Italic-Dash

     Italics are tricky to use, but not as confusing as dashes-----. Dash this but not this. Dash-Away, Dash-Away, Dash-Away all, that’s what Santa said. What am I supposed to do? It’s such a troubling issue. I think in italics, that’s what I’m told. 

     To dash or not-to-dash, that is the question. Damn-the–italics! Full dash ahead! I think. Life is full-of-problems, but none so dashing as the use of italics in the proper-way. It’s all just a trap, ready to snap. There is no answer set-in-stone.

     So much-to-do, so little-time. It’s just a dash-away to freedom if you ignore the rules. What rules? There are no rules.  I live in an italic world, and the dash is my enemy.

     Dash-it-all. Don’t-worry-about-it-just-use-italics-whenever-you’re-in-the-mood, but for-God’s- sakes don’t forget the commas.

Cliché Touché

Writers are always warned to avoid clichés when writing stories because they are overused. So I do my best to avoid them, but I thought it would be fun to write a story with as many clichés as possible. So here it is. Go ahead count them and tell me what you came up with.

Cliché Touché

It was a dark and stormy night when I walked to the coffee shop. I arrived as it was about to close, just in the nick of time. It’s said laughter is the best medicine but coffee warms your soul, which is what I needed on this dark, dank night.

            I headed back to work. I needed to finish my project or it would be lights out for me at this firm. My boss was as old as the hills, but he scared the wits out of me. I knew this job wouldn’t last an eternity. It was just a matter of time before I would be canned.

            It was easy to read between the lines. I was a diamond in the rough but he disagreed. He said I was weak as a kitten and couldn’t live up to the challenge. I finished my project with time to spare. I hoped he would like my work so we could kiss and make up but only time will tell.

            When he walked in the next morning he was quiet as a mouse. 

            “Cat got your tongue?” I asked.

            He picked up my completed project and sneered. “All that glitters isn’t gold.”

            I knew the writing’s on the wall. I was toast!

            He leaned over the desk and threw my project in the trash. “Haste makes waste.”

            I looked up and smiled without a care in the world. “That project had my blood, sweat and tears.”

            “You’re fired. Hit the road and don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

             “I’ll be gone at the speed of light.” I walked to the door. “What goes around comes around.”

            “That’s all you got?”

            I shook my head and said. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

            It was a Mexican standoff. I walked out knowing I was better off. Every cloud has a silver lining. All’s well that ends well.

            

Literally the Most Overused Word in the English Language

Exactly, precisely, unquestionably, indisputably are just a few of the words that correspond to the meaning of the word literally. When used informally, which is often the case, there seem to be no rules. Here are a few examples when literally is used for emphasis or to express strong feelings without being literally true.

     “That song is so good it literally blew my mind.” The literal translation would mean that your head is no longer attached to your body.

     “Ann literally wins ‘Words with Friends’ every time I play her.” This means you have never won a game against Ann, which could be true, literally, but if so why do you still play her? 

     “I am so tired, I literally can’t see straight.”  The translation is that fatigue makes you see crooked. Please get out of the driver's seat. 

     “That movie literally scared me to death.” You’re dead. No need for further explanation.

     “Put that down or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you, literally.” This translation is confusing since it implies that you might be killed in daylight, but maybe you come back at night as a zombie. See it’s confusing, but I would advise you for your own safety to just, Put It Down.

     “This is literally the best coffee on earth.” This implies that you have tasted every coffee produced. Nobody cares. Get a job.

     “That comedian is so funny, I literally laughed my ass off.” I see a number of problems here and sitting is just one.

     “This is literally the last time I warn you about this.” Now you’re treading in dangerous territory. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but you aren’t getting any more warnings. I would not step out of line if I were you.

      “This is literally the last sentence I’m writing about literally.” That was a lie, a literal lie.

A Hat Full of Memories

When I was just a kid I’d be told to get a bucket of water for Grandma. An old well sat in the courtyard. Papa had it drilled many years ago, still in use today, even though running water had been piped into the house. Grandma, being old school, thought the well water was better than tap water, so she’d send me out to the well daily when I visited.

            The truth is I didn't mind doing it because I felt helpful. The well had a circle of stones surrounding the pit and two large posts that held a crank with a rope to lower the bucket into the spring water. Papa built a roof over it because Grandma didn’t want bird droppings, leaves, branches, or other debris falling into the well.           

            Papa passed away a few years ago, but Grandma had a circle of friends to share her stories. Grandma spoke of Papa often and missed his companionship. They made great memories together. 

            He always wore a straw hat. It wasn’t fancy, something old farmers wore, and a red band trimmed the crown to honor a friend lost in the war.

            About a year before his passing, as he was getting water from the well, he set his hat on the circle of stones. When he reached to grab the bucket, he knocked it into the well. Just an old straw hat, but Grandma had given it to him, so it was special, and suddenly it was gone. 

            Grandma bought him a new one, but he said it didn’t have that same comforting feel of the old one. People would compliment him on his new hat, so he wore it, but not every day. He missed the old one. I didn't understand why it made a difference, but for him, it did. He said the old straw hat had memories in it. 

            My sister was born two weeks after Papa died. Grandma called it the circle of life to celebrate the passing of one life and the beginning of another. I stayed with her that summer to help around the farm and keep her distracted when she got sad. 

            One morning while getting water from the well, the bucket got snagged as I pulled it up. I used a tree branch to push on the bucket. When the bucket broke loose, I removed the branch and noticed Papa’s old straw hat stuck on the end. A bit more tattered than I remembered and now it had a new hole, but still a treasure to me. In my excitement, I dropped the bucket, grabbed the hat and ran inside to show Grandma. 

            I held it high over my head. “Look! I found Papa’s straw hat.”

            She smiled ­– then a tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s a sign. Papa’s waiting for me.” Grandma was so pleased.

            She’s with Papa now, and I wear his hat because memories are in it.

Martinique Curse

A typical summer vacation with a pool, beach, lounging, pickleball would be the main activities for the week. There were no specific plans laid out. Things flowed naturally. No pressure or stress, just fun and relaxation.

Our beach vacation in Gulf Shores started out just as I imagined, but it wasn’t long before a glitch changed the direction of our holiday. On the second night, my wife Mimi and I took the golf cart to the beach. She had recently received a metal detector and wanted to look for coins or rings on the beach. The sun was setting but there was still plenty of light and we only planned to hunt for a short time.  We didn’t want to miss dinner since grilled salmon was on the menu tonight. 

We searched for almost an hour and were ready to go back to the house when Mimi had a strong hit on the metal detector. I took the shovel and dug into the sand to find our treasure. Up to now we hadn’t found anything of value, just bottle caps, a dime and a pair of broken eyeglasses. We weren’t expecting to find a doubloon but hoped for something special. I sifted carefully sifting through the sand to make sure nothing was missed. I had dug down about a foot when I found the treasure, but it wasn’t what I expected. I was a ring but still attached to a finger. Mimi jumped back when she recognized what it was. I dropped it.

I scooped it up with the shovel. “Holy crap!” 

“Is it real?” Mimi asked.

I inspected it closely. “No, I don’t think so. It looks like a rubber finger.” I pushed on it and shook my head. “It’s a fake finger but the ring is real. It's cheap but real.”

“Well, this will surprise everyone back at the house.”

I put it in the bag, and we headed back, when a beach ranger walked by. I stopped him and showed him the rubber finger with a ring. 

He picked it up to examine it. “I haven’t seen one of these in a while.”

“Oh! So, you’ve seen them before.”

“Yes, a few years back someone would find one of these every couple of months, but it didn’t always have a ring.” He handed it back. “No one’s found any recently.”

“Left over from years ago?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged. “Rumor was, there was a curse related to it.”

“A curse? What was the curse?”

“I don’t know, some bad stuff. I don’t remember the specifics, but you can check the Internet.”

Now I have a treasure with an interesting story to tell.

We drove the golf cart home, parked, and walked into the house. My son, Pat, asked if we found anything of value. 

 “Yes,” Then I threw the finger. He reached to catch it then pulled his hand back when he saw the finger. I laughed and he instantly knew it was fake. 

Pat picked up the finger and said, “Some joker planted it?” He smiled. “Actually, that’s pretty funny.”

My daughter, Maureen scrunched her face. “No, that’s just creepy.”

Pat took the finger and placed it in the middle of the table as a centerpiece. The grandkids were more curious than appalled, as kids usually are. After tossing it around we set it aside and ate dinner.

I looked at Pat. “You know the weirdest thing about the finger is that there’s supposed to be a curse attached to it.”

Pat asked, “A curse. What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Try looking up Martinique Curse on Google. There’s a lengthy story about it and the people who found the finger.” I rubbed my chin. “It would be a great marketing ploy to get people to come here to check it out.” My son- in-law, John, was already searching online.

“Sounds like a scam,” Pat said.

John scratched his finger as he read about the curse. “It does, but it’s most likely the Itchy Finger Hex. The only cure is drinking prickly pear margaritas.”

Pat shrugged. “Sounds flaky but the remedy resolves my issues.”

What started out as a weird discovery turned into a funny story. I’m sure over time our family will blow it up to become a more elaborate yarn.

We all went to bed by 10:30 p.m. and slept until the grandkids woke up the sleepiest the next morning. After breakfast we headed to the big pool, and as expected we met up with the family from the other two houses. It was chaos with twenty-six at this family reunion. Some of our gang spent time at the beach, some played pickleball and some rode around on golf carts or bicycles. It was another fun, relaxing day. We relayed the story about the ring finger, which got better every time, as good tales do. Everyone wanted to see it, so we brought it back after lunch for show-and-tell.

There were four girls celebrating birthdays that week. We wanted to do something special so we held an ice cream social. A gift would be needed for each of the girls. A necklace seemed to be the perfect gift. I mean, what’s better than a necklace for a young girl? We wanted it to be something local, something meaningful, something memorable. 

“I’ve got it.” I held up the fake finger as if I solved a major problem. “But I need help.”  A finger necklace. What could be better?

Mimi knew immediately what I was planning and said, “Oh! Hell no. You need a seashell necklace.” 

This battle was lost so I conceded. The next day, Pat and I went to the beach to look for some seashells. As we drove to the beach, Pat complained about allergies flaring up because his fingers itched. 

I said. “Mine were itching too. Could be the high level of pollen here.” 

Our survey of the beach for seashells yielded enough shells to make four necklaces, plus an unexpected find of an old bottle. Finding the bottle gave me an idea which I wanted to pursue.

When we got back to the house, I explained my idea. Collect money from everyone and put it in the bottle along with the ring and a note. Perfect. And use the rubber finger as the cork. We could all go down to the beach and throw the bottle in the ocean and watch it float away. Whoever found it would have money and a story along with my phone number. We all agreed it sounded like the idea had potential. Who knows? Someday we may get a phone call from a stranger in another country.

I collected $10 from each family and added another $10 to make $100. That seemed like a good amount. The next day we all went down to the beach. Three of the youngest adults threw the bottle in the ocean, but each time it quickly returned. They all blamed their poor throw on their itchy fingers. Finally, we decided to get the eleven year-old pitcher, Mason to give it a try. He hurled it as far as he could, and it finally floated away. Success!

The next few days were filled with more time at the beach, pool or playing pickleball. Mimi and her sister, Ann, made the seashell necklaces for the birthday girls. We decided to hand them out at dinner the night before we left. My sister, Rose, made a reservation for all of us at Captain Jack’s. Their food was supposed to be finger-lickin-good.  I’m not sure how she managed to do that with such a big party, but whatever she did, it worked. We were in a separate room at the restaurant with one other large group.

 As we sat down, I received a call from a guy named Chris. He called to say he found the bottle with the money, the ring and rubber finger which we used as the cork. Chris thanked us for the $100 in the bottle. They were out having dinner celebrating the start of their vacation. 

“Wow, that was quick, I expected it to take a lot longer.”

 He said, “Finding the bottle was a great start to our vacation.”

I asked, “Where did you find the bottle?”

“I was on a kayak in Martinique when the bottle floated by.” 

“That’s funny. We thought someday we would get a call, but never expected it to be this soon.” As we talked, I looked over at the other table and spotted someone holding up a bottle with what looked like a finger sticking out the top. I immediately knew the other group was the recipient of our bottle donation.

Both Chris and I had been relaying the phone conversation to the others in our family. Chris and his group must have figured out who we were as well, because ten minutes later the waitress delivered six bowls of fingerling potatoes to our table as we sat sipping our margaritas. We raised our glasses and toasted Chris and his crew just as their waitress brought them two pitchers of prickly pear margaritas that we sent. They thanked us even though they weren’t aware that this was more of a medicinal margarita for itchy fingers than a welcome drink. 

Who’s Responsible?

There have been many post that address the issue of feeding children at school. And I’ve noticed these post are negative toward the reader if your opinion is different. They are extremely judgmental. Just to let you know I believe in Jesus, but I also believe in personal responsibility.

     When I was young we gave our nickels and dimes to feed the poor. It was a way to learn empathy and help the less fortunate. Our family wasn’t rich or poor, but blue collar middle class, but we were proud. Family came first and my parents gave up luxuries to provide for us. They would have been mortified if their children went to school hungry. 

     Things are different today. We as a society seem to expect more from the government in terms of free stuff.  This seems like we are saying it’s okay for parents to avoid their responsibilities. Are parents today that bad off that feeding their children is not possible? I guess that’s true in some cases, but I doubt that it’s the norm. It could be that we believe we deserve free stuff. Things are more expensive these days, but that’s life. No one should expect life to be easy. Sometimes we have to make choices, set priorities. Food and care for your children should be #1. 

     You may not agree with me, but that’s okay. You don’t have to agree, but you shouldn’t judge. I promise I won’t judge you. “Just Saying . . . “

Conversations with Stella

Young children have a way to say or act out obvious things without any intention of being negative. Although, what they say stings a little as you may initially view it as negative, then you realize how accurate and funny it is. Kids are sponges and repeat almost everything they hear, because of that you will find a lot of humor in any conversation with a young kid. So, here’s some stories I’ll share about my granddaughter, Stella. 

     While at my son’s house visiting, Stella was pretending to be an old grandma. I don’t know why or what prompted her, but the mind of a child is hard to understand. She had a broom handle she used as a cane, walked hunched over, spoke with a crackle in her voice and stretched her neck forward. 

*****

     On our way to the park we stopped at Target to pickup a prescription. As I got out of the car, my wife, Mimi tells Stella, “Papa’s going to run into Target to get his medicine.”

     Stella even at 3 1/2 is always ready with a comment or question, and said. “Papa can’t run.” 

     “Hey, little girl.” I tickle her. “Papa runs, but slower than you.”

     Remember when you ran ‘Full out’ by that I mean being in that grey area where you’re going really fast and about to fall. That’s how little kids run, so she’s right because Papa’s don’t run like that or at all.

******

      At five years old she ask many questions and has opinions on everything. While at the grocery store to pickup a few items for a dinner, I loaded up her basket with some items, but she questioned some of my choices.

     Stella asked. “What kind of ice cream is that?”

     “It’s coyote tracks.”

     She turned up her nose and said.  “I don’t like that.”

     I pictured what she was thinking, so I said. “There are no coyotes in it. I promise.”

     “I don’t want that.” She pointed at cookies and cream. “Everybody likes that.”

     I knew it was too late she had already imagined coyote pieces in the first ice cream. I got the cookies and cream.

     I asked if she brought money to pay for all this stuff. She giggled and said. “No PaPa, you got money.”

     I laughed. “Why do I always have to pay?”

******

     The next day we went to the donut shop to pick out some donuts for breakfast. As we stood in line, Stella spotted an older man sitting at a table. His back was facing us and he had white hair and a bald spot like mine. Stella said. “Let’s go talk to him.” 

     I laughed. I guess she thought we knew each other or had some kindred connection because of our hair.  “I don’t know him.” Then I laughed again.

     She said. “Go say, Hi.” Still believing our similar hair would make us friends.

     We were standing by the door so I said. “You can say Hi when you see him leaving.” 

     As he got up to leave he walked over to throw his trash out. Stella said. “His face is different and he walks different, you’re must be older.” 

     “What, why do I have to be older?”

     He walked out the door and Stella waved and said “Hi.” But he didn’t respond. I don’t think he heard her. Maybe my hearing is better. He must be older.

“Just Saying . . .”