The Note

The NOTE

   

 As Thomas looked through the window to the dusty, leaf-strewn path, he knew his life would forever be changed.  His mother had left the house a short time earlier with the admonition to," Stay hidden, no matter what happens.  Do not answer the door for anyone!"  So for a short time, Thomas hid in his room.  He looked at the Legos he seldom played with and the TV that had been dark since the power went out 2 weeks earlier.  Time passed slowly as he waited for his mother.  Thomas grew tired of waiting in his slowly darkening room and walked back to the first floor.  He walked first into the kitchen, thinking he would get something to eat, but it was too much work to make anything.  He decided instead to watch for his mother through the boards covering the front windows, figuring she would not be too mad as long as he was not visible when she came home.

     His view from the window was limited by the fact darkness was falling and his mother and Tim had put the boards so closely together.  That was before Tim had left and did not return.  That had been a week ago and Thomas could tell that his mother was bothered that her boyfriend had not come back.  Thomas did not like Tim as much as his mother did, but he was better than most of the men that had pretended to be his dad.
  

    From Thomas' perch by the window he also had a view of the basement door.  Two padlocks and a deadbolt seemed to fill his vision as he gazed at that wretched door.  His mother never let him go down the rickety old steps, but he knew what he would see if he ever did.  He shuddered a little as he turned back to the window, hoping to see his mother, but seeing only the ever growing shadows.  He knew with each passing minute the chances of her appearing grew smaller.  Sweat broke out on his face as he thought back to what he was supposed to do in the event she did not return.  He knew he had to go get the list from his dresser, sooner rather than later, so that he could still read it in the failing light.  They had one flashlight that still put out a feeble light, but his mother's first rule was not to turn on the flashlight unless there was an emergency.

    Thomas rose from his place at the window, climbed the stairs to his room passing his siblings rooms on the right and left.  Their doors were closed and Thomas figured they would never be open again.  He missed them both, but understood the consequences of their choices.  As the youngest kid in the family his mother had worked harder to keep him under control after what his siblings had done.
   

    When he arrived in his room he grabbed the list.  He did not really need to even look at it any more. He had memorized it the very first day when his mother entrusted it to him. When he saw his mother's writing on the page, he sat heavily on his bed.  Even though he was only twelve, Thomas understood this may be the last glimpse he would have of his mother.  

   He allowed himself a short cry that ended as a gunshot split the air.  It was not as close as the others he had heard on previous nights, but it brought him quickly back to the list.  He quickly began the list, closing doors and hanging blankets.  He prepared the barricades for each door leaving the front door for last.  When the house was locked up tight and everything was done except the front door, he made his first adult decision.  Thomas was going to open the front door.  He had to look and had to know that his mother was not coming. 

   He found himself energized by the chance to do something for himself.  The chance to not just follow the list.  He undid the locks from bottom to top and swung open the door.  Feeling a rush he looked out on the cul-de-sac.  Everything was the same it had been for the last two weeks.  The cars still parked in driveways.  The neighbor's paper on their front walk. The trees were changing colors as their leaves began to fall. He glanced quickly, searching for signs of movement. He saw nothing moving and his elation fell.  As he hung his head and as he began to turn, he caught a glimpse of something on the front porch.  It was a small rock with a piece of paper caught under the edge.  He stooped down to pick it up and as he stood he was and was struck by how vulnerable he felt out and exposed.  He quickly turned on his heel, threw the door closed, and bolted the locks. 

   It was now dark enough in the house that he had to make a choice.  He knew it was against his mother's rule, but emboldened by his first adult act he decided on a second.  He grabbed the flashlight from the counter and with a shaky hand read the words his mother had chosen to write.  The words swirled on the page as the meaning of the words sunk in.   

    When Thomas awoke it was pitch black inside the house.  He did not know how long he had been unconscious, only that it was long enough for the flashlights feeble power to run out.  It did not matter though.  Thomas stood on shaky legs and felt his way to his mother's room and found a second flashlight in her dresser.  When he flipped the switch, the light blazed to life and he was temporarily blinded.  That was when he knew it was time.  Thomas descended the stairs and walked to the basement door.  He knew the numbers by heart, they were the next to last item on the list, and he spun each padlock in turn.  When the locks were off he turned the deadbolt that clunked with a finality that almost drove Thomas to run to his room and hide.  

     As he swung open the door and the light fell on the stairs, Thomas began to feel each second.  He stepped lightly down the dusty, worn treads.  Each stair making its own little noise as his weight settled on them.  When he reached the bottom he turned to the back wall and saw two mounds of dirt with the little crosses.  What made him begin to cry were the two empty holes beside them, one small and one larger. He hid his face in his hands when he realized only one would be filled and sat upon the step.  As he looked up after a short while he noticed that only one of the two guns were hanging above the workbench where the list said they would be and he realized why his mother never came home.  She had left him to complete the last item on the list alone.  He had one last adult choice to make as he stood and reached above the bench, knowing it was time.

It Starts With an Earthquake

Lenny was contently reading the morning paper, savoring every sip of his steaming cup of black coffee, when all of a sudden the house began to jangle and pop.  As the rumbles subsided, he got up from the kitchen table, folded the newspaper and silenced the radio.  Peering outside, he thought to himself,

“Great, my day starts with an earthquake.”

As he studied the view from his kitchen window, he saw a mesmerizing murmuration of starlings dominating the sky. As he gazed at the dazzling cloud of birds swirling, pulsating, and drawing together to the thinnest of waists, his attention was diverted to a pit of snakes unearthing themselves from their den. Puzzled, his eyes then shot up towards the sound of aeroplanes rumbling across the sky. Such an odd way to start the morning, birds and snakes and aeroplanes, but Lenny was not afraid.

As much as he would have liked to continue to stare out the window, Lenny had to get to work. The radio offered no relief to the oddities at play that started his day. First, he heard an NPR news report on how the eye of a hurricane mysteriously seemed to come to a standstill on Daytona Beach, Florida. Then, as he was stopped at a traffic light, Lenny saw a petulant vagrant brazenly hoisting a sign and shouting, “World serves it’s own needs, dummy serve your own needs!”

Lenny grunted, “No.”

As Lenny finally got downtown, he saw a building ablaze and a local fire department ladder in the midst of a fearful fight down at the Height building. A frayed wire started the firestorm and the whole block looked like a combat site. He slowed down to check out the scene, but a stream of cars behind him blasted their horns as they were coming in a hurry, breathing down his neck.

At the next block, he saw team by teams of reporters looking baffled, trumped, tethered, and cropped.

“Look at that," he said to himself, "How can they be low playing that fire at the Height building?” 

He then saw the soup kitchen overflowing with people, "Fine, then, population common food. It’ll do.” Lenny chuckled.

A businessman on the corner dashed out and pounded the hood of Lenny’s car, yelling, “Save yourself, serve yourself, world serves it's own needs!”

Lenny refused to listen, “Bleeding heart dummy. What does he think this is the rapture? That’s only for the revered and the right, right?”

With a sense of vitriolic fervor, Lenny pulled in to his parking spot at work feeling pretty psyched.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough after an uneventful work day tucked away in his cubicle. It was time for Lenny’s favorite TV hour, and he just missed getting caught in the traffic jam at the foreign towers. But instead of a new episode of “Slash and Burn: Return”, the network continued its coverage of the day’s events; Lenny could literally listen to himself churn. The networks were stationed at several major metropolitan cities; as the military was uniformly locking in. In the streets, there was book burning, blood-letting, every motive escalating, automobiles incinerating. The news reporters were telling the viewers to light a candle, light a votive, step down to the lowest level of your home.

Just then, Lenny’s roommate Lester bangs through the front door, shouting, “If you go outside, watch your heal, there is crushed glass everywhere! There was also a swath of no fear, cavalier renegades; so steer clear!”

Lenny replied, “I know! Have you watched the news today? It’s like a tournament of lies. They want to offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline.”

As the two sat down for dinner, Lester proceeded to tell Lenny about how the other night he dreamt of knives and continental drift divide. All the mountains sat in a line, and how Leonard Bernstein was there. All of which was extremely peculiar, to say the least.

Lester continued, “The weirdest thing about it was that it was my birthday party and we were having cheesecake and ..... jellybeans. Boom! I hate jellybeans.”

Lenny chimed in, “That dream is kind of symbiotic of all the events that have happened today, right?”

“Right!” Lester agreed, “It’s almost like it’s the end of the world as we know it.”

As he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, Lenny expanded on that thought, “If it’s the end of the world as we know it, I feel fine. It's time I had some time alone.”

My latest Trip Around the Sun during a Month of Saturdays

In the Aftermath of Luke asking for me take a deep dive, a Nightswim if I may, and select the topic this month I almost struggled with Losing My Religion.  I was able to be one of the Shiny Happy People, climb out from Underneath the Bunker and pick a theme that fills me with Wanderlust. So, I decided this month we would play a little Wicked Game.  We have two choices for the month, each inspired by a REM song.  Luke, these are for you.

#1 - Its's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine) - Write your own end of the world tale.  It can be fun, it can be frightening, it can even be a little sci-fi, but make sure its the end of ?????????

#2 - Turn You Inside Out - Since it is October, and I love me some M. Night Shyamalan, take a well known story and write your own twist ending. Expand a universe, change a life, or just get the bad guy in the end.  What ever you choose to do, make it your own.

Pick one, pick both, or chose to do something else!  Just make sure you Talk About the Passion and don't be Second Guessing what you choose.

Josh

Yoga Breath

Yoga Breath;
blue
roving between Sun and Moon
like wool between hands
softer than peaches
and the touch of silken water
along the sandy shore.
The wave, eternally amused
humored in it's own reflection
blue as night
blue as day
blue as yoga breathing.

autumn.

she - floating downward
amidst no cries, no tears shed
leaves fall – autumn comes.

- The First Day of Autumn (Autumnal Equinox), September 23, 2015. photo & haiku by Jeffrey James Ircink.

Off Topic; if you will permit me a moment

Fragile. A simple word that we use to describe babies, glass, emotions, and myriad other things. Last night I was reminded the most fragile thing of all is life. Teenagers are a rough sort. We view them as impulsive and reckless. We see them as brilliant and stupid at the same time. We see them as the traditional paradox of, "can't live with them, can't live without them!" Believe me there is no truer statement than that. I taught middle school kids for 11 years and the one word to describe that time is frustrating. It's frustrating to not know how they will turn out. To not know which ones will end up as Rhodes Scholars or teen moms. It's frustrating to know it will be years before they truly find themselves. Last night, I saw how frustrating and fragile come together to create sorrow. David was a kid with an easy smile and a quick wit. Always willing to engage in banter, thought provoking discussion, or a prank to get a quick laugh. He frustrated me because he used his smile to mask hurt and frustration. That same desire to laugh easily hid his deeper emotions much of the time. Often his release of those frustrations came on the ball field or basketball court. Last night frustrating and fragile came together. Sorrow and sadness visits in its wake. A family ripped to shreds. A town in shock. Friends hollowed out. Never say enough. Never quit. Reach out. Someone cares. I know my town did. I know I did. Goodbye David

The Tide Stumbles In

The sky laughs at my misfortune
The venomous yowls breach my soul
The stars instinctively know they have won
The moon separates from the sun

Footprints vanish as the tide stumbles in
The seagulls flicker and dance on the bay
Life is ever so easily undone
The moon separates from the sun

Envelopes of light peer off the moon
The sea mechanically lathers and fades
Freedom was never so easily won
The moon separates from the sun

The fish and the flora never knew me by name
Whirls of the clouds temper and flail
The threshold is simply and perfectly done
The moon separates from the sun

The brilliance and the light
The pain and the pride
Destiny calls us one by one
The moon separates from the sun

Ekphrastic Poem

September's writing assignment is submit a poem to Rattle magazine. Rattle is a quarterly literary magazine that publishes poetry. They have monthly Ekphrastic poetry challenges as well, which is what I am encouraging all of us to partake in! An Ekphrastic poem is art-inspired poetry. The artwork I have posted here is the art in which to draw your inspiration from for your poem.

After you submit your poem to Rattle Mag, post it here too so we all can read it! Have fun!

The submission on rattle.com must be made by September 30th. Details are within the link below:

http://www.rattle.com/poetry/extras/ekphrasis/

A Hearty Welcome

Sending a hearty welcome to our newest member Joshua Winrotte! We're so excited to have you join us here in our 'community'!

Snibbets the Cat

The air was heavy and dark, the smell of cat food filled the basement. “Where's your cat Diane?”, Teddy yelled up the stairs, where Diane was prepping dinner. Diane walked over to the basement doorway, her silhouette, lit up from behind from the bright kitchen lights stated confidently, “Snibbets will come when you pour the food into the bowl. He's probably in the laundry pile somewhere.” She motioned toward four large bags of cat food, half folded over at the top. “Try that one with the yellow label.”

Teddy grabbed the yellow bag, unrolling the top and looked toward the east wall of the basement....his eyes scanned what looked to be the wreckage of a long forgotten flannel war. He wondered when Diane was going to fold and press the laundry, and more so contemplated her burning the clothes in a giant bonfire in her yard. He loved the relief of a clean home, and Diane's basement was long overdue for a deep and thorough purge. He poured the chunky dry cat food into a red plastic bowl on the floor.

Still no sign of the cat. This seemed unusual to Teddy and he wondered if the cat was ill.

“Diane, should I just leave the food in the bowl and come upstairs? Snibbets isn't coming.” Diane suggested coming upstairs and joining her in the kitchen.

Suddenly Teddy remembered he had buried a black Twizzler in his jeans pocket, which Diane had offered to him on the car ride to her house earlier that evening. He was puzzled as to why he had accepted it from her, as he hated black licorice. As he pulled the sticky Twizzler from his pocket, he could hear something clinking above his head. He looked up to the large metal pipe above him, and noticed Snibbets looking down at him with eyes aglow - vivid with reflection as he crept along with the calculated moves of a panther, the metal tag around his neck dragging along the pipe. Snibbets then let out a horrific cry and lost balance, falling haphazardly onto Teddy's shoulders and digging his claws in deep. Teddy lifted the Twizzler to Snibbets mouth hurriedly and the cat cried out again as if his entire life depended on consuming the twisted licorice.

The claws lifted out of Teddy's skin as Snibbets dove to the floor with the candy hanging from his mouth. He shot Teddy a look of utter disgust and jumped up the staircase in a frenzy.

“Wow, ouch!” Teddy exclaimed out loud. He climbed the stairs and entered Diane's kitchen. “Your cat... your cat. Has he lost his mind?” Teddy rubbed his shoulders delicately as to ease the sharp pain. “He must love licorice!”

Diane broke out in a big smile, “Oh Snibbets loves licorice!” She laughed and inquired about the event, “What happened down there?”

Teddy explained, “He was on the pipe above me and I caught him glaring at a Twizzler I was holding. I thought he was going to jump to the floor so I would give him a piece … I had no idea he would fall for it!”

The Detective

I know this is a day late, but I felt like I needed to share the Idiom that sticks with me. As he entered the killer’s lair, he was struck by the absurdity of life. Detective Harlow had been at over 400 crime scenes in his life and this was a first. The gristly reminders of the horrors perpetrated by the killer were on every table. Knives, saws, and scalpels littered every surface. As the detective walked to each corner of the room he was greeted by the killer’s handiwork. Fur was stuck to every surface and streaks of tissue reached to the walls at eye level. Harlow turned when one of the crime scene techs called his name. As he approached the man, Harlow could see that he was holding what looked like a take-out menu. He asked what the tech was holding, but the man only shook his head and handed the booklet to Harlow. As he turned the flyer over and looked upon the cover he knew he had found his feline exterminator. The cover simply said,” Joe’s Taxidermy: There’s More Than One Way to Skin a Cat.”

Brownie Empire

Mike was an aspiring chef, or at least in his mind he was. His passion was baking, so in reality, he was more of an inspiring baker, but he was too naïve to know the difference. Even in his naiveté, he was an excellent baker; he always seemed to have just the right touch with no matter what he made. Everything that came out of his oven was the essence of perfection, or at least in his mind it was.

Armed with his grandmother’s old recipe cards, he honed his craft by donating his delicacies to bake sales, taking desserts to potlucks and just eating a lot of them himself; for quality control, of course. Over time, he noticed the demand for his German’s chocolate brownies outweighed requests for any other item he made. And why wouldn’t it be? These brownies were rich, dense, chocolaty, sweet and chewy, with just the right amount of crunch around the edges. Not to mention the icing. Oh, the icing. Made with semi-sweet chocolate to cut the sweetness of the German’s chocolate, the icing was gooey, fudgy, and oh so delightful.

Those brownies were the first things gone at every bake sale, every potluck, and Mike could sit down and eat a whole pan while they were still warm, with or without icing (a daunting feat that is not recommended). With the undeniable success of these brownies, Mike had an idea,

“I should be making money off of these things!”

He became a man on a mission. Having no experience working in a bakery, he figured he should start small. Work the farmer’s market scene, maybe upgrade to a food truck from there, and then finally have his own store front. Mike was dreaming big, and he was letting his imagination run wild with possibilities.

“I could build an empire with these brownies!” he thought.

Then, Mike took the hardest step of all; the first one. He contacted the local farmer’s market and reserved booth space. He was in. He bought a pop-up canopy, a 6-foot table and spent the whole day Friday furiously baking his German’s chocolate brownies. He meticulously packaged each brownie, and arrived bright and early Saturday morning to set up his table.

It was a beautiful morning. The birds were singing, a gentle breeze filled the air, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The market was bustling with shoppers, and Mike stood confidently at his table, ready to sell every last brownie he so lovingly made. Person after person walked by, but Mike had no takers. Every once in a while, children pointed at Mike’s booth begging for chocolate as their mothers dragged them away by the arm.

Mike had an idea.  Since most of these people had never even tried his brownies, he set out some bite sized samples and waited for the crowd to flock in. He got many takers for his samples, and he finally managed to sell one to a kid who outlasted his parents with uncanny persistence.   However, most people just took the sample, smiled, nodded, and walked away. Mike was dejected. The farmer’s market was almost over. He set out a few more samples and then slumped into his chair.

A local baker passed by Mike’s tent and swiped a sample.  She was curious about the new kid on the block. Upon tasting it, her eyes lit up a bit. She knew these brownies were something special, she knew they were almost perfect. She walked over to a nearby booth that sold gourmet salts and purchased a small bag of fleur de sel. She walked back over to Mike’s booth, picked up another brownie sample, and dusted it ever so gently with the fleur de sel. Then she got Mike’s attention, held the brownie out to him and said,

“Take it…with a grain of salt.”

Mike just looked at her. He reluctantly took the sample of his own brownie and took a bite. His eyes opened wide in disbelief and he stood straight up. The brownies had a much fuller chocolate flavor that danced and sparkled on his taste buds. The chocolate taste just popped so wonderfully, and he couldn’t believe it. All this extra burst of flavor from a simple grain of salt.  This was a definitive “aha!” moment for Mike, and he couldn't believe the difference it made in his brownies. He just looked at the baker and smiled. Then she said to him,

“Now that’s a good brownie. It’ll be nice to have a little competition around here. Good luck.”

Then she walked away. Mike’s confidence was restored and he furiously unpackaged, salted, and repacked his brownies. He sold a few more brownies before the market closed, and his samples began receiving rave reviews from the shoppers. Mike ended up giving most of his product away that day, but he had new hope. His brownie empire was still on the horizon, all because of one friendly baker and the bite taken with a grain of salt.

Idiom Laugh

How come both dogs and trees have bark? They must be related. If you get to the root of that one, go out a limb and let me know. 
I didn't write this, but found it resonates with our topic this month. I will post a real assignment soon!!

Literal Idioms

We're back to the drawing board with a new topic for August.  Let's not beat around the bush, it's time to let the cat out of the bag.  I would like you to write a story of an idiom or idioms literally happening.  So, there you have it, the ball is in your court. 

I'm not saying this topic is the best thing since sliced bread, and I don't expect you to start writing at the drop of a hat, but I think this could be fun.  You may not think I'm not playing with a full deck, but there is a method to my madness.  Will this be a piece of cake?  Your guess is as good as mine.

id·i·om

ˈidēəm/

noun

noun: idiom; plural noun: idioms

1. a group of words established by usage as having a meaning not deducible from those of the individual words (e.g., rain cats and dogs, see the light ).

 

Not much has changed since I was last here, but there is a sense of calm and peace in spite of the hullabaloo.  The new memorial is a beauty, I'm sure you would like it.  All in all, not a bad trip on the governments dime, now if I could only ditch this attendant.  Seventy-five years and I can still picture it like yesterday.  The field. Oh, the field.  I kept my pro There are only about twenty-five of us here and they still couldn't give us enough whiskey.  All is well, traveling home tomorrow.

--

O.G.

Mickey was ill during the train ride. He wasn't there for the dance. But Jim told Nancy to hold onto the baby until we got to Juneau so we can be at your house with Tom by Friday. Nance's dinner party was a good turn out with people from the sanitarium. They offered us to stay for a treatment but we have had to turn them down. Love, Uli

Woke up finally on beach sedge grass. Chiggers have eaten me alive.
Downed a case of Carling Black label last night at the shindig.
The Hai Karate aftershave was making the girls sneeze. I was getting bummed,
after I was hammered. The Benson and Hedges have got me gagging up my lungs
as the sun rises. The concert, is like a blur to me. Jimi Hendrix Experience opened for
the Monkees, it was like doing a tour in Nam. My head felt like it was in a pressure cooker.
Davey Jones just picks up shit and rattles it against his palm. Damn chicks melt like butter all over
the stadium. Feel pretty stupid. Take care and lots of love.

Doug

Old Postcard

For July's writing assignment, find a picture of an old postcard online, post it here, and come up with an imaginary letter written on the back!

Sling Blade, the TV series

Imagine that the movie Slingblade was syndicated into a TV series.
(You will have to compose your own music score...um)
The show's lyrics:

Got any biscuits for sale?
I don't care if they're stale...hmmmmm?

Potted meat and tatters.
Maybe some pickled T'matters. uuummmm...hmmm.

I won't be no bother to yee.
Myself, I sleep under a tree.

I reckon I got common sense for the secretary of state.
Lot better than John Kerry.
Poor little fella...

I know what the Bible says about them regions over yonder.
I'd scramble more aircraft carriers and reckon I'd have to
kill yee.

Better send an ambulance or a hearst.
Two men ought not lay down together.
I guess I'm fixin to kill yee,

I just got out of the nervous hospital, but they said
they'd keep my room waiting for me.
Got any mustard?

They don't have the faith in the good lord.
Cause I babtize sinners with my kaiser blade,
or some call it a sling blade.

I watched all the Seinfeld episodes,
I don't understand all of it, but I understand
a good deal of it.

But, my show, is really the show about nothin.
See ya at the Frosty Creme.
I reckon this is the end of the theme.

Nigel's End

This is the theme song for a fake TV show in which a British lady discovers on the eve of her retirement, her father Nigel has passed away and willed to her his only possession. His failing pub. Katie and I came up with the idea for the show and in a single evening had written the song. I arranged and played the music. Katie did all the vocal parts. We recorded it in about two hours and couldn't be prouder. We hope you enjoy Nigel's End.

Nigel's End

Time to slow down.
Time to slow down
Time to take it easy.

I can see my future on the horizon.
Something's happened and I'm needed at the pub.

Felicity Continued

I love the show Felicity, and the opening theme song always floods my heart with wonderful memories of the characters and their stories. In honor of the show I have written a second verse to the theme song!

Listen to the original song »here«

My verse:

Do you belong
Do you belong

After everything changes

New found friends
New found places

New memories
Being created

New version of me
I've found a new version of you

New version of me
I've found a new version of you

Life Lessons

The sun comes up, it’s a new day dawning.
Greet your friends, smile and say “Hello!”
What’s this? You find your best friend is out to get you.
Have no fear; it’s soon over, don’t you know?

Life lessons come quick
Life lessons come easy
Life lessons come cheap
Life lessons easy peasy

The work day ends, get home hang up your keys.
Greet the dog; kiss your daughter on the cheek.
Through the door, find a car crashed through the kitchen.
Have no fear; it’s back to normal by next week.

Life lessons come quick
Life lessons come easy
Life lessons come cheap
Life lessons easy peasy

Life lessons come in many different ways
Life lessons come and go without a trace
Life lessons come in many different ways
Life lessons come and end with an embrace

So when you’re tired, the world is out to get you.
Sit down, relax, you’re the star of the show.
No matter what, the music starts to play soon.
Have no fear; remember now you know.

Life lessons come quick
Life lessons come easy
Life lessons come cheap
Life lessons easy peasy

Life lessons easy peasy

Life lessons easy peasy

June Topic: TV Theme Song Revival

"The Brady Bunch", "Happy Days", "Family Ties", "Friends", "Cheers", "Perfect Strangers", "Full House", "Mr. Ed", "Three's Company", "Gilligan's Island", "Beverly Hillbillies", "The Addams Family", "Sesame Street", "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air", the list goes on and on.  TV theme songs bring instant nostalgia, can define a show, and make them live in our hearts forever.  The strange thing is, some of them never get old.

Nowadays, we have all but witnessed the death of the TV Theme song since so few current TV shows have memorable themes.  Some have been reduced to a single chord of music, or just a flash of the title on the screen.  It's difficult to define the loss to pop culture when TV stops cramming our heads full of classic songs like the theme to "Three's Company" (Come and knock on our door) or "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" (Yo homes smell ya later). But there is no doubt we have lost something special, something worth holding on to.

Your challenge (if you haven't guessed already):  Write the lyrics to a TV theme song.  Think of what made all your favorite TV theme songs great and channel that into a TV theme song of your own.  This can be for a completely made up TV show, or for an existing show that doesn't have a full-on theme song, think "Seinfeld", "LOST", or "Modern Family".  You can also put words to a show with an instrumental theme song like, "M.A.S.H.", "The X-Files" or "The Simpsons".  Or, you can even write an ode to the TV theme song incorporating some of your favorite lyrics of shows gone by. 

The important thing is, have fun with it!

Thomas de Burgh

As I meandered through the rooms and corridors and up the turret of the centuries old castle, my mind was fluxing. Who walked these stone floors before me? What was their story? Did they have a good life? What did they look like? How did they die? My digital camera is snapping non-stop. Me in front of the fireplace in the great room. Me on the roof looking over Galway Bay. In the hallways. On the lawn. Everywhere.

Back in the great room, my eyes are drawn to the green moss growing on the walls. How did I miss this? It’s a castle – I suppose green moss would grow on the walls of a 600-year-old building. I notice a bookshelf and mirror and thought, “There’s a neat picture – I’ll capture my reflection in the mirror.” I turned to snap a shot and noticed the castle keeper’s (is there such a word?) wife watching me as I clicked my Nikon.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked me. Leonie was her name, “I am, yes. Thank you. I was admiring the walls and thought I’d take a picture with my image reflected in the mirror.” “Oh really,” she said. “May I see?” I handed her my camera and she was obviously adept at using a digital as she knew exactly what to do. “Is this the picture you just took?” “I don’t know," I said. "It’s the last one I shot." "Ah yes, I see it now," Leonie exclaimed. "The moss on the walls – with the mirror reflection. It’s a pretty picture. But that’s not your reflection.”

I suddenly got that “excuse me?” look on my face and grabbed the camera from her. “I don’t think you're looking at the right picture. This is the –” My voice trailed off. It’s probably still wafting around Oranmore Castle somewhere. I stared at the picture I just took. There’s the moss on the walls and the bookshelf and mirror. But that's not my reflection.

There was a smile in the lady's eyes as she spoke. “Thomas de Burgh – that’s his name," she said. "Was his name. His father was Richard de Burgh, 2^nd Earl of Ulster. The family lived here in the mid-1300’s. Thomas died very young – I've read he was only 24. I see him now and then. Inside the castle – never outside. He’s shy. This behavior is unlike him. He must be coming out of his shell.” She paused. I wanted to respond but found that I was at a loss for words. 

Leonie seemed empathetic to my current state. “I’ll leave you to finish your tour of the castle. If you need anything, just – find me.” She smiled and turned to walk away – then turned back. “The fever. Thomas died of the fever.”

Funny. I was feeling a bit feverish myself.

(Photo taken at Oranmore Castle, Co. Galway 2009. Pictured is Leonie Finn, one of the owners.)

Captain Plastic Planet and the Bread Wrappers of Doom

"Holy particle beam weapons."  Bodkins exclaimed, as he hung frosted inside the wheelwell
of the luxury 767 Stratocruiser.

Kid Koolit, was piloting the tear drop shaped hypersonic trash transport nearby.
7.73 seconds later, a plastic bleach jug  was sucked into the scramjet intake port.
The craft spun perilously out of control down to the acrid fields of smoke and fire below.
Bodkins could feel the sickening thud of the crash in his fine porciline bones.
He regurgetated the lime jello he had for breakfast all over the hydralic hoses of the landing gear.

Plastic Planet has been burning out of control for almost a decade now.
A munching mass of drug residue and plastic has combined with a mutant bacterial strain.
The giant size bacteria ate massive quantities of waste and excreted napalm as bodily waste.

Some trash heaps reported bacteria to be as large as a common house cat.
Possible solution to contain the strain was to encapsulate them in bread wrappers and
seal with a twist tie. The thing would then suffocate in its own waste before it could eat through the
wrapper. The question being, how to wrap several billion bacterium with limited bread wrappers?

Bodkins flight descended from altitude to land at the Nazga Plain in the Peruvian Andes.
Early aliens designed it to be trash exempt. His white extremities were paralysed. His
yellow-orange blood cells, full of dioxin residue and BHA from raunchy cold cereal,
were coagulated in his gut. He fell out of the wheelwell with a sickening thud onto the
tarmac. The air thin and cold. To him, it felt like he was in the company of Llamas and burnt
corn cakes.

Lake John

I sat there listening to the rain. The storm everyone was talking about was rolling in, I smelled heat and earth with the air funneling in from the West. The gentleman next to me seemed to be studying his thoughts while he ate slowly. His shoulders cringed with every course of sporadic wind. I could hear his fork clinking against his teeth and noticed that his gray eyes were like mirrors of the sky, glimmering with shocks of lightning on the horizon. I liked this meal. Green beans with red onions and honey glazed bacon, zucchini fritters, heirloom corn bread, and lamb burger with nasturtium flowers placed on the rim of the platter. The chef's wife twice visited my table, we discussed my new book and her extended hiatus from writing poetry. I was pleased to walk past a row of Delphiniums on my exiting the restaurant by way of the garden path. They stood haunting the evening with their electric blue frames, like mermaids in a starlit sea. I wanted to observe the storm clouds along Lake John every day for the rest of my life.

So I Set Out

So I set out, not really with a plan, just a sense of determination. The path is dry, the leaves are green, the birds are singing. The morning beckons. A sheen of dew glistens in the sunlight, not a cloud in the sky. I am home. I am happy. I am lost.

I can’t help but hold my chin up, close my eyes, and breathe it all in as I take my first steps. A cool breeze sweeps over my face and I am gone. I want my bicycle, but the terrain calls for something less sophisticated. My feet are the vehicle this path demands as the gravel crunches under my soles.

I open my eyes, look down from the sky and study the horizon. Step by step, it seems to stay the same, as if I will never reach the hazy hills in the distance. Do I even want to? My foot suddenly catches on a root protruding from the path and I realize I should focus a little more on where I am now. I steady myself on a wooden fence post, dust off my hands, and continue on.

I can see the path winding as I begin to raise my eyes again. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. A row of small trees line a knoll as the path curves again. The grass sways freely in the breeze as it has lost the grip from the dew. I pass by a field of clover, pick a flower and breathe in its delicately sweet scent. My sights set again on the hills, still hazy, still out of reach. I don’t want to stop.

As I continue my trek, the path suddenly splits into two. As if out of nowhere, a choice is before me, no markers tell me which way to go. For the first time, I want to stop.  Both ways look the same, both seem to lead to the same destination. I have no map, just a sense of direction. I warily make my choice, head down my chosen path, and the hazy hills are still on the horizon.

As I continue to make my way down the path, it suddenly begins to narrow. The gravel turns rough and it is becoming difficult to walk. The sun still shines bright, but it begins to feel hot on my face and the once cool breeze slowly goes away. The path no longer winds and I find myself only walking in a straight line. I no longer want my bicycle. I keep my eyes down, watching the path, making sure I don’t trip on a rock.

As I wearily navigate the stony terrain, a spot of green catches my eye. A patch of clover peaks out from under the rocks and a single flower blooms. I kneel down on the path and put my nose down to the tender little flower. I gently breathe in its sweet scent and remember the field of clovers from earlier in my journey. I lift my eyes to the sky again and breathe it all in as if I were taking my first steps.

The path remains rocky, though not as bad as before, and I feel like I am learning to navigate it. The path steadily begins to widen and wind again; and a gentle breeze fills the air. As the sun crosses the meridian I hold my chin up and close my eyes again. I open my eyes, look down from the sky and study the horizon. I see the hazy hills in the distance but I no longer recognize them. I don’t want to look back to see how far I’ve gone.

Roaming the Planet

Hello Ditalinis! I have thought up a creative writing assignment for May, if you would like to participate we would all LOVE to read your words! This month we will be traveling this wild planet, and sharing our journeys with the group. You won't need a plane ticket, just your imagination! Choose a place to 'travel' to, anywhere on the Earth!Then write and post a travelogue-style journal entry, or series of entries about your adventures. I'm leaving the rest to the imagination. Please use your creative license to make this assignment light-hearted, harrowing, humorous, transformative, completely mundane even if you wish. You could journey to a rest stop in Tennessee and get caught up in a strange conversation with a truck driver... you get the idea. Love & Ink, Katie

Suprise Ditalini Press Reunion!

Hello Ditalini's! I would like to officially announce the May 1st 2015 Ditalini Press REUNION! Put the water on, dust off your bowls, polish ye ol' forks, so to speak. I was feeling quite "pasta"tively certain that it would be welcomed with open arms! Tomorrow I will announce May's assignment. I hope you are all available and excited to participate. It's been 4 years since our last official DP assignment! May this May birth something special!