Leave Satire to the Experts and What I Learned Blogging About Donald Trump

I recently tried my hand writing satire in my post “Letter to Donald Trump.”

I didn’t even come close.

I did get a couple of nice comments from a couple of bloggers who got the point of my post.  Thank you for taking the time to read and comment!

What did I learn?

Leave satire to the experts!

 

 

 

Randolph

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Randolph’s social life was reduced to the grocery store.  He tried to go every day just to get out of the house.  Spending time in the deli where he could buy premade meals, imagining sharing a meal with anyone and having a conversation over good food.  Yup tonight it was going to be a special meal.  He allowed himself lasagna on those days he really needed a pick me up.  Store brand canned beans for lunch.  A macaroni salad and what the heck, a green salad if he felt like something healthy…. And a carton of that disgusting lactaid milk.

Standing in his favorite checker’s lane, Polly kept looking over and smiling at him.  Bless her.

“Yikes Randolph! Your milk is leaking!”

“I’ll just run and get a replacement, you take this lady behind me in the meantime.”

Randolph guessed it wasn’t going to be that great of a day spirits falling as he went for the replacement carton.  Old fool didn’t even notice the milk was leaking.

Rushing back to check out Polly was just finishing up with that lady, they both turned to him with big smiles!   Maybe his zipper was undone? Still it was nice to have a couple of ladies smiling at him like that.

Handing Polly his replacement carton he noticed his groceries were already sacked.

“Hey Randolph, that lady bought all your groceries for you.  She said for you to have a nice day! ”

An impish smile lit up his face which stayed with him all nice day long.

 

Nasty is the New Brilliant. Nasty Mom and Homemade Dog Food!

 

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Our Mom is Nasty Brilliant in the best way you can imagine.

She makes about one-half of our food from scratch, the rest is high quality kibble.

Here is a free range chicken she put in the pressure cooker for 1.5 hours until the bones were soft enough to break with her fingers, this way we can get the bones and the marrow with her not worrying about choking or bone splinters.

Sometimes we get grass fed beef or wild caught salmon.  This batch she added some canned mackerel for stinkiness 🙂

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Then she adds blended veggies and fruits (here is a organic spinach mix with organic carrots, organic apples and organic frozen strawberries).

Often we get the fruit of the season.  We loved peach season that just passed, yummy!

Finally she adds some cooked grains like oatmeal, quinoa, buckwheat, barley, and some other ancient grains which she rotates.

Nasty is the New Brilliant and our Nasty Brilliant Mom is totally cool.  We intend “Nasty” as a compliment because our Nasty Brilliant Mom is just a tough, feisty and determined cook! (And we eat better than she does every day!)

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Flash Fiction Challenge Response to Nagrij

This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrij for a 5 minute story.  Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday.  This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge.  We have been building on each other’s stories and here is Nagrij’s story this week:  Tuesday’s Tale

And here is my continuation of Nagrij’s story:

The hair on the back of his neck stood up just as he felt the temperature in the hallway go up.  He looked down at his temperature meter and watched as the digits climbed slowly at first and then clicked up faster and faster.  Forgetting that he had returned to the top of the stairs he stepped back, twisted ankle once again giving out, tumbling down the long flight of stairs in fear and confusion.

The creature was back, lumbering after him down the stairs, its anger creating the rising heat.  Mouth now opening and closing in a mesmerizing chewing motion, rows of teeth reaching for him as it shrieked.  When the creature shook his head to toss his long hair from his eyes he saw with a jolt of recognition that

Had to stop here as my five minutes was up so lets see what Nagrij does with this! Brouhaha!

Flash Fiction Challenge Response to Nagrij

This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrij for a 5 minute story.  Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday.  This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge.  This week I wrote the next chapter to his weekly challenge Tuesday’s Tale.

Here you go Nagrij:

The hallway walls caressed the ghost hunter’s shoulders.  His bulk apparent in the creak of the old floor boards as he entered the heart of the old house.  Light bulbs changing back into candle sconces as he passed.  The dim lighting from the flames did nothing to warm the cold and his breath came in silvery whispers and frozen exhalations.

The end of the dim hallway could not be seen yet but he continued to creep forward, hoping the camera would come to life.  Looking at his watch he saw it was only 12:06, only 2 minutes had passed…

A shadow at the end of the hall was visible now, he prayed it was that intern arriving at the job late.

Flash Fiction Challenge Response to Nagrij

This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrij for a 5 minute story.  Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday.  This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge.  Here is Nagrij’s story this week:  https://nagrij.wordpress.com/2016/10/04/tuesdays-tale-1042016/

Here you go Nagrij:

Racing down the hall she ran smack into the icy place.  The home of the foul entity that she now lived with.  When she moved in she had no idea of the evilness that had occurred here over the years.  She had a feeling that even with all she was able to discover she still did not know everything.

Henry, her German Shepherd dog for seven years, was right behind her.  His intense yowl raised the hair on the back of her neck.  As she turned around she saw he was looking behind them, at something unseen but clearly approaching with a cold malevolence.

Thinking to gain some strength from Henry’s presence she hugged him tightly and looked between his ears down the hall.  Somehow she now saw what Henry was able to see and knew she was in Hell.

Flash Fiction Challenge Response to Nagrij

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This is in response to a challenge from Nagrij for a 5 minute story.  Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday, except for today when he challenged his readers instead.

Here you go Nagrij:

She lunged again and again.  Teeth bared, fierce snarling, stabbing me hard enough with her muzzle I would have fallen if not for the wall to my back.

Pissing off a trained Police Dog.  Not my smartest achievement.  But I was smart enough not to run or move, she’d be on me in a second.

She was becoming more agitated, foaming at the mouth, and I knew I had to do something fast.  Shoving my prized Prada handbag into her face she clamped down on it.  Diving into her crate I felt the door hit me in the rear as she flew after me.

The Dream Maker, Part Three

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The theft of the rattle was disturbing.  The only item stolen from the studio. Trying to distract herself from this mystery Mary Lou did some research on rattles.

Discovered at archaeological sites throughout the world there was plenty to learn.

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Music, healing rituals, spiritual journeys, the supernatural, and simply a child’s toy.

Ceremonial, sacred, magical, powerful, and simply soothing.

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Her dreams included the peaceful vibrations of the different rattles she had studied and now created in her dreams.  Wooden rattles carved with love, gourds painted and decorated with leather and feathers, and the clay rattles of all shapes and engravings.  Rattles filled with rocks, seeds, grains, shells and clay pellets.  A sighing haaaa as her breath entered each rattle before it was sealed.

This tube rattle had crossed over from her dream world.  Almost alive it seemed to ache to be put to work.  Most rattles had a noble job.  She wondered at its purpose.

The Dream Maker, Part Two

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A little sushi, ginger pickled beets and some sake.  That would set her straight.

After feeding her growling stomach, she felt the migraine melt away until it was just a regular pounding blinding headache.  A second cup of sake and the headache diminished to a roar, she was at least able to think.

This was not the first time Mary Lou had lost time working with clay.  But even then, with time flying by, she was aware while working on a project.  The total loss of time and memory had only happened once before and was also followed by the intense migraine.

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That project was again something she created from a dream.  At first she was unable to figure out what it was.  A square piece of pottery and the small pile of clay balls wrapped twice in delicate tissue paper.

She was compelled that first time to blow gently into the square, her breath making a soft “haaaaaa” sound.  Nine clay balls had been dropped into the square and with a second whispered “haaaaaa” she sealed the square.   As she made several small holes to the bottom of the square it was then she realized what she had created.

A rattle.  But why?

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The impressions she made on that square rattle were done with a hard rubber stamp.  A stamp she had never seen before and none of the other potters in the studio had either.

When it came time to glaze the piece she was drawn to cooling and calming colors, shades of blue and green.

The piece had disappeared one night from the studio. No other art had ever been taken before or since but May Lou was too relieved to have it gone to make an issue of the disappearance.

It was what she has learned since that has made her creation of the new rattle comforting rather than alarming.

She smiled again, a bonus was that she could now put off making that teapot for Dennis.   This tube rattle had a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

 

The Art of Letter Writing Update

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I am still writing to to my friend in prison.  He is teaching me a lot about appreciating life, letting go of things I cannot change, and not forgetting things I am blessed with.

In his own words he is afraid of forgetting things we take for granted each and every day such as the taste of certain foods, smells, and relationships.  He has no choice of foods.  He misses the smell of a forest.  His incarceration has been hard on his relationships.

He is afraid of losing what is the core of his essence, his tenderness, empathy and kindness.

I continue to write to him, mostly about every day things, attempting to make him a part of my life.

I would not have been brave enough to start sketching if I didn’t know him.  He is the most talented artist I know and so I sometimes send him my sketches.  He graciously compliments my efforts and tells me to keep working on my art.

The thing I think he is worried most is his relationships, especially will we be here for him when he is released?