WP Prompt: What is your favorite hobby or pastime?
I call it a hobby because it’s something that I do for fun, it’s something I can’t do all of the time because it doesn’t fit in anywhere really.
If I could indulge in my hobby 24/7 I think I would be a happier person. A more content person and all around I would be better company.
That hobby, my little hobby that I wish I could do more often is called,
” Being myself.”
Gorgon Unleashed (from Medusa set)
By cursejourney
Inspired by Fandangos Story Starter Prompt #169
My mother has a set of photo albums that she keeps in the bottom drawer of her dresser.
The albums are bound with cord, and the pictures aren’t held into place by sheets of plastic. They’re held in place by crisp little paper corners that have turned yellow with age. “Memories ” are stamped in cursive on the cover of each album.
Each album is filled with pictures of my Mom smiling, she is sitting next to Christmas trees and at picnics, she is sitting on a blanket and making faces into the camera.
I don’t know who any of the other people are in those pictures. They smiled more than anyone I knew or saw in our home.
Once, my Mom caught me about to take one of her photo albums out of the drawer. I was sitting cross-legged in front of her dresser, and when I looked up at her, she was scowling. Her face was red. There was no trace of the smiling lady from those albums on her face.
She reached into the drawer and pulled out an album. She pressed the album to her chest and told me to never ever touch her ‘memories’ again.
She told me to go away.
It’s not as if there weren’t pictures of me next to Christmas trees or in Halloween costumes or at picnics. But those pictures were in a drawer in the writing desk in the hallway.
Some were in albums that had sunsets or flowers on the covers. Most of the pictures inside of those albums were starting to turn yellow.
Some of the pictures were fading. I don’t think it mattered to her.
My Dad used to open that drawer.
Sometimes, he put pictures inside of the albums and sometimes he just dropped pictures into the drawer.
” Don’t you want my memories, Dad? ” I would ask him sometimes.
He never answered me. He just looked right through me,
as if I were a ghost.
RDP Monday: CASCADE
Photographer Unknown
Mount Rainier is part of the Cascade Mountain range here in Washington state.
It’s a pretty impressive mountain. It’s huge. It’s also killer.
That aside, I have a funny story about what it is like to live next to a giant, very much alive and able to wipe you out in one good belch volcano.
In toilet town- where I exist- we have a LaharWarning System and according to plan if you hear the alarm you have time to run for you life. Well they don’t say that, but that’s what it amounts too.
There’s a sign like this on the street I walk my dog on.
First of all, if everyone jumped in their cars and tried to get on the freeway they’d end up like those people in Pompeii who are now on display in museums. Second. I know there was this drill where people were supposed to run up this hill called Meridian- because you’d be safe at the top.
Nobody made it in time.
Photo A.M. Moscoso
I guess when your ticket gets punched, its time for you to go and that situation is NOT open to debate.
However, I do hope that I don’t get done in by Mount Rainier because of all the ways to go this one has to be the lamest.
Libby’s Mom said every word that dripped from Libby’s mouth was coated, dripping and pumped full of acid.
” Why can’t you look like all the other girls? Why is your hair so messy and snarled why does it look like a tumbled weed coming apart in a fire? Why can’t you figure out how to look everyone else Libby? Why are you so disagreeable? ”
Sometimes Libby cried and sometimes Libby fought back and threw a few curses her Mother’s way, but most of the time she would run to her room. Sit on her bed and wish and wish that she was like all of the other girls in their neighborhood.
Sometimes Libby went for days upon days without opening her mouth once and one time she lost 5 pounds because seriously- she didn’t open her mouth once. Not even for food. She didn’t want to open her acid filled mouth unless she could say something right. So. She nearly starved to death.
Her Dad said that maybe she should learn to smile, maybe not do that thing where she tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes to the sky because when she did that her mouth twisted to one side like she was having a stroke or something.
Finally one day Libby had it.
After her Mother and Grandmother were finished evaluating Libby’s looks and demeanor and demanded to know why she was so full of acid, why was her hair so funny looking Libby shouted back:
” I’m full of acid you stupid hags because I’m not a Witch like you! ” Libby tucked one of the snakes that lived in her mass of long dark curls back behind her ear, ” I’m NOT a witch. Do you get it YET? ”
