Every tale needs conflict. It usually happens halfway thru the story and it links everything from the beginning and sends the story in some kind of "new" direction. That happens here. On a side note: the cops eventually showed up and arrested people for "throwing with all their might." Ah, what strange times we live in.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
#021
This week's photo was taken by Jerry Hartman. Jerry has shared several wonderful photos with 110. When I first asked Jerry about his photos, he had this to say, "I took these when we were in Kazakhstan for 7 weeks (that’s 49 days too long) adopting our daughter Anastasia."And Linda Gail Adams' entry was oh so worthy this week. Not only could I visualize the rush her character was in (no time to tie her scarf), but the ending made me laugh out loud. and it slightly reminded me of something my dad would get excited about. Read on, you'll see how wonderful this bit is.
His HeroBy: Linda Gail A.
Ralph didn’t even let me wash my hair. He saw his hero was in town and we had to leave within a minute. Ralph grabbed his jacket, pinned on his numerous medals and he was out the door before I could tie my scarf. His medals of “bravery” were each earned by turning in ten cereal box tops and signing a form promising to be brave. Ralph honks the horn. I hurry out to the car and soon we’re on our way to the mall; Ralph, me and hundreds of five year old kids to see his hero, Scooby-do.
William Rudolph Kincaid
By: Randy H.
Died January 26, 2009 at the age of 82. Beloved husband of Mildred Warner Kincaid, loving father to daughters Kimberly Fairchild & Joyce Woods, and cherished grandfather to 13 grandchildren. Preceded in death were three sons; William, Bradley, & Daniel. Known for his patriotism, Kincaid adorned proudly the military achievements of his sons who died in service of their country. Memorial service to be held Friday, January 30 at 10 am. The medals of valor will be bestowed to his loving wife and will then be donated to the National Museum in honor of her friend, hero, and soul mate. Family and friends will be received at a private burial
"Lop-sided Jacket"
By: Tim P.
Straining to see, Harold reports, “No, Sugar. I don’t think this is the entrance either.”
Pensive, Edith complains, “We’re going to miss the whole thing!”
“Let’s try down that way.” Harold leads through the bustle, her aged waddle anxiously trying to keep up with his impatient stride. His jacket lop-sided with the burden of these ridiculous medals. Edith had insisted he wear every one – even the two he received for “Custodian of the Year” (’91, ’94).
“If it’s that important to you,” he had told her, “I’ll wear them.”
“It is,” Edith confirmed. “I want everyone at the reunion to see what a fine gentleman I have for a husband.”
Omigawsk
By: Russ B.
It was quite a sight to behold. People world-over traveled to the small eastern Siberian town, Omigawsk.
Boris was quite proud of his new creation... even without all the medals from the Ministry of Art.
“This is the best I have done! And to have made it an age of 85!”
He beamed with pride.
Svetlana was also proud to have been the model for his creation. His medals probably meant more to her. She new that Boris’s wife, Olga, thought the medals were for some earlier work, done during the USSR era. But she knew better. They were for the glistening, 50 foot, nude statue of her.
The Tramp
By: Deb F.
Gladys could see the nostalgia well up in his eyes as he watched the street performers. It was 52 years since Marcus stood on the podium at the World Games. In 1956, he won three silvers for trampoline performances in individual and pairs. In ‘57 he scupped all the gold medals. Marcus’ flips, height and pikes were perfect. After trampoline was dropped as a world-class sport, his work was done in secret for the KGB. No more glory days. Gladys encouraged him to wear the medals on walks. She got a tingle at the base of her spine when she reminisced about their passionate times on the trampoline—together.
Symbols
By: Mary F.
Valentine’s recovery was slow. Silva watched his anxiety grow as the house deteriorated. She sold the house and now, the day before the festival, they were unpacking in an unfamiliar apartment. Silva reached for a trash bag and noticed the box of metals. “Valentine, what is this doing here?”
“Its trash”, Sil, just history”.
“Sit, love” she said, reaching into the box. “Remember this metal, your first, the year we married. You won for us.”
One metal at a time, she told the story of their lives together.
The next morning, she handed him his suit coat. “We go again today - to remember and to celebrate.”
“Yes, my love.”
Flashback
By: TresK
Stan breathed in the heavy aromas of the street vendors. From somewhere in that mix of smells, the scent of roasting peanuts prodded deep into his brain. Becky, his wife of 32 years, was unaware of the pangs of longing that smell elicited, unaware of Stan’s sudden desires, just as she remained unaware of the true meaning of his medals.
He’d always hedged about his war years, calling it “psychological research.” Becky would have tried to understand (she was a good woman) but she’d never know the true pain he’d endured or what it cost him to learn certain secrets. She didn’t know about his time as a squirrel.
Untitled
By: Josh S.
"Owen, I wish you wouldn't flaunt your metals in public"
"Oh come now Beru."
"Its just that since the last Fair, people have become suspicious"
"We've won twelve years straight, I can wear my prizes anywhere I want to"
"Its just that with those baseball players getting busted, the judges have tightened their rules and they might require testing next year."
"Ever since they changed to metals instead of blue ribbons, we've had to step our game up to keep up with the competition. What do you think tipped them off?"
"Naming our last pig Barry Bonds! The two people to our right are on to us, we should leave."
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
#020
Untitled
By Steve
A medal. The humans who remained on our side - squirrel lovers we called them - thought I deserved a medal, just for surviving the final battle. But most of my brothers were gone. After years of destruction, tearing down our trees, stealing our nuts... it was war. A costly one. I didn't want to be a hero. I just wanted to do my part and protect my nuts... for me and my kind.
The Offer
By Linda Gail A.
It is such a tempting offer: a medal to complete my favorite outfit in exchange for a dangerous and not so ethical mission. My quest should I choose to accept is to climb up the oak tree, jump across to the power line, tightrope walk across the wire above the wide street below, jump onto the roof of the First National Bank, and make my way inside through the air vent shaft. Then I find the rare Gemini diamond, secure it, and make it back to the park bench without getting caught or dying on my mission. The medal is perfect; so incredibly shiny.
Untitled
By Jennie O.
“Your mission should you choose to accept it Sir Squiggly, is to arrive at the enemy camp and deliver the message of peace. It will be symbolized by this medal.”
“How sir, Can I convey such a message dropping directly into the enemy camp?” cough, cough,cough,”What if I do not make it into the camp?’”
“Would you like me to go for you Squiggly?
Immediately.
“No, Sir!”
“Why not, Squiggly?”
A pause.
“Because, I have faith I can do this Sir!”
“Is the faith in you, Squiggly?”
Another pause.
“No, Sir a far Greater Source. I’ll be off Sir. See you Soon!.
Super Softeyes
By Mary F.
“Private Softeyes, your assignment is to entertain a kid at Ronald MacDonald house.”
“Chirp.?”,
“He started chemo today. His Mother said he likes to watch squirrels so go swing and climb and keep the kid entertained.”
Chirp.
That night, Softeyes climbed the oak, swung to the window and located a spot in the child’s line of sight. He reached into his pack, pulled out the life lite, chanted the magic word, and aimed it at the boy’s eyes. Green glistening particles of life flowed into his body. The instrument beeped and shut off automatically.
Light dawned and Softeyes put on a show for a healthy boy who was going home.
The Kingpin
By Randy H.
While watching from a curiously safe distance, the Poser; sweat raining down, hears a snow patch in his ear and wonders if the boss has made the switch. Meanwhile, the boss, embracing his role as the brains behind this heist has again let his zeal get the better of him. Overconfident and dreaming of fame, the costume has attracted the attention of a hot, young woman for whom the boss would like to get better acquainted. The distraction of the savory perfume compromises the plan and the switch, which is integral to this heist, never happens. Nevertheless, the boss signals success, igniting the next phase.
Homeland Security
By Russ B.
Homeland security gave out it's first medal today.
Carl knew for the first time that his sacrifice was worth it.
“America’s nuts are now safe from the foreign nuts!” he mused.
Rumor of a terrorist attack against Georgia’s peanut crop had proven to be true, and almost more than he could stand against.
It was only through recruitment of the local rodent population that all terrorist ski masks could be stolen.
“Cowards,” he reasoned, “can’t fight showing their faces!”
Carl knew the mind transfer to a squirrel was dangerous, and one way.
But he didn’t know how short of a mission it would be.
Somehow, his peanut allergy transfered also.
Sir With Honor
By Jerry H.
Captain TomTillerie the first squirrel ever to lead The Long Patrol stood at attention but his stomach was twisted like discarded plastic wrap.
Brother DaveJoe of the Redwall Abbey spoke, “Captain we are counting on you to deliver this special flash drive to Salamandastrom. It contains the Holy Scriptures, to guide the church planters of the Polaris Vineyard in their attempts to love the creatures of the Frozen North into relationship with Christ; with our prayers, be safe, Godspeed.”
“Sir with honor” TomTillerie answered. He calmed.
Their adventures and challenges inspired tales for generations for they always gave God the glory.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Juicer: Breakin' the mold
Sometimes you gotta break from the pack and do your own thing. In writing and in life. Right?
Monday, January 5, 2009
#019
The lovely Deb F. found this gem online at yahoo. I thought it was appropriate to wrap up the holiday season with. Thanks, Deb. You made me laugh out loud when I originally saw this one.As for the stories, I cannot stress enough how proud I am of each of you. I love to read the entries each week and see all of the different ways you take a simple idea and picture and create moving stories. Linda Gail A.'s story was no exception. I chose to highlight her this week because not only did she create something wonderful, it was moving and unexpected. Congratulations, Linda!!!!
Remembering
By: Linda Gail A.
I usually don’t cry when I come to my baby girl’s memorial; her last request. Brittany wanted an ornament because Christmas reminded her of gifts and life is the best gift. She wanted it gold because it would remind us where she was now – walking the streets of gold. And she wanted a hook to remind us that time is short. We need to grab opportunities that come along and live life to the fullest. That’s what my Brittany did until cancer took her from me. I usually don’t cry, but today she’d have been nine and I ache to hold her one more time.
Gimme some more...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
