One day all of this turmoil will be done.
One day we will roam the streets with no fear.
One day we will gather as a family again.
One day our undocumented friends are allowed to get out of the long line and finally receive their “papers”.
One day we will walk free from being harassed by government thugs.
One day our taxes will be spent on needs, not golden crap.
One day this will be over and we can breathe free.
***
Weekly Prompts The One Day Prompt (25)
chilled sweet and ready
ice cream treat for the penguins
quick before it melts
—
icy formed structure
Mother Nature is playing
it is her sandbox
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SenHai Saturday #58
Only heard
This word
On a mystery tv show
Where the crime evidence pile was low
Only a “scintilla” said the forensics team
Found at the murder scene.
***
Weekend Writing Prompt #474 – Scintilla
My parents are not generous, with money or affection. Of course that was their generation’s ways. I say that because it’s an excuse one uses when your homelife isn’t the ideal. My parents were indeed hard workers. My mother cared for four ailing grandparents that lived with us and spent many a night answering their calls for anything from water to medicine. Once in a while I would sleep down stairs on the couch to help her. She washed clothes in an old wringer machine and traisped out to hang everything on the line, even in freezing cold weather. She sewed, knitted, crocheted and made our clothes. She cooked, baked, everything and used ingredients from the garden and our dairy farm. Our cellar was full of canned or bottled ingredients. I can still taste the items she made and I miss them. I loved her without measure.
My father was a machinist in the next town at a large shop named Cone Automatic. When not working there he worked at our dairy farm, early morning and late after work. Occasionally he would play the piano or banjo, even the fiddle, at a Saturday night dance. It was a family affair with people and neighbors of all ages attending.
In between these events, life for the folks probably was not horrible, but my observation as a child was that life could have been better for them.
I remember one time, the first time I saw my dad show emotion other than anger, he cried. Sat on the porch steps, held his head and cried. He was driving home with his brand new car, a spectacular Chevrolet, complete with small fins and two toned turquoise and white paint. A big tree limb fell on it about a mile from home and he was devastated. Of course the huge purchase was important, but he was a fanatic when it came to car maintenance. He wouldn’t allow drink or food or much conversation, at least from the backseat. Of course he was a three pack a day smoker of Lucky Strike cigarettes, so that was fine. He used to joke that when the ashtray was full, it was time to trade for a new one. Thinking of it now, older and wiser, I hope, I imagine the cars were his saving grace, a way of feeling okay and proud of himself.
I don’t remember much about allowances. I know we were responsible for certain chores and keeping our rooms clean and neat. There were plenty of rules to follow and of course break occasionally. My dad’s step dad used to drive a Model T automobile. On a Saturday we loved riding in the backseat and rolling the curtained windows up and down. At our destination, my grandfather would give me a dime to spend on any treasure I found. It was the highlight of the week. Money wasn’t a priority with us as children. We had more than enough to feed and clothe us properly as provided by our farm and lands.
Fandango’s Flashback Friday — June 26th
It’s interesting, this life I have now. It’s mostly the same every day, and I don’t keep track of it like I used to, when I had a purpose. I’m not complaining, I am a lucky person and I have everything I need and people who love me.
However, prices are a common complaint and I agree. I used to be vocal about T and the outrageous problems he has created and now I’m more settled, realizing I really can’t do anything about it, except vote but here where I live, it is a drop in the bucket. No one wants to hear what they already know. Sounding like I have a black cloud hovering, I am offering a song by “Three Dog Night”…Have a great weekend!
The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 27, 2026
I’ve been spending a lot of time lately trying to weed the gardens around my house. By the time I finish my daily stint, I usually have dirt on my hands and under my fingernails. Along the way, I uncover worms that seem startled by the light, insects that scurry off to find a new hiding place, and a house wren who scolds me endlessly because she has taken up residence in the birdhouse nearby. Then there are the thorny plants that leave me bleeding when I grab them without paying attention—and make me wish I’d worn the gardening gloves I bought but rarely use because they’re so clumsy and awkward.
All of this got me thinking about gardens, dirt, worms, roots, weeds, and the many things that lie beneath the surface.
You can take this prompt literally and write about gardening or the natural world. Or you can use these images as metaphors for growth, change, discovery, hidden truths, difficult work, things that need tending, or anything else they inspire.
Wherever your imagination takes you, I hope you’ll dig around a bit and see what you uncover.
Happy writing!
In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post,outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.
sitting there all smiles
not admitting their secret wiles
waiting till others leave
then remaining, I receive
the gossip there just learned
words I don’t want heard
old ladies love to talk
only when some of us walk
away, probably conversing too
about me or her, all the usual fools
beneath the friendly outward looks
boredom rules – they should read books!
***
W3 Prompt #217: Wea’ve Written Weekly
photography acts
image shown and mind awakes
writing flows along
fitting a specific style
that’s the work, job I attempt
__
words appear
excited response
fun poems
***
MTB: Ars Poetica Revisited
—
***
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #092
All in One
“Come here, Captain!” Julie saw her big companion, a Newfoundland, leapfrog over the counter and sit in front of the pharmacist, who often gave Captain treats. Julie, waiting to refill a prescription at Costco, must have loosened her grip on the leash. Since becoming a widow, Captain was her constant friend and protector. Julie shopped for everything there because it had special dog shampoo, anagram puzzle booklets, and even a bakery!
***
Can You Tell A Story In…
The Bag Lady 
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