Christmas 2020

WWCDD

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Word of the Day Challenge: Desperation

Dear Mr Dickens,

As you know I spend the fall an winter months reading your books and short stories.

I read them slowly because I love to savor each word, I want to let the images come together in my mind’s eye bit by bit, and I have to admit I spend more time with your darker characters then I do with your more noble creations.

So this year, Mr Dickens I am wondering what sort of stories would you write if you could see the world I am living in today.

It’s almost Christmas, there is a Plague burning it’s way across the United States and a percentage of our population has no problem with risking other people’s lives so that they can go out and get drunk, hang out at the mall or get their nails done.

I hope I don’t turn into Miss Havisham- but at this point in time I totally get her.

But I digress.

I do wonder what kinds of stories you would tell- would you find endearing characters? Would you be able to recall the places, the way they were lit what they felt like and smelled of?

Would you want to?

I can’t do that Mr Dickens, my eyes are shut so tight against the world and what I see everyday that I don’t know if I will be able to open them again.

I am in a desperate situation and I’m not sure what to do.

So when I go out and walk my dog, when I ride the train home, when I have to interact with my neighbors or people at work, I asked myself –

What would Charles Dickens Do? Would he absorb this grim gray world and then write about it? Would you want the decay and hatred to worm it’s way into your skull on purpose?

Would you do that for a story  Mr Dickens?

I wonder.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

 

 

Hogamadogs and Snow Blossoms

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Word of the Day Challenge: Hogamadog

I used to sled through a cemetery

down the street from where I lived

the rone and snow beneath the runners

sped me through life not death.

 

 Aquabobs,  and snow blossoms

dressed the trees and shrubs

Hogamadogs  and snowbones

decorated and lined our path

through the rows of forgotten sleepers

dreaming of winters past.

 

( If you are curious, yes I really did used to sled through a cemetery )

19 Old Cold Weather Words to Get You Through Winter

Turkey Legs For You Young Lady!

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Putting My Feet in the Dirt December Prompt#4 – Leftover Turkey Legs

Our family mapped out the Christmas Turkey days in advance of the actual roasting and carving.

By the time we got to the dinner table, we knew who  wanted the white meat, who wanted their slices with a little crispy skin still attached and for some freaky reason there was always a fight over who got the wings.

” To bad, ” I said when I was about five years old and the turkey mapping sessions had just begun via the phone  between my Dad and Grandma ” that turkeys don’t have four wings. You know what has four wings? Dragon flies. Maybe we should roast a bunch of them instead.  But I’m pretty sure they don’t have boobs,  and I know  everyone likes turkey boobs- especially Grandpa and Auntie Sharon. ”

” You mean-” my Dad pulled the phone away from his ear looked down at me and my Mom lit a cigarette and muttered how nobody on her side of the family was as weird as me.

” Shut up Anita. ”

” SORRY. I mean breasts. Dragonflies don’t have breasts. Mermaids do. Maybe we- ”

“ANITA GO AWAY.” My dad hollered at me. ” I’m on THE PHONE!”

It was after the suggestion we roast dragon flies so that we could have plenty of wings to go around- and that roasting mermaids was an option too, that  I was the one who got both turkey legs and a wad of dark meat ( which at the time my family considered to be cat and dog food ) dumped on my plate.

I looked down and remember trying to look grossed out and put upon.

I also remember trying not to smile because it was always fun to get exactly what you wanted for Christmas and you didn’t even have to promise Santa to be good to get it.

 

The Window Watchers

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Putting My Feet In The Dirt Prompt#25- Feline Good

Photographer Unknown

I thought that tonight

would be a good night

to sit at my window, put my feet up

with a warm cup of tea warming my hands and my bones

and that I could wait for the snow to fall,

for the Christmas lights to twinkle and pop on

up and down my street.

 

It’s really quiet tonight.

I can hear the wind blowing way up high in the trees, I can hear the leaves, frosted with

ice, crackling like the blackened burning wood in my fireplace

and

my dog is snoring beside me, his paws are dancing and his tail is swishing dreamily,

happily beside him.

 

My old  black cat is watching his reflection

in the glass fireplace screen

with his ears pinned  against his head.

 

” Do you see a monster in there? ” I asked him.

 

My cat looks up at me.

 

” Do you see a monster in the flames? ” I asked as I took a sip of tea.

 

” It’s just the wind in the trees making the flames dance like that, ” my cat says ” it does

that on winter nights like these. But I don’t like it at all. Not one little bit.”

 

“Silly old cat,”  I said to myself.

“Why can’t he just enjoy himself for no reason at all

for once”

 

” It must be a cat thing. ” My dog said sleepily. ” It’s just a cat thing.”

 

And then my dog went back to sleep and my cat went back to watching his flames and I

went back  to waiting for it to snow.