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She was singing “a tisket for a tasket” when she was stopped by little boy (powered) blue.

“That’s not how it goes, it’s “a tisket, a tasket,” don’t you know anything?

She kept on skipping down the old dirt road in her red hooded dress, swinging the basket to and fro. She liked the boy, but ignored his comments. What do boys know, she thought to herself. Then she thought better of it and yelled back, “Why aren’t you blowing your horn? The cows are in the meadow and the sheep are in the corn!”

He sat up from the haystack and looked around him. Everything was fine. Thinking to himself, she really doesn’t know anything! Yelled back, “Whatever!” And went back to sleep.

Mary, quite contrary, kept walking to Grandma’s house with her flower basket.

🌸🌸🌸

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/03/01/march-writing-prompts/

These guys sit on the top of my stove. That’s me on the left most days!

https://rugby843.blog

We were just talking

Shooting the breeze as someone once said

How is the weather

How is your son

How are you getting on

How are you feeling?

❤️

We try to keep it light

We try

We never delve too deep

Into feelings, real feelings

We know what they are

What we need to avoid

❤️

It’s not always possible

If we dare

To show a recent picture

We go down that road

❤️

That road of true feelings

Unexpressed every day

Feelings we can hardly bear to feel

Because once we do

Suddenly

I cry

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/suddenly/

I haven’t been able to post from my iPad today. I criticized it a couple of days ago.

I wonder if iPads have feelings. I wonder that because all day it’s been sitting around pouting and not letting me write or read my mail on it. I posted one thing from my phone, but it doesn’t work well and the keyboard is a lot smaller. I can read posts and comment most times, but if I missed you today, I’m sorry.

Hopefully the iPad will be over its tantrum by tomorrow morning. After all, I left it alone all day to rest.

https://rugby843.blog

I

Having her fourth cup of coffee in an hour, Grace was feeling jittery and anxious. She was waiting for a phone call from the oncologist hoping it was good news.

It had been five years plus, and she hoped the recurrence rule applied to her. She felt confident only at times when she didn’t feel the pain in her right leg. She wanted to be free of it, the pain was always a reminder the cancer might return.

The caffeine was making her hyper, but she tried to stop pacing the room. The negative thoughts tried to come to the forefront again and she started to cry. It was ten o’clock, she had called at eight and they said he’d call right back.

Doctors’ offices always seem to want to please, be compassionate, but why do they always take forever to respond? Maybe they’ve never been on the other side, waiting to hear a test result that could change their life.

Grace flopped down on the couch and just bawled. It was almost a relief, providing some release of tension. She pulled her favorite soft blanket over her. Her cell vibrated and rang in her sweater pocket. It was the doctor’s office. The tests were negative for recurrence. She stretched full out under the blanket and cried some more. It was a good call. She tried, as she had done before ,however unsuccessfully the last few years, to put the whole thing out of her mind.

https://rugby843.blog

For more of this incredible story: outsideonline.com

https://rugby843.blog

A lonely boy loved balloons, all types, and every color. He rarely had one however, because his parents thought they were dangerous. Apparently there was a likely possibility of the balloon being sucked back into a child’s mouth, causing them to choke. Joey didn’t want to hear that, he just wanted to play with them. Joey had a good imagination and could think of all kinds of ways to play with balloons.

A favorite birthday party game at a friend’s was a popping contest. A balloon was placed on each chair and the boy who could just sit on it and pop it first, would win. The whole idea was fun for him and he also liked the popping noise. Everyone laughed and for him it was a happy occasion. Joey’s mom of course, didn’t allow balloons in their home, so he especially enjoyed playing at his friend’s home.

Joey’s friend Mike invited him to the local carnival. After much convincing, Joey’s mom consented, as long as his friend’s parents were with the boys at all times. Joey and Mike came upon a brightly decorated game with an arch covered with large balloons. Joey, especially, wanted to try his luck. As a prize, he only wanted a bag of balloons, not a stuffed animal or magic wand. The man refused, saying the balloons were not a prize, just a decoration to entice people to his booth. Joey, realizing his own parents weren’t around, started raising his voice, saying he was not given a prize. Mike’s parents were embarrassed, but said nothing. They thought his parents were too strict and wanted to appease him.

Finally, the barker hesitantly handed over a small bag, not wanting to discourage the other waiting customers. When Joey got home, he hid the bag under his mattress. The first night he decided to take one out, blow it up and play, was his last.

Thinking everyone was asleep and it was safe to take one of the balloons out, he blew it up and was suddenly surrounded by light. Not even tying the balloon to hold the air, it remained full and started to float. Joey jumped up and grabbed the balloon. He found himself adhered to the orb. He couldn’t break free and the balloon swept him out of the window, up and away into the clouds. The last thing Joey saw was the fading carnival lights.

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/08/tale-weaver-162-fairy-tale-an-item-of-magic/

He sat there innocently, so charming in his blue plaid cotton shirt. You could actually smell freshness emanating from his being. Wavy blonde hair with just the right lock drifting down on his forehead, almost covering perfectly manicured brows. Bright blue eyes seemingly penetrating my mind, knowing what I was about to say.

He arrived early, ordered my favorite meal, knowing I loved this fare. I savored the salty chips, one at a time, while he was watching me. I ate slowly and deliberately, pausing in front of my lips, glancing up at those blue eyes, before taking a bite.

I cut the meat in small pieces, taking time with each morsel. I could feel the tension building in him, as his grin turned into a sexy pout, though he quickly recovered himself and the winning ever present smile was back. He liked to watch–he never dined with me, but he loved to watch me do anything. Finished, he tightened my wrap around me, steered me into the alley for a passionate kiss. Breathless, my heart pounded with anticipation.

The following morning, newspaper headlines read: “Woman Found Murdered, Body Drained of Blood. Surrounding businesses questioned only remembered she ate alone.”

https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com/2018/03/07/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-2018-week-10/

Compromise requires thought

Facts not always what you’re taught

It needs acts that are mature

Not simply ones that might allure

Accomplishing this is a feat

And I caution, also entreat

Sometimes uncompromising

Can lead to rebel rising

What this country was built on

To rise up and not just sit on

Things on which you don’t agree

You need to vote, there is no fee

It takes small effort, check the box!

Instead of complaining with all that talk.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/uncompromising/

I must have been punch drunk yesterday when I decided to take a try at the Putting your feet in the dirt Challenge. The prompts are labeled 1-31 for each day in March. I had the subject picked as I quickly perused the list, not equating the number of the prompts with the days of the month. So here I am again after the lady at this challenge graciously let my faux pa go by and accepted my first attempt.

So this day’s challenge is appropriate as an apology. I’m ashamed to admit I can no longer blame my reactions on an iPad that does not keep up with my one fingered typing, or the fact I haven’t cleared out the blog sites in Safari which probably are the cause of the slowness. I was just tired. It seems since my noisy upstairs neighbors left, I still conform to their schedule, waking at four and not being able to sleep later than five or five thirty. Three minutes left and I think I need to read the rules on this challenge again. You are probably expected to write a story or poem or something fairly intelligent, or attempt to. So day eight of the challenge, day two of my fumbling.

This darn iPad – it must be at fault…for I’m a reasonable person – and yes I know I use way too many dots and never use the dashes correctly. But maybe you can take that in a good way, I’m just an old rebel! Times up, again.

💚

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/03/01/march-writing-prompts/