It started out so innocently . . . his friend invited him to a football game. My friend said it was a double date. We barely spoke. He watched the game – I pouted. I became furious later when, while walking across the field toward the bus stop, I fell into a hole and he laughed instead of helping me up.

We were 15.

At 16 we began seriously dating.

And so it continued through high school – on again, off again, not so serious, very serious.

At 19:

I hope to have an updated picture taken this weekend. Hubbymoose and I both have to work on our anniversary, but I think we may head out on a road trip Friday after the grandgirls go to school. I told his boss today that he canNOT work on his days off this week. We’ll see.

Happy 43rd anniversary, Art. It’s been an interesting 47 years (4 years dating – 43 married) going on forever with you. I am thankful for it all.

“Annie, I need you to look at me. You need to tell Mama the truth now, you hear?”

The six year old girl’s big blue eyes filled quickly with tears. “I will, Mama. I didn’t mean to. It was me. I picked your favorite white rose.” Annie swiped her sleeve across her face leaving a long trail behind.

Mama drew Annie close in a hug and whispered into her hair, “Why do you protect him so? Why do you insist on telling stories?”

Annie looked at her brother. “He’s so little, Mama. He didn’t mean to. Please spank me instead.”
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Lance’s 100 Word Song pick of the week is Tracy Chapman’s Telling Stories. If you, like I, have not seen/heard this music video, please gp and check it out.

There were so many ways I could have gone with this, but I have a child-like heart and a Gramma-like love for littles who have bigger hearts than mine. So, here’s Annie. What fiction do you have in your life? (looking at myself in the all-telling mirror)

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Marty liked keeping them guessing: wearing clothes fit for a man or woman; a body that was slender, but muscular; crossed legs demurely at ankles or (sometimes) at a manly 90 degree angle; gray hair cropped cleanly.

Marty’s voice was gravelly, the product of too many years smoking cigarillos. That could also be the reason for the creases scored deeply into Marty’s face. Years of wind, sun, and hard living added to the aged, but ageless, face looking back from the mirror across the bar.

Marty seldom left with another person. When someone had the balls to guess – or ask – on which side of the fence Marty rode the answer was short, sweet, to the point, and no-nonsense: “I’m an enigma. Got the nards to find out?”

That generally put an end to the conversation. Marty would raise a finger with nonchalance to the server and a beer would appear. All was right in the world Marty traveled.
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Have you ever walked into a room – a bar, the train station, your pick – and wondered “is that a man or woman?” Did you then decide it was nonaya? (That is, none of your business.) Yeah, me, too. Here’s to the Martys in the world – godspeed and safe journey. I love your right to be an enigma.

Trifecta tossed down yet another challenge. The above is my answer. Where is yours?

Thriftless, shiftless, spitless Sam mutters as he ambles along.

I have no dollars, not a penny to call my own today. So I wander where e’er I will, seeking whate’er I may.

Toothless, hairless, grizzled old man. Suspenders falling down. Laughed at. Pointed at. Seldom asked what – who – might help.

Just call me Sam. Or Joe or Bill. Whoever reminds you of me.

Hungry? Why yes I am. A loaf of bread? I thank’ee kindly

I’ll be just on my way now. No need to fret. Thanks for the handout. Thanks for talking to me. May you be ever blest.
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She’s back! and as challenging as ever. This is for VV’s 100 Word challenge: Thriftless. Go and write your words.

Enough!

I’ve nothing left to give you
This day I call shotgun
Dead Man’s Curve
a’coming

Stop the car
Stop the flight
Stop the war
It stops tonight

You think I’ve got
Nothing left to give
Nothing left to fight for
You’re WRONG!

See me
See my eyes
Hear me
Hear my cries

You’ll be looking back
As I raise my hand
Holding daddy’s last gift

He’s dead and gone
The steel is cold
But my heart is colder

It’s enough
Long enough
Short enough
Enough!

My heart is my own
Take what’s yours
And be gone!
This ends now.

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Lance challenged us with Dead Man’s Gun – writing 100 words. I’ve been pondering what to write ever since it was posted Tuesday night. I reached for a pen a few minutes ago and this is the result.

Anger issues? Me? Nahhhhh

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