The ants go marching two by two – hurrah, hurrah!
Over and over and over again, Gina sang tunelessly. Greg grabbed his head and moaned. Reaching out with his left hand, he touched her shoulder, stopping her forward progress.
“Gina, please stop. Daddy has a headache.â€
He felt a flush of regret as Gina began to rock side to side.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know you like that song. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Let’s go on home now.â€
Gina shrugged and turned with Greg towards the crosswalk. At the corner she stopped and rocked again while they waited for traffic. Greg gasped as Gina broke away and darted through the traffic to the other side of the street.
“Gina, sweetie, what in the world? You scared, Daddy, kiddo. What . . .?â€
She stood and rocked back and forth and began to hum another tune, “I love you truly . . .â€
Greg looked down to see the tiles and what he’d forgotten was there; a message from Gina’s mom, his life partner. It was the last thing she had done before the accident, laying that tile with a lasting message for them: “Hi, I’m _________________ and I’m completely in love with you.â€
He touched his daughter’s shoulder. Together they rocked and hummed, “I love you truly, truly, dear.â€
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After a group participation challenge earlier in the week, the weekend Trifextra challenge was to write 33-333 words about these three photos:
photos are from the trifecta site.
The years I spent in high school were fraught with all the angst a 1960’s era teen could face. There were no cell phones, no fb, no internet, no texting . . . we rode the city bus to and from school because we could not afford vehicles. Blah, blah, blah.
There were a lot of things we did NOT have – but there were a lot of things we DID have as well.
Some of the discussions in our PoD (Problems of Democracy) classes (now called social studies) centered around the government and elections and the Past – because if we did not learn from the past we were certain to repeat the past. That’s what they said.
A big item of discussion was whether or not 18 year olds should have the right to vote. Mind you, ALL US citizens had NOT always had the right to vote. The RIGHT to vote was hard sought, hard fought, and hard won.
We were separated in our idealistic world of beliefs even then. Some held that 18 year olds were too young to know or care what was going on in the US – thus could not vote with knowledge. Some held that 18 = old enough to go to VietNam (many returning in body bags) = old enough to vote for the people sending them there.
1971 saw the 26th amendment passed giving 18 year olds the right to vote. I was 21 that year. I voted in my first presidential election in the Nixon McGovern race. I’ve not missed a presidential election since – have not missed many state or local elections, either. Voting is a PRIVILEGE and a RIGHT. My foremothers could not vote because they were women. I’m thankful that I CAN vote.
You know I’m going somewhere with this, right?
Right.
It is a presidential election year (REALLY? Gosh, Moosie, we did NOT know that) /sarcasm. I asked a young person near and dear to my heart – who recently turned 18 – about voter registration. Not only is this person not registered, but there is no desire to vote in the election.
The community that does not take advantage of its rights gives those rights away.
I am becoming my grandmother. She bemoaned the generation that was mine. We proved her wrong in lots of ways. I am not bemoaning this millennial generation, but I AM hoping that they will take the reins and go forward and BE the changing force our country needs. They can do it. I have that faith.
Go – register – learn the issues – vote your conscience (not what your mother or I say) – Go and make us proud.
Love,
the Gramma
September 19, 1978 Hubbymoose, 8 year old Lessa, 3 year old Dragonfly, and I pulled up roots in Ohio and settled into our new life in Kenai, Alaska. Today we have been here 34 years and our roots have settled deep. Added to the family over the years were 3 sons-in-law and 8 grandbabies. We have seen love and loss and friendships and grief here in this Great Land.
We’ve been
– small business owners
– have run for local office
– been bench sitters for both daughters and their progeny
– volunteers for different projects
– motorcyclists and
– Lions
We’ve grown both inwardly and outwardly.
We are where we’re supposed to be.
This is NOT an entry to any of the prompts I usually post to . . . this is me being personal and thankful. I’m proud to be an Alaskan and I’m thankful she has adopted me into her family.
Ready, Mama?
I’m ready, Sonny. How ‘bout you, boy? You ready for the road trip?
Sure, Mama. Let me get your valise.
Don’t forget the picnic basket, Sonny. You know we get fainty when travelin’. Careful. Don’t break the pickle jar.
I’ll be careful, Mama. Mind your step, now. Step here on the running board. I’ll help you up.
Where’s my hanky? It’s hot today. Sad we had to come home to bury Uncle Samson, but good to see ever’one.
How much longer, Sonny? Are we near there yet?
Soon, Mama, soon. Set yourself back now and enjoy the ride.
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VV’s 100 word challenge this week was “Road Trip.” I like it so much that I not only wrote this piece, but chose to write haiku with Lou using the same phrase. Two different stories, though.
I love to just pick up and head out the door for a road trip. When I had my motorcycle it would take me 72 miles to get to work . . . 4 miles away. (I sometimes ended up 100 plus miles away from home and had to call family to let them know I was okay. Trust me – I was OK!)
These are my 100 words – where are yours?