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 19. Niceties don’t bring rainbows

Niceties don’t bring rainbows
But atmospheric conditions do.
What does it take to make a rainbow?

Sunbeams and raindrops
Sprinkled amongst the storm clouds
Seek the pot of gold
 Search out the rainbows 
And climb over the sky bridge
Find that pot of gold.

Which might be quite nice!

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 18. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her

Holly was wondering why all this secrecy surrounded her.   Whispers in corridors, sly glances across the room, a sudden lull in the conversation as she passed by. It seemed to her that there was a conspiracy being plotted. What wasn’t she to know?

‘What was going on?’  She wondered  and she worried. She had been feeling suspicious for the last week or two. There were his strange and unexplained absences. His every telephone call was abruptly terminated whenever she entered the room.  Where had he been?  It was so out of character for him to be late home after work each evening.  Had he found another woman? “Could this be true?” she asked herself. 

On the one hand she knew that she tended to being paranoid. She had never felt good enough for him.  That was her own fault. She was boring especially now she had that big birthday coming up. And her age was creeping towards the ‘invisible age’. No wonder that no-one was interested in her. He doesn’t care, she reminded herself. He had quickly agreed with her when they had discussed her upcoming birthday and she had said she definitely didn’t want a fuss. Nothing to celebrate anyway, she thought.  So that was their decision.  Nothing would be happening.

On the other hand, secretly she hoped that someone would take notice and at least acknowledge the passing of her years. Except that she did think that there was something going on that she didn’t know.  She felt hurt. No-one had confided in her.

The day dawned and she enjoyed an extra moment in her warm bed. Alone.  He had come late to bed the evening before and had already disappeared by the time she awoke.  Feeling a  bit disappointed, Holly resigned  herself to just another ordinary day. She dragged herself downstairs to the kitchen.

Then she heard them again – those whispers but this time she also heard a giggle or two. 
“Let’s make this a real surprise for Holly.”  “I hope she will be pleased”  “She will definitely enjoy a surprise visit from her middle son for her birthday”  “She will never guess what is in store for her today”

And there it was – a surprise birthday party. The return of the prodigal son from overseas, and the rest of her loving family arriving in convoy.  And that fancy car to drive was such fun.

And it hadn’t hurt at all.

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 17. Sorrows of the soul

Life is so endlessly delicious – or is it? Endless is how life should be but endless it is not. This year I have lost three close friends.

Delicious is such an emotive word. It means sweetness but to lose a lifelong friend is not sweet. Bittersweet maybe. Sad to lose a friend but happy to have known them. 

The end of life is not delicious. It’s sad, so sad and final. Here one minute – gone the next. How can such a vibrant life no longer exist in this world?

The breathing is over. The dreaming is  forever. The dreamer did not awaken. We are often told they have ‘slipped away’ or that they have ‘passed away’.

 To where?  Their passage of time has finished. Their time has come. Their life is not endless but was it delicious while they had life? 

So many ways to describe the ending of a life but delicious is certainly not one of these.  Those left behind are heartbroken yet is it not the dead whose heart has stopped?  Broken?

 Sorrow – it is so hard to describe this feeling. It comes in waves catching me unaware, crashing like a rogue wave upon a calm shore. Unearthing hidden feelings expected to never be felt again. 

Like an old rubbish tip exposed by the stormy seas, the shores and beaches are polluted again.  A rescue effort swings into action to prevent further destruction and contamination of the environment but what of the broken-hearted?  What can we do with our exposed sorrowful thoughts and feelings? 

The bad and good memories come flooding back to disturb my present calmness. 

There are the five stages of grief as described by Elizabeth Kubler Ross

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. However, there is a sixth stage, that of Meaning.  And so I seek meaning to understand this pain of their departure. Why them?  Why now? Why not me?

Why has losing my friends been harder for me than losing my parents or my sister? Or even losing a relationship with my remaining siblings? Why was the sting of their rejection not more painful than losing my friends? 

The quality of the relationships might be the answer I seek. Loyal and true is the best way to describe my special friendships. To lose these friends feels so unfair but to whom?  Am I just feeling sad and sorry for myself? Is this just  a necessary part of the life experience?  My next lesson to be learned?

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 16. A piece of the pull

The rope was lying on the ground between them.  A bright red flag marking the centre point of the rope resting on the grass. Two markings 4 metres to either side of the centre line were visible. One for each team. 

Lined up along the rope, the blue-clad team of eight were flexing their muscles, and jeering at their opponents.  At the other end of the rope pull was only seven contestants dressed in pink.  There had been a no- show for their eighth term member.

According to the rules, there must be an even number of members of each team. If the  pink team did not front up with aneighth person, they would lose by default. The situation was desperate.  The pink team looked around the field looking for someone, anyone to help for the big pull. 

All was ready as the crowd waited for the whistle to start the contest. The umpire gave the 3 minute warning for the contest to start.  Just as the pink team’s captain was about to concede, forward stepped a volunteer. The blue team chortled and scoffed but the whistle blew and the tug began. 

The strain showed in the forearms of the team. Grunting as they tugged and pulled, the blue team were gaining purchase against their opponents. The red flag wavered towards their line. Suddenly, their heels slipped along the soft turf. They were losing their grip.

Just at the last moment, the pink volunteer dug her six inch stiletto heels into the slippery turf. She added her piece to the pull. The team gained traction and pulled. The red flag crossed over their mark. The  contest was over.


This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

15. Sorry, but I needed my coffee

Hmmmm coffee ☕️ 

Habits and companionship 
At the bottom of the cup

“Fragrant and strong
Black and long”
That’s how I love my coffee. 

Every coffee makes me beam
When it hits the bloodstream
I find my smile
At the bottom of the cup.

Smile- you have had your coffee!
This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

DAY 13. Call the plumber; I’m stuck

The drain is clogged – true story!

A slow drain with no gurgling noises to be heard at all.  The quickly rising water level in the kitchen sink was a teensy bit worrying.   So I tried a few obvious solutions. I googled and watched the youtube videos. I read all the questions and answers – and found out what plumbers hate!

Enough googling and procrastination. It was time for action. 

First attempt:  the baking soda and white vinegarYeah Nah – that didn’t work too well this time although it has in the past.This kitchen sink was still really slow draining.

I had a cup of soothing green tea.

Then I tried the no frills brand drain cleaner. Following the instructions, I poured 250 ml down the sinkhole and waited the required 15 minutes before running cold water as a chaser. Still not great.  At this stage it was nearly midnight so I repeated the process, put the timer on and read a  couple of chapters of my  book.  Flushed it through again. Not much better. 

I had a glass of wine.

What a pain of a drain. What can I do now but call the plumber as something is stuck –  and I think its me. I gave up and went to bed.

Then the very next day…. I tried once again. This time I gave that lazy drain a jolly good talking to, threatening dire consequences if it didn’t sort itself out. Out will come the plunger and then out will come the tools. 

I had a cup of coffee.

Then I filled the sink with hot soapy water, boiled the jug, pulled that plug and let it all out in a rush… and voila. A slight gurgle then a glugging sound followed by a loud and proud burp. Who knew drains burped?  It had finally became unstuck and so did I. 

I had a celebratory cup of tea.

Let me just say that getting a plumber to drive 60 kms from town is a daunting task – and the mileage bill  alone could have been quite horrendous.

Just call me Mrs Plug the Plumber. 

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 10. Regretful happenings – reflections of a funeral

How quickly we enter into the realm of the dead. 

A hero for a moment. Or in death. People gather to celebrate life, commiserate and maybe  silently offer up a thought that they are secretly pleased it wasn’t them this time. 

No matter. It is fitting that they gather to acknowledge the achievements, the  frailties and the quirky bits of a human life. And the more the beer flows, the better the memories are – or so it would seem. 

I hope for nothing more than for someone ( or maybe more than one person) to say something about what I have done, experienced and achieved on my time on earth. 

We live, we love, we hate, we procreate, and to what purpose? What impact does one actually have? 
I sit here at this wake, awaiting the significant other in my life. Making eye contact with those who have done me wrong. Those who no longer accept me as a blood relative.  Regretful for what could have been however I am now my own person and that’s ok. 

Nothing like a death or two to put life into perspective.  Life is life. Death is death. And the world moves on.

Sitting alongside a man who wasted much of the last few years of his wife’s time on earth fighting a lost cause. Yet here he is, a year later. He has moved on to a new relationship. Did his first wife ever realize that she would be usurped quite so quickly? 

Another man with the dreaded C diagnosis yet he is busy circulating amongst his guests. Does he stop to think that the next funeral may be his??  Or has he decided to live for the moment, and enjoy life with his mates as he has always known it to be. Shouldn’t we or don’t we all do just that?  No regrets.

Surround yourself with familiar faces.  Enjoy the happy memories and ignore what’s yet to come. What else can we do?  Life is for the living, isn’t it?? After all, we don’t get out of this life alive.  

Life is full of regretful happenings.


This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 9. Lit by the dawn

Misty with sea spray, the bush- covered cliffs rose majestically towards the clouds. It was hard to see where the sea mist  finished and the foggy clouds began. Ladder ferns festooned the banks and tumbled down the rugged slopes.

The road twisted and turned around hairpin bends as we zig zagged our car up the steep inclines in the shadowed light.As we rose higher and higher it seemed as though the road was winding back on itself. Will we ever reach the top or were we doomed to stay lost in the gloom of the misty mountains?

The sky lightened as crepuscular rays streamed light through the clouds. The rising sun peeped out from behind the cloud. In an instant, dewdrops lit up the feathery fern fronds like delicate sparkling jewels.

At last we reached the summit and gazed in wonder as the sun rose over the sparkling water, watching as the last tendrils of mist lifted above the treetops into the morning sky. A new day and such a spectacular dawn.


This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’

Day 8. If only we could

Misty hills and vales
Stepping to the horizon
We wish we could fly.

And if we could fly
Would we escape to the sky
And soar way up high

Maybe we would flee
To another world of glee
The joy to be free

If we could just fly
What else could there be to spy
Above that white mist.

Search the horizon
But what if the earth is flat
We fall off the edge.

Life choices are ours
To dream of different times
Could, should or would we?

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’