Doing Nothing

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Searching For a Four-Leaf Clover

“Do you like doing nothing?” The question, posed by fellow blogger Kim is intriguing and 67 people commented.

Kim said, if you’d like to do more of nothing; start small, plan unstructured vacations, and choose soft fascination, aka go for a walk. She quotes three University of Michigan psychologists to support the point that nature heals.

Most comments favored doing nothing, I disagree.

Once I start doing nothing, I’m stuck and can’t return to doing something. However, my nothing was not their nothing and many comments addressed the definition of nothing.

The doing nothing discussion was really about the self-imposed lack of unstructured vacations or leisure time.

I can remember only one unstructured vacation for our family of ten.

What I do remember is being sent outside to play after breakfast with strict orders to be home for lunch. Playing cards under our Weeping Willow tree and walking to the pool by ourselves in the afternoon. If I really had nothing to do I’d search for a four-leaf clover.

 

. . . just saying

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Goodbye/Word Prompt

Word prompt ; use the following words in a descriptive paragraph: needles, breath, river, touch, swallows, summer, humble, paper, simple, bend, beams, crowd

The bend in the river cascaded into a water fall. The summer air was hot and heavy. Sun beams faded and a crowd of swallows flew in the distant sky. I remembered your touch and how it had taken my breathe away. Like the pine needles that poked my bare feet, the simple paper note in my hand pierced my heart. Its thin texture a reminder of our humble beginnings. I didn’t have to read it to know you were saying goodbye.

* * * just saying

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Today is Thursday

How did it get to be Thursday?

It was just Sunday!

It’s hard to believe five days have passed since I watched Jane Pauley on Sunday Morning and planned to blog about what is happening with Libraries when. . .  there was a knock on our door.

As Amazon promised our new television was delivered. Yes, we fell victim to their Tech Sale and Janine’s power of persuasion. Although I never wanted a TV smarter than me, the price was right.

We luckily were able to slide the very large box inside.

Still committed to writing every day, I was on the way to my office when the phone rang. My brother wanted an update on Bob’s recovery. Victor was pleased to hear Bob was doing well; that he had resumed his morning chore of emptying the dishwasher, but not that he won’t be able to move his arm until an x-ray says so.

Now I’m was at least an hour behind of schedule, so instead of my office, I headed to the kitchen and dinner preparation; cutting up onions and peppers, dicing and marinating the chicken and making a spinach quiche. Things took longer than anticipated because I did a wash and set the table in between while seriously thinking . . I’d write, later.

But everyone arrived early, and before I blinked; Marcela was cooking rice and beans, Marie was sautéing the peppers and onions, Janine was mixing drinks and helping Dominic set up the new television.

Bob? He hid in the guest TV room.

I won’t bore you with how Monday and Tuesday got away; but you need to know I have a legitimate excuse for Wednesday because I baked zucchini bread.

Now, what’s of interest regarding libraries? Well, those library cards with the metal clips and card catalogs are obsolete. Wall murals, tech centers, game rooms and coffee lounges are in.

. . . just saying

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Flash Fiction

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Short Cut to Love

Tanya Templeton’s slender fingers grip the dirty door handle to the Last Chance Corral. She yanks the door open. It slams behind her.

Heads turn to watch her long blonde hair sway as she wiggles across the room and sits at the bar. Her piercing blue eyes study other patrons whose elbows rest on the hard surface.  

“The usual?” Kurt, the bartender, asks grabbing a glass.

“Yea, a double. Who’s the dude?”

“You mean, the guy hound dogging you?”

Tanya smiles, shoots a look the man’s way, and runs her tongue around her lips like she’s ready to lick a lollipop.

 “Don’t get carried away, it’s early you know,” says Kurt.

“Not early enough?” Tanya laments. “What’s vibrating? Oh, my cell. . .”  She tosses her streaked hair, and checks the phone screen.

“It’s not love calling,” she says, then squeezes the phone back into her pant pocket.

When she slides the bar stool in closer, the metal scrapes the floor with an alarming sound.

“What’s his name wants to buy you drinks.” The bartender points his chin in the right direction. “Or are you running a tap?”

“Does he have a name?”

Instead of listen to Kurt’s reply, she slaps a ten-dollar bill on the bar like a husband slamming a pink slip down on the kitchen table, and sashays across the room, thumbs inside her belt loops.

“I’m Tanya, you must be . . .?”

“Damn woman, looking at you I can’t remember much, especially my name.”

“Well, you don’t mind being called Dean, do you? I once had a boyfriend named Dean, lived in the panhandle. . . Apalachicola. . . ever been there? You gotta love oysters to live there.”

She studies the creases in his worn jeans.

“Dean suits me fine. I’ve passed through Apalachicola many times hauling lumber. These days’ runs keep me traveling the interstate.” He smiles with his eyes. “I’ve been dreaming about oysters.”

Tanya toys with his body using her mind and quips, “Glad you have a sense of humor. You’ll need one.”

 After the small talk and learning nothing about themselves or each other, they saunter out together looking for the short cut to love.

The End

. . . just saying

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Poetry and Tidying Up

Summer in Florida is like winter in the north, Floridians stay indoors. It’s a time to get organized and tidy up. So, I went through my writing stuff, and discovered some poetry. This one was inspired by social media in November of 2012.

Sharing

By Claudiajustsaying

We publicly post our words

Text, twitter and talk.

Likes keep us playing the game

Comments share a thought.

Then, tease each other about being friends

“Tell me a secret and I’ll tell you mine.”

Social media is a push pull effect . . .

But, what is a friend?

. . . just saying

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Florida Sunsets and Friends

Florida Sunsets and Friends

Today was quiet and yet I’m exhausted. Our grand kids came for Sunday dinner. We have enjoyed the weekly ritual since they moved here in January. Janine prepared a new pasta dish, Rigatoni with zucchini sauce. I didn’t have to do everything just some things and still I’m dog tired and ready for bed, but thankful; I have their support and friends.

People I can phone in the middle of the night and say, “I have a flat tire. Can you pick me up?”

They’d answer, “Where are you?” Then say, “I’ll be there in . . .”

Many of these people I’ve known for sixty years. Others for twenty-five or thirty. Some for only a few.

I’m lucky!

    . . . just saying

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Lemons VS Lemonade

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I’m ready to scream, yell and tear my hair out. It’s 10:30 am and I’ve been at my computer for forty-five minutes and accomplished nothing. My first task was to send an email to members of my book club about the next book selection, but I cannot open yahoo mail after waiting patiently and then some.

My computer is new and I have Windows 10, but this morning everything is operating at a snail’s pace.

What I was able to do, was reserve David Baldacci’s new book Dream Town at the library. He is a favorite author of my husband’s, unfortunately, the wait is long, I’m #77 on the list.

Do the math. If each reader keeps the book for 2 weeks, that is 154 weeks away. Realistically we might have the book the end of August. I could buy the book for him at Barnes and Noble for $14.99. It’s something to think about.

Back to the book club selection; we chose Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile, because I was reading The Christie Affair by Nina de Gramont and commented that it was a decent read but, did not reveal much about her disappearance for eleven days after her husband, Archie, informed her he was having an affair and wanted a divorce. Intrigued by the author’s life we decided on one of her novels, since none of us had read any of her books.

Well, I just checked my email and can read open messages. I no longer want to pull my hair out.

. . . just saying

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April Fools 2022

Flash Fiction

No Fooling

     Today, crisp cool air mingles with a blazing sun as I leave my minuscule apartment on Lexington Ave. The weather has been dreary. This morning is glorious.

     Around noon, I stop for lunch at a typical outdoor New York café; the tables are round and small; the metal chairs look uncomfortable, but are not when I sit.

     A waiter fills my water glass, and announces he will be my server. The menu choices are unexpectedly appealing; fennel quiche, gazpacho soup, and more.

     I take time ordering.

     The man on my left, glances my way. His thick blond hair is sun streaked and he looks familiar, a little like my friend, Sam.

      Groomed brows frame his eyes. Carefully pressed gray slacks, and a wrinkle-free dress shirt complete his polished look.

        I sit back to wait for my meal and people watch; New Yorker’s enjoying the sun, walking and talking loud. A biker babe dressed in leather, pushes a doggie stroller. The dog wears goggles and rests his paws on the bar celebrity style. I laugh aloud.     

       My order comes, and the man who looks like Sam stares in my direction, again. His eyes searching, and as the tables fill up, the man gives a knowing nod my way, and conceals a smile.

He faces me, but, I can’t tell if he is looking at me, or not.

     Behind me a couple seat themselves, and I refrain from turning around. They create a stir dragging empty chairs across the concrete and arranging shopping bags, and I realize the man who looks like Sam is studying them.

     When the waiter takes my empty plate, I order a Cappuccino and the ‘Chocolate – Chocolate’ cake, and listen to the couple’s banter, intrigued.

     The woman protests, “I didn’t make you come here, you said it was your favorite restaurant.”

     The man responds, “Eve, you’re the one who claimed the food was something else.”

      “You loved the zucchini mushroom quiche, and what about the gazpacho soup? You raved!”

     “No, you never listen; I said the quiche was good if you like quiche. And the soup ‘the best’ Gestapo!” His words are slow and deliberate. He gets up. “I’m going to the men’s room.”  

     His voice sounds like Victor’s, and I look.

     Sam rushes to fill his empty seat, firing off questions, “What’s going on? You said you would be at here 12 o’clock, alone.”

      Coyly, Eve removes her Hollywood style sunglasses, checks her diamond wristwatch, leans forward, and whispers, “Oh, my, it is past noon, isn’t it.” Playing with her neckline she continues. “Victor’s golf was cancelled. When he learned I was coming to the city, he said he was coming.” She shakes her head and says misty eyed. “He’s my husband. I couldn’t persuade him otherwise. We’ll do it next time.”

     Sam laughs, “You think me a fool, Eve; there are other restaurants in town! Why lunch here? There won’t be a next time.”

     “Next time . . . answer your cell, damn it!” She shouts after him.

     The husband returns. A tan complements his brown eyes, perfect Roman nose, and romantic lips. Approaching the table, his aloof expression becomes surprise, as our eyes meet.

He is my Victor, and my heart pounds.

     Sitting across from his wife, he tucks in a cloth napkin. “Who was that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”

     Eve clears her throat, forces a smile, and explains, “Someone who goes to my gym. It’s nothing. I’m tired, and sorry. Sorry we had words.” She reaches across the table to take her husband’s hand, “Can we forget it?”

     Eve appears confident and why not? I’m the other woman.

     I play with the raspberry sauce on and mush the the ‘Chocolate-Chocolate’ cake.

   I stop at the couple’s table when leaving and smile, “Victor, What a surprise to see you and your wife.”

As I walk away, Eve asks, “Who’s is that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”

. . . .  just saying

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Write Naked

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Write Naked

Write Naked is the title of a Florida Writers Association Blog I recently read and immediately had a visual picture; successful writers sitting at their typewriters nude. It wasn’t pretty.

Then the line, “Would it help?” from the film, Bridge of Spies, came to mind. The character never frets, but inquires if ruminating would help his situation

Could wearing your birthday suit make words flow and bring a place in the sun.

More than likely, I’d just get sunburn.

Come to find out, writing naked means to write from the authors emotional experience and bare ones’ emotions.

Therein lies the problem.

Today’s environment of political correctness has me stymied and frozen in place. I truly do not want to offend anyone and just when we think the worst of the Pandemic might be over, Putin starts a war.

Chicken Little’s’ false news, “The sky is failing,” has become reality.

Would it help if cursed at him in the nude?

. . . just saying

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Christmas In Florida

By Gosh By Jolly

IMG_0842-1

Christmas In Florida

It’s far from cold today in Florida; not even chilly. The temperature will climb to the mid-eighties.

I miss the snow.

Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas when I’m wearing shorts and sandals.

My poinsettias won’t get the recommended sunlight inside our house so they are spending time outdoors. However, they might experience wilt since they prefer air temps between 65-70.

 The local newspaper gave detailed instructions on how to care for the plant and suggested that, with a bit of work, they would bloom again. It sounded like a lot of work to me.

I’ve never had them bloom again, in Florida, but was successful in New Jersey, when I threw them off our deck.

Miraculously sometime during spring cleanup they were in bloom

. . . just saying

 

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