The sky is blue.
No, mama, the sky’s green today – tornado.
The sky is blue.
No, the sky’s black today – gonna rain.
The sky is BLUE, mama!
Yes, son, the sky is blue.
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write between 33-333 words using the following quote as a brain tickler:
“What I tell you three times is true.” by Lewis Carroll.
“Mama, I only want red shoes. Someday when my feet are fixed will you buy some, please?â€
Her mother nodded her head. “I promise, Nancy. You will have your red shoes, my daughter.â€
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The weekend challenge from Trifecta is retelling our favorite story in 33 words only. I read Red Shoes for Nancy by Marguerite Hamilton over and over when I was about 12 years old. The tale of a little girl who only wanted a pair of red shoes resonated with me. I would dearly love to have a copy of the book, but cannot afford the ones I have found for sale. Instead I will remember it in my heart.
Blue skies shining on me . . . talkin’ ‘bout blue skies . . .
Blue grass band playing on the radidio – fiddles and banjos and nasal twangs
Kentucky Blue Grass growing in my yard – fodder to many a well-born racer
Blue eyes crying in the rain – good ole Willy Nelson
(Thirty)two year old singing along with the Veggie Tales: I’m so blue-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo
Ad nauseam
All these terms went through my head along with blue bonnets, blueberries, blue bird. None of them quite fit with what my spouse of umpteen hundred years had just declared about me.
“You’re just blue, baby. Snap out of it. Come play with me on the four-wheeler.â€
“I’m NOT blue! I’m ticked at the world! It can’t be fixed with your gap-toothed smile and a ride through the woods. I swear you men think you have all the answers. Can’t a gal be well and truly upset with the hand she’s been dealt? Can’t you understand I don’t want to be here in this room with you – in this place – alive?â€
Letha broke down and Mike knew how she hated to be seen crying.
“Okay, baby, okay. I’m going out for a ride to let you have some time. I’ll be back later. I love you.â€
Letha stared at the back of the one man she had loved since¬ she was 12 years old. She loved that he knew she would be okay eventually. This happened every year on the anniversary of Mikey’s death. He’d been a perfect baby. Everything about him – fingers, toes, hair . . . everything except the one thing that would have let him stay with her: he was not breathing. “Cord accident†is what they called it.
Loss. Pain. Grief.
Postpartum blues was diagnosed by her doctor. Only it never, ever went away. She needed time to wallow in her grief, deal with the pain one more time, get on with her life – in HER time.
Yeah, that’s what she’d do. She’d get right on that.
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Written for the Trifecta week 32 challenge: Blue using the third definition from Merriam Webster.
Mommy read a story
to help me rest today
about a cow who
jumped over the moon
Was that you?
Did you bring me
some cheese
and bring back
the dish and spoon?
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Trifecta’s weekend challenge is to write 33 words only using the above picture as our muse.
The paperboy was my savior when I was about four years old. We lived on Punta Alley in the north end of Columbus, Ohio. An empty used car lot anchored one end and the railroad tracks anchored the other end of the street. A row of attached houses (nowadays called by the prettied-up name of four-plexes or condos) lined the south side and a brick wall lined the north side.
Back in those days kids played outside – a lot – especially when moms and dads were having “discussionsâ€. You know the saying that “little pitchers have big earsâ€.
I did not have a puppy of my own, so I played with the ones in the alley. The day I was saved by the paperboy one of the puppies had cornered me and was attacking me, not allowing me to get back to my house. The paperboy came along at just the right time to ward off the attack with large rocks and pieces of bricks.
My mother came out about that time to see what the ruckus was all about. It was not until then that I realized my puppy was really a large rat. I had been in serious danger.
I received a few swats that night, but they were generously interspersed with grateful, teary hugs as well. The paperboy was rewarded with thanks and hugs, and likely a plate of cookies.
To this day I do not like rodents of any kind. (I didn’t care for the movie or the song Ben, either) I am also not a dog person. Funny how such things color our lives.
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This week our trusty Trifecta twosome (miss you, David) have challenged us with the third definition of alley.