Words for Wednesday, September 16 :: June, the Solitary Hero ~ 6

Even though our blogrolls are STILL not updating,
River at Drifting through Life
has given us the new Words for Wednesday.

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.

This month the words are given by River at Drifting through Life

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today we were given:
Extravagant
Koala
Plane
Charged
Potatoes
Alone
I continue my story about June, the Solitary Hero from here:
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 3
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 4
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 5
I used the words almost in the order they were given.

June got up from the chair before the memories overwhelmed her. She walked quickly to the hallway to get her winter-coat in preparation for a calming walk down to the beach and along the coastline. This winter coat was one of the extravagant things Dennis, her movie star husband had given her, and one of the few things left over from her former life. The lousy flat has been cheap, and Dennis was kind of wealthy, they could afford a big car, luxurious clothes, nice things and good food. Life had been good, apart from her parents' unrelenting and undisguised disdain for Dennis.
    She put her hands deep into the pockets, and her left hand touched something soft. She pulled it out, and blinded by tears she sank down on the small bench in the hallway. It was Brian's stuffed Koala toy. It had belonged to Carla first, but she never loved it like Brian did. On that last day he had imagined that it was riding a plane back to its jungle-homeland, and repeatedly rammed Koala into Carla's head and the car seats. In the end she had told him that Koala had to hide away in her pocket until it had learned how to fly a plane. With Koala forgotten in her pocket she had left the car at grandma's and granddad's place. She had walked into the garden with Dennis' mom who wanted a hand digging up potatoes for dinner. Dennis and his dad had walked down the driveway to get a big parcel left there by the mail-man, while Carla and Brian were charged with collecting their stuff from the car. Nobody ever found out how it happened, which of the kids released the hand brake, but suddenly the car began rolling down the steep driveway with both kids inside. Dennis and his dad both were run over by the car, which continued out into the busy street, being hit from both directions, and causing a big accident. Dennis' father, Brian and Carla were killed on the spot, Dennis lay for days between life and dead before he left this world. Dennis' mother had a stroke the day after the joint burial, and never really recovered before succumbing to the next one a few months later.
    June's parents never even once wrote or 'phoned her during this period. She was left practically alone and moved north to get away from it all.

... to be continued, words willing

PÅ DANSK
Denne historie, der er skrevet med udgangspunkt i ordene fra Words for Wednesday - en blogudfordring. Den kan læses i sin fulde længde i fanebladet Juni

June, the Solitary Hero ~ 5

Now, before the next batch of Words for Wednesday will go public tomorrow, I sat down and used them. I continued my story of June, the Solitary Hero from
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 3
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 4
and as I often do, I used the words in the order they were given. The Words were:
Klutz 
Cream cheese 
Twilight/gloaming 
Buzzing 
Trouble 
Dominoes

June had seldom felt more like a klutz. No matter how much she studied, she could not get the hang of the Morse code. Suddenly she remembered the verses she had been taught as a girl scout:
A is for apple, brown is the bough   ·-
B is a bear with three cubs in tow   -···
C is two pins that fell where they stood   -·-·
D is a dagger with two drops of blood  -··
... and so on all the way to Z. The verses were not very good, but easy to remember, and she recited them while cleaning, picking, baking, shining, polishing and whatever else she did that day.

The mail-man arrived, bringing more bills for the house, and she treated him to a home-made apple-and-blackberry pie served with a vanilla cream cheese sauce. He preferred tea to coffee, and June was happy to comply, as this would have been her choice as well. They talked of the former owners, nothing very deep, but the mail-man confirmed that the wife, Anne, had indeed been tiny and fragile and never born them any children, and that Charles had lost the will to live after her death, and quickly descended into senility.

After the mail-man had left, June sat for a while in the garden, and soon the soft, late September twilight descended. She recalled that her granny had called it gloaming. She had found it a depressing word as a child, akin to gloomy, whereas twilight had an elfin sound to it. She liked the sound of that word. Granny had died many years ago, but June still missed her. She was the only person in the family who had understood her liking for languages and the arts in a family of technicians and accountants. She had married a man Granny did not like, and set the while family buzzing with outrage. He had been a movie star in his teens, starring in X-rated movies. When June met him, he had already stopped acting and was the lead singer in a heavy metal band. They had had endless trouble with his reputation and tattoos. Landlords did not want to rent them even the tiniest flat. As if his money was somehow worth less than other peoples'. In the end they had found a shabby flat and there they had lived happily with their two kids until that dreadful day when her whole life fell over like dominoes in a row.

Poetry Monday :: Beach huts Mandagsdigtet :: Badehuse

Poetry Monday is a blogging challenge started by Diane @ On the Border in February 2017; later it was picked up by Delores @ Mumblings and Jenny @ Procrastinating Donkey.
    Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
    Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.

The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well. 

  I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
  Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.

Today the prompt is Beach huts  which fast turned into Little beach huts, and then this happened. We do have beach huts in Denmark as well, and like almost everything here they are strictly regulated. No enlargements, no additions, no electricity, and no running water. I never really got the point in having a beach hut. After reading more about it, I still do not get it.


Beach huts
Little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts made of wood and timber
little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts colourful.
There's a blue one, and a green one
and a striped one and a yellow one,
Painted houses made of timber
and they seldom look the same.

But the people in the beach huts
they go bathing just like you and me
All the people in the beach huts
little people, all the same.
There's a tall one, and a short one,
and a thin one and a flabby one.
Little people in the beach huts,
little people, all the same.

Why do people have a beach hut
not a towel just like you and me.
Are the worried we'll see them
we are people - all the same.
There's a short one, and a tall one
And a fat one and a skinny one.
Little beach huts by the seaside
Little people, all the same!


Og så på dansk!

Mandagsdigtet er en blogleg, som blev startet af Diane fra On the Border i februar 2017; senere blev den videreført af Delores fra Mumblings og Jenny fra Procrastinating Donkey.
    Derefter overtog Delores værtsrollen; men da Delores forlod internettet, vendte Diane tilbage og overtog værtsrollen igen, hvor hun og Jenny skiftevis foreslår et emne.
    Nu har Mimi fra Messymimi's Meanderings og jeg overtaget, da Diane ikke synes at have lyst til at genoptage Poetry Monday.
    Stikordene hentes nu fra 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts. Det er en Facebook-gruppe med et (tegne-)stikord for hver dag i året, men bare rolig, stikordene vil stadig være her og på Mimis blog. Og de egner sig for det meste også perfekt til at skrive digte om.

  Jeg har en opfordring til jer: Hvis I læser dette og andres digte via linkene, vil I så ikke være så søde at skrive en kommentar?
  Halvdelen – hvis ikke mere – af det sjove ved disse udfordringer er at modtage andres reaktioner.

I dag er stikordet Badehuse, hvilket hurtigt blev til »Små kabiner«, og så skete det her. Jeg har aldrig rigtig forstået pointen med at have et badehus. Efter at have læst mere om det, forstår jeg det stadig ikke.

Badehuse
Små kabiner, tæt ved stranden,
badehuse, skabt af træ og tagpap,
små kabiner, tæt ved stranden
Så forskellige de er.
Der' et blåt et, og et gult et
og et rødt et og et stribet et
De er malet helt forskelligt.
Det ser vældig festligt ud. 

Men de folk der er i husene
går i vandet ligesom du og jeg,
Alle dem der er i husene
De er mensker hver og en.
Der' en tyk én og en tynd én
 og en lav én og en rigtig lang.
Allesammen er de mensker,
de er allesammen ens.

Hvad skal folk med badehuse,
når et håndklæde er ligeså godt?
Vi er alle sammen men'sker
vi er alle sammen ens.
Der' en lang én og en kort én
Og en tynd én og en lille prop.
Badehuse tæt ved stranden
de kan kun forundre mig.


- - - - - Coming Prompts - - - - -

September 21 Solstice - Should it be Equinox, I wonder.
September 28 Bonfire
October 5 Rocket
October 12 Contents of the safe
October 19 X-ray vision
October 26 Clam
November 2  Big Birds
November 9  Planes

Uniqueness ~ ~ Autumn-Blog-Cleaning

I've begun sorting through my unpublished blog posts. Some will be posted as is, some will be finished and published, most will be deleted. As I have more that 100 drafts expect lots of crazy, dizzy, angry, happy and hopefully funny posts to pop up over the coming weeks.

My first Autumn Blog Cleaning post

If you're a Jew and I do not like you, I might not be an anti-Semitic nincompoop. If you're a woman and I do not like you, I'm probably not sexist. Because maybe it's not your sex or religion what's putting me off.

Maybe what I do not like about you is your political point of view, maybe your ideas about people on the dole, maybe your aggressive veganism, your view on public transportation, covid19, or a zillion other matters?

I never understood the former way of thinking. If it really is only this one thing that's defining you and who you are, I truly feel sorry for you, because we all are so much more ...

Some of our characteristics are immutable, genetic. For example: eye colour, height, skin pigmentation (the colour may change when exposed to the Sun), the ability to roll your tongue, biological gender, the ability to taste phenylthiocarbamide (FTC), etc. ect.

Others are changeable: the ability to speak Esperanto, a fondness for Brussels sprouts, wanting to have sex with men, being able to stand on one's head, knowing how to swim, having a certain job and many others.

The failure of  most ideologies is that they put a magnifying glass on one of these characteristics - be it genetic or changeable - and say this it is what defines me, what I am. But I do NOT want to be defined by this one facet of me. It is not the only one that makes me who I am.

Once, many years ago I was at a "museum" where we were asked to answer 8 simple questions, each asked by a computer, tied to a worktable, where aids to answer the questions were given. I only remember some of the questions. These were:

Are the hairs on your head straight or curly?

Are your fingerprints whorls or waves? (A magnifying glass and example of fingerprint types provided).

What is your eye colour? (A mirror and - I think - 6 different eyes given).

Can you smell this? (Two test tubes, one neutral, one stinky -  to me, but obviously not to everyone)

Are you a man or a woman (Simpler times then, today that might have to be: Are you endowed with 2 X-chromosomes? to be equally simple and unambiguous).

Each question was asked by a computer, and as you put in your answer - the man/woman one was the first - it told you: "You are visitor number 845,372 since we opened this exhibition, and 410,785 were like you". Every time I typed in my answers at one of the stations, the second number plummeted. Until at the last station I was told: "You are visitor number 845,372 since we opened this exhibition, and 0 were like you - you are unique!" And this was with only 8 simple questions.

How come some people think that gender, or religion, or skin colour, or intelligence, or eating preferences, or whatever, is the only determining factor?

June, the Solitary Hero ~ 4

I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 3

Still I haven't used any of the words ;) Later, perhaps.

Next day was Monday and June took a bus to the bigger town. She arranged bills with the bank, the water company, and the electricity company. She liked to do so in person, things usually went smoother that way, also this time. She visited the lawyer's office, handing over the envelope to the secretary, and had a new one. Then she went shopping. Her shopping list was short, but had her visiting a book-store, a hardware store, a bakery, and finally the supermarkets. She went home laden with parcels and bags.

That night June dreamt, almost a nightmare. She forgot it as soon as she woke up, but to prevent it from resuming, she went to the window and looked out over the sea. The moon had set, but the stars still shone, some of them very brightly. And some of them seemed very close to the horizon. Then one of the stars near the horizon began moving. June wondered, then chided herself. "It's a ship, girl. Possibly far at sea, so that you can see only the top lantern." As to prove her right the "star" rose a bit and a small green light became visible. "Now look, it is a ship, probably on its way to the harbour just up the coast." But then a long series of tiny flashes could be seen from the ship. "What now. Trouble?" June was wide awake now. She looked at her watch, Quarter to three, in the middle of the night. The tiny flashes paused, as if waiting for an answer, then resumed. June guessed at some sort of code. The flashes stopped again, and June padded to the bathroom, where the window looked out over the woods. And she saw the answering flashes. Close by, in the woods, and clear. She swore softly. She had not yet installed her usual bathroom paper and pencil, even though she had bought the pencils and a notebook at the book-store. She placed two old candlesticks so that the flashes were framed by them. Then she went back to the bedroom.
But the ship was now heading for the harbour, and soon its top light was once again invisible. She stayed for a bit at the window. More lanterns became visible and disappeared on their way to the harbour. No wonder. It was a busy place, and many fishers still sailed the seas, fishing in the night. June crept back into bed. As sleep once again claimed her, she realised that the code had probably been Morse, plain and simple. She had known Morse long ago. Time for a brush up.

... to be continued