@jillsted
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Good morning – thank you for the explanation! I was hot and tired when answering so probably brain was not 100% either and I made some sort of mistake, but hey ho!!!
You are right – I am old enough to have gone through quite a few similar challenges in my time, so do echo your thoughts. A lengthy training and practice of counselling and the personal therapy that was required also has given me so much insight to carry on carrying on – if that is not too much of a cliched statement.
I am sure you have the strength of character too and personal insights and experience to help you through your undoubted challenges still ahead to reach optimum life once more. Best wishes.
Not sure where our latest conversation has gone, but glad you are progressing slowly and coming to accept future limitations. Good that you can walk by the coast.
I wrote quite a long reply, but cannot find it anywhere. Blaming the heat or perhaps the computer thought my reply far too long!!!
Anyhow, thanks for asking. We are coming through recent challenges and accepting limitations. Everyone does this in their own unique way. Dreamwork and writing help
me. Enjoying the excuse to take it easy in this heat at our age and enjoying the simple things in life! Jill
Annual Holiday by the Sea
(Immediately inspired by July’s theme)
When I was a little girl the high point of the school Summer break was our family holiday by the sea. It was only for a week and very often to Goodrington near Paignton in Devon.
Just writing that paragraph has immediately brought back so many memories of carefree, happy times with my two sisters and our parents. Wait! Is that a tiny tear forming in my eye, for my dear parents are long gone? I guess I shall be digging out old photo albums later, trying to find one I recall of a very small me being carried aloft on my tall father’s shoulders while we were on a promenade. I once wrote a poem with that image included, as he carried me metaphorically too into the world of independence by he and my mother giving me roots and wings.
Is memory deceiving me or was it always sunny and warm during those precious weeks by the sea? A sea which was warm enough to paddle in or practice first tentative swimming strokes under my parents’ watchful eyes?
A luxury they managed was renting a beach hut and so there was shelter from the sun if it blazed too hot and privacy for changing also. The boarding house we stayed in was not posh, but comfortable and the food served in the dining room was plain, but tasty. I’m sure there must have been the aroma of boiled cabbage at times! Full English breakfasts…
One memory of the boarding house – or perhaps the memory is of a later anecdote we laughed about – was of me being found upside down in the bed of the room I shared with my sisters. I must have been having a restless night or perhaps dreaming of the undulating rhythms of that magical sea.
The sea was definitely magical then, especially as we lived in the Midlands and the only time we saw it was when the steam train ferried us to the coast once a year. We would stand in the corridor and eagerly await the first glimpse of it as the powerful engine pulled the carriages on the rails adjacent to the coast at Dawlish Warren. Oh! the excitement and anticipation of what was to come during our holiday.
But the sea has many moods and I only became aware of how dangerous it could be as I grew towards youth. Shipwrecks after an angry sea raged; brave lifeboat men risking their lives to rescue people from boats in trouble; lifeguards trying to save swimmers in difficulty because of riptides – the dangers abound. Terrible tsunamis encroaching, engulfing, destroying, killing…
A kindly sea brings beauty to the eye and music to the ear in the crashing or lapping of waves on a sandy shore. It endows life; sustenance. A kindly sea is a source of quiet contemplation.
This is the sea I treasure now and in my memories from those far off days of childhood.
497 words excluding title
First, congratulations to Libby. Look forward to reading what theme you are going to set us for August.
Secondly, I echo Sandra in the fact that childhoods now past have been vividly evoked here in rich words worthy of Denizens! In addition, thank you Sandra for introducing me to a word I had never heard before and one which is impressive in its length and ‘tongue twistedness’ – koumpounophobia.
Thirdly, but not least, many thanks to you Athelstone for setting a challenge which has brought back so many memories of those simpler times gone by and for the detailed and kind comments on all the entries. I think your comments have included memories of your own which could have comprised an excellent entry, had you not been the setter… Jill
Sorry, Sandra, but they do say that great minds think alike! I am sure you will come up with some other object that will make a really interesting story. I look forward to reading your entry.
😊. Pleased to be of service! Didn’t think I would be inspired by the prompt, but my unconscious must have been working away overnight and this ‘wrote itself’ this morning. The wonders of the creative process…
A 1950s Childhood
July 2026 finds me sitting in the shade in our garden, grateful for the slight breeze and half drifting off into a heat induced sleep. It is Sunday and we have just finished a FaceTime call with our family in America. Again, gratitude for the wonders of modern technology allowing us to keep in touch and part of our grandsons’ lives as they grow up, oh so quickly.
In my soporific state, my mind wanders back to my own childhood in the 1950s. Sundays then were very different. No shops were open and it was for many a real day of rest, with family time, Sunday School or Church – perhaps a trip to the park. Only a few had a car to wash on a Sunday! My family was not amongst those few.
But we had a large garden and we girls were often to be found shadowing our father as he went about tending it on a Sunday. That garden was the breeding ground for much of my own creativity, as I played letting my imagination run wild.
On a Sunday, our mother would cook the traditional roast and we would enjoy the family meal; afterwards perhaps watching a programme on the very small screen, square television set which our father had first rented so that we could watch Queen Elizabeth the Second’s Coronation. It would be truly dwarfed by today’s screens, but we thought it wonderful then.
After Sunday, obviously, comes Monday and, in the July/August school holidays we were free from any computers, social media or smart phones – free to play in the garden or go cycling or to join with friends in whatever activity took our fancy. If it rained, there were books or board games.
Monday would be the day our mother took out the clunky meat mincer, clamp it to the kitchen table and mince whatever was left over from the Sunday roast to make a shepherds’ pie or cottage pie. The routine never wavered. The mincer was, of course, hand operated. Nowadays we are spoilt with so many kitchen and other gadgets using electricity.
‘Yes’, I think, as thirst jolts me into moving to go indoors for a refreshing cold drink, ‘those were simpler times not all that long after WWII and each decade since has brought myriad changes: some good, some not so good.’
396 words including title.
No need for guilt, Ath! Congratulations of your Solstice 70th Birthday – wishing you many more to come. Hope the healing is progressing apace.
Well, the June competition became a real competition thanks to an eleventh hour entry from Athelstone… and both entries are worthy of being winners, but I shall have to choose one Denizen to hand over the baton to for July.
Sandra, it was lovely to have a glimpse of your writing style, your ‘voice’ in the extract from your WIP. I love your use of language, the suspense and the intrigue. It left me wanting to read what came before and what, indeed, happens when ‘the magic goes black’.
Athelstone, you have written a different take on Midsummer at Stonehenge. I love the way the story began with atmospheric descriptions of nature around the site and then the change of ‘tone’ bringing in Teabreak and friends’ goings on. Just when I thought it was going to be an ‘idyllic’ piece! In the end it did become that with the magical sunrise. The mysterious Alwin? Is she a magical being? Did you purposely use that name for her because the name meaning has associations with elves? (Albeit, usually a male name…)
Thank you both for entering. It was a pleasure to read your excellent entries, but I have decided to declare Athelstone the winner of the June competition, simply because I love sunrises and sunsets too, as you may have gathered from my ‘avatar’!
So, over to you Athelstone. I look forward to seeing what you devise as a theme for the July competition.
Jill
Gentle reminder ~ only 4 days left should anyone wish to add to the single, intriguing entry for June’s competition…
Halfway through June and one intriguing Midsummer Magic story. Hoping the second half of the month will ‘conjure up’ more magic from Denizens!
Thank you, Sandra. It was an enjoyable challenge taking us back down memory lane. The three other entries were diverse and clever in their interpretation of the theme.
June’s prompt will be posted sometime today. A few ideas are rolling around in my head! Jill
Thank you for explaining. I will keep everything crossed that you get the answers and treatment you need from the doctor. You must be a real fighter to have come as far as this with what your discharge notes have revealed. Impressive! I trust your determination now to push for answers will pay off.
Good morning ~ such good news about no cancer. I am very pleased for you and can well imagine your relief on being told.
Now to get the other issues fixed very soon …
I had blood thinners for 6 months as the Lymphoma had caused clots on my lungs, so perhaps your GP might prescribe those? Just a thought, as every case is different. Worked for me anyway thank goodness.
Best wishes. Jill
Thank you.
Glad you are seeing progress in several ways. Long may it continue!
Will be thinking of you on the 11th. Jill
I have only just happened upon this.
Oh my goodness, Ath – what a horrendous time you and your wife have been through. Sending positive vibes and very best wishes for a steady road to recovery. Be very gentle on yourselves. Jill
(15th March 1969 Wedding – Songs: Where do you go to, my lovely,Peter Sarstedt and The way it used to be, Engelbert Humperdinck)
Marie Claire
The sun filtering in through the yellowing net curtains barely lightens the dim, soulless room, mirroring the dullness I feel inside as I watch you staring at me with blank incomprehension.
We have lived a long time, you and I, Marie Claire and have come a long way from our humble roots in Naples. Childhood friends, we both eventually clawed our way out of those dingy back streets and ended up in Paris, but you somehow climbed higher than I did. I have never dared dwell on exactly how, not wishing to sully my idealistic vision of my beautiful friend. You became part of the Jet Set, living a life of decadence and luxury, whilst I eked out a living as a songwriter.
But you never forgot the close bonds we had as that young boy and girl and for this I am grateful; treasuring the occasional meetings we enjoyed.
Now, on this early Spring morning, I am trying not to shed tears, as I acknowledge the way it used to be between us will never return. You do not recognise me and all I have left are my solitary memories of our amicable relationship.
A carer knocks quietly at the door before entering to administer you some kind of medication and to sit you up straighter in the high backed chair.
My sad musings are disturbed and I ask the carer if I can help in any way. She replies that all I can do is be there for Marie Claire and hope there might be a brief glimmer of recognition but not to hold out too much hope.
When she has left the room, bustling away to tend to the several other residents in the private care home, I take Marie Claire’s wrinkled hand, praying that this tactile gesture might jog her brain into recognition.
She pulls her hand away, as if in fright. Then the blank stare returns and she sits as still as one of the statues in the Paris museums. A seemingly empty shell.
I wipe away the tears which have refused to be stemmed and, unexpectedly, the words of a song which we had both loved when we first came to this city pop into my head.
‘Where do you go to, my lovely’.
As that young aspiring songwriter, I had envied the skill of Peter Sarstedt and imagined he must know my Marie Claire and had written the song about her.
Perhaps he had, for the words did reflect the life she had come from and the life she was then leading and would continue to lead until this cruel disease had beset her.
I wonder where Marie Claire’s mind now goes. Is she able to dream or to have flashes of remembrance?
I kiss her gently on the top of her head and depart.
499 words including preamble and title
Congratulations, Sandra. Loved your entry, which captured the mind and voice of that little girl so well. Look forward to your May competition challenge!
Thank you for the kind comment on my own entry.
Thank you, Terrie for setting this challenge which stretched creativity to meet the four word inclusion criteria.
Thank you, too, for your thoughtful comments on both entries.
METAMORPHOSIS
Vulnerable, estranged from her family, unexpectedly out of work and living in poverty in Aberdeen, the Granite City, it was easy for her to understand now why she had been taken in by him. He was extremely charming and persuasive. She’d moved into his luxury apartment soon after their first chance meeting.
The first time he hit her then apologised profusely, blaming stag party drink, she forgave him, desperate to make the relationship work. The second time, she managed to come to her senses, recognising that he had been particularly subtle in his coercive control. She had, after all, studied Psychology at university and had been working in a hostel with victims until the funding had been cut. She should have known better.
‘What a fool I’ve been,’ Vanessa thought ruefully. ‘I’m definitely worth more than this.’
The next time he came home worse for wear, she waited until he was deep in a drunken stupor and silently packed a bag. She hesitated before opening the drawer in which he kept cash. She was not proud, but tried to justify her actions thinking of all he had put her through.
Walking through the grey, rainy streets in the early hours towards the train station, the guilt lingered, but she needed to escape to somewhere he could not easily find her. London seemed the best option. It should be simple to remain anonymous, find menial work and some basic accommodation until she could get her head and life together again.
As the train hurtled towards the capital, she sat back and took a deep breath, feeling safe at last. She delved into her bag for the card which showed the ‘portrait‘ of Psyche. Her friend had sent it to congratulate her on her degree. It had become her talisman. She loved that Psyche’s name meant both ‘a breath’ and ‘butterfly‘, whimsically feeling some sort of spiritual connection, as her own name also meant butterfly.
She fingered the card now, trusting that it would bring her luck eventually in finding a new position in the field of psychology. She had been wasting her talents and had almost wasted her life with that man.
Putting the card back into her bag, she felt another card and pulled it out. It was the one he had sent her after their first meeting. Florid words and yet seemingly so sincere, making her feel loved and important to someone again.
How wrong she had been. She decided that, at the first opportunity, she would safely ignite it; a ritual symbolising her new beginning: her own metamorphosis.
433 words
Thank you, Janette for stepping in and for your kind comments. (Only bit of reality in mine is that we did get married on The Ides of March a very long time ago and are still here to tell the tale!)
All the other entries were so imaginative, well written and enjoyable to read.
Congratulations, Terrie – yours was very clever and truly mad! Wonder if the April theme is going to be equally mad … Jill
Madness on the Ides of March
493 words excluding title
All those years ago she had been teased relentlessly by friends about her wedding date, the Ides of March. ‘Beware!’ they had warned her. ‘You must be mad,’ they said, laughing.
But here the happy couple of that March day were, celebrating a Big O anniversary and enjoying a holiday in the Caribbean. They had arrived a fortnight previously and she thought again that she must be quite mad, as she was not a strong swimmer and a little afraid of the sea.
However, she had joined her husband each morning taking Scuba diving lessons ready for today. Their small group of beginners was going to be escorted down to a shipwreck quite a long way from the shore.
The lessons had given her some confidence it was true, but she still shivered at the thought. They were waiting at a beach cafe in the hot sunshine drinking coffee. She felt her heart beat quicken when her husband spoke.
‘Time to get going, so drink up.’
He was incredibly eager and not at all fearful. She envied him his gung ho attitude and his enjoyment of a few extreme sports back home. But she had promised; had taken up his dare when he reassured her it would be a wonderful way to celebrate and that she would never regret it.
All kitted up and having listened intently to the safety guidance, the group was guided towards and deep down to the shipwreck. It was rotting, but she could see that it had been a magnificent vessel and hoped that the sailors had survived. The colourful fish and other marine life teemed around the wreckage and the sight was more wondrous that she could ever have imagined.
Briefly, a thought crossed her mind that sometimes the maddest of ideas could lead to the most wonderful of experiences.
Back on dry land later that day and refreshed from a siesta, the couple sat imbibing pre-dinner champagne. The sunset was particularly brilliant on that Ides of March and they sat in silence soaking up the view.
Her husband gave a contented sigh. ‘So, my idea was a good one?’
‘Oh! Yes. I thought I was mad to agree, with my poor swimming skills and my fears, but I didn’t want to disappoint you and I am really grateful that I’ve had that once in a lifetime experience alongside you.’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow, ‘Once in a lifetime? You mean that you don’t want to repeat this on our next anniversary; here or somewhere else equally exotic?’
She noticed the grin he was trying to suppress and just batted his arm playfully.
After a special anniversary dinner, they were sitting on their balcony looking out at the moonlit sea when her husband took her hand and suggested that, if not more Scuba diving then perhaps she might like to try water skiing with him next year.
She laughed. ‘Now that really is a mad idea!’
Congratulations, Athelstone – well deserved. Peeked at your March challenge and looking forward to meeting it. Sandra, I loved your intriguing extract from what I presume is a finished novel or one in progress? Thank you Libby for the February competition which I enjoyed entering and for your kind comments. Very interested in your interpretation of the ending, which seems to have added an unintended intrigue to my work! In my mind, Lydia was doing everything with love and a with a sadness of heart because her mother had only a short time left to live, but I can see where you are coming from! Jill x
LOVE
399 words
Isabel woke from her nap to be greeted by the sweet scent of freesias. Sunlight was flooding into the bedroom she now occupied in her daughter’s home. Isabel was very old and frail, but still mentally astute and the scent of the delicate flowers which she had always loved set off a raft of thoughts about love.
She associated freesias with love because they had been her flowers of choice for her wedding bouquet and headdress. These on her bedside table were golden yellow, just as those had been. Lydia was such a thoughtful person. Isabel was long widowed and missed the golden freesias her husband gave on their anniversaries.
She mused on how lucky she was to always have had a loving family around her since birth. That mutual love had sustained her through many of life’s troubles and bereavements and she knew it would do so until the end.
She had been an introspective child and suddenly remembered standing one evening looking up at the sky and wondering what was the purpose of life. An inner voice told her it was Love and she had kept this belief. Love was an important emotion in all its forms and Isabel liked the way the Ancient Greek Philosophers had so many words to describe it.
She considered now that Agape/Unconditional Love might be the most important when it came to family relationships and friendships. She giggled softly, reflecting that Eros/Romantic Love had felt the most important in those heady, early days of courtship and marriage.
Then came the deep maternal love as she held her firstborn in her arms after a lengthy labour.
‘I must lighten up’, she silently chided herself. ‘I don’t want Lydia coming in to find me crying.’ So she shuffled herself upright and began to think of all the things she had often said ‘I love…” about.
‘I love chocolate; my baby doll; our new puppy; reading; writing; swimming in the sea; gardening; walking…’ the list was endless, but the last three which entered her head reminded her that she could no longer participate in these activities and made her sad.
Just then, saving tears from flowing, Lydia entered her room with her medications.
She smiled and told her mother once more just how much she loved her before administering the drugs to make her more comfortable.
Isabel smiled contentedly.
Congratulations, Libby – I, too, winced but enjoyed the humour in your story. I enjoyed Sandra’s offering also and even picked up a discarded copy of Anna Karenina after the mention, but could not get into it I fear. Thank you,Terrie for setting the challenge and for the kind comments. Mine was fiction but did have echos of much earlier life experiences and it was nice to remember as I wrote. Now looking forward to the February challenge. Jillx