Lost in Madison Woods

I stumble.  I fall.  Gnats and flies and mosquitoes buzz around my head.  My arms and legs resemble a pepperoni pizza.   I would give anything for a pepperoni pizza at this point.

Or just a glass of water.  I squint toward the distant light but my eyes are almost swollen shut.

Got to be near the end.  Almost there.  Just a little further.  Someone would be looking for me, right?  Did I tell anyone where I was going?

One step at a time.

There in front of me is the chrysalis… the same one I saw three days ago.



friday fictioneer 8 29 14

photo credit to Madison Woods



My entry for Friday Fictioneers.  One hundred words.   A photo prompt.

Link here to read what others had to say this week.


Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our weekly hostess!



Lunch With the Butterflies

Originally posted on Retired Ruth :

I had lunch with the butterflies again today.  There was a feeling of autumn in the air, with warm sunshine and a cool breeze.  This post was first published in 2012…. Hope you had lunch with someone or something you love!

Yesterday was one of those days when weather changes seemed imminent.   There had been some cool nights and warm days.   My house was colder inside than the temperature was outside.   Too soon to turn on the furnace, though.

I decided to have lunch on the patio.  Just me.   No one else around but it was a perfect day and the sun was shining and I wanted to feel that sunshine warm me up.

I fixed a plate and sat down at the picnic table.

I wasn’t alone for long.   Several butterflies joined me.  It was nice just to see them explore the patio…

View original 7 more words

Friday Fictioneer: The Letter

Friday Fictioneers… A 100 word story with a beginning, middle, and end that follows a weekly photo prompt.  Read on…..


photo by Jan Wayne Fields

photo by Jan Wayne Fields

Dearest Claudie, 

     As your dearest and oldest friend, I write this letter with love.  It distresses me to tell you what I am about to say, but I feel it is my responsibility to let you know what is going on.  Please know that I will always love you and treasure your friendship.  Your husband, Tomas, is seeing another woman.  I know this is true because I have seen it with my own eyes.  Please call me.

Love, Tess

Sealing the envelope she turns, “That should do it. Let’s drop it in the post.”

“Yes, my love.”  replies Tomas. 


Enjoy more stories from the Friday Fictioneers here:  



Teen Angel and Farm Chores



Teen Angel

Can you hear me?

Teen Angel

Can you see me?

Are you somewhere up above

And am I still your own true love?


With a pitchfork handle as my microphone, I belted out a mournful ballad of love and loss, to a standing-room only audience full of … hogs. They were pretty attentive at first, but soon went back to their grunting, oinking, and squealing as I continued to sing and dance my way through my afternoon chores.

Let’s pick up the pace a little bit with this next tune by  Johnny Tillotson…. Poetry in Motion.

I was Dick Clark. I was the featured performer on American Bandstand.   I was every dancer on the show.  As I tied pieces of baling twine to the gate of each pig pen, the twine became the hand of my dancing partner and we twisted, and strolled, and slow danced  through the most boring part of my day-chore time.

After 54 years I still can picture ten-year-old me, dancing and singing in the barn as the hog waters filled.  One of my first jobs on our little farm was to fill the barrels with water so the hogs could drink.  Using a garden hose,  draining the hose, and hanging it neatly on an old truck tire rim on the side of the barn- it took maybe 45 minutes.  Forty-five minutes of standing and waiting and moving the hose from one barrel to the next.   It seemed like an eternity.

It was very important that I not overflow the water barrels, because if the water spilled into the hog pens, the hogs would go nuts…. they loved to roll in it and create a huge mess inside each pen.    If I let just one overflow, the straw bedding  got wet, the hogs got wet (and more susceptible to illness) and my dad would have to clean out the pens with a shovel and fill the manure spreader with the mess.

To save myself from boredom, I sang and I danced and I pretended my chore time away. Sometimes I was a princess locked up in a terrible place (what could be worse than a smelly old hog barn?)  A handsome prince would come and rescue me.   Fighting off the evil swine, he would sweep me up in his arms and carry me off.  We would, of course, live happily ever after.  Kind of ironic that many years later the “prince” that finally swept me away was, in fact, a hog farmer himself.  My “happily ever after” relocated to another hog barn!

My favorite song to sing while watering the hogs was “Teen Angel”.  It was about two teenagers in love whose car stalled on a railroad track.   They quickly got out but the girl went back to the car to get her boyfriend’s high school ring and was killed. I still love that song. I’m sure the hogs loved it too.

hogs and teen angel

Learning simple farm chores at a tender age created a positive work ethic for me.  Learning about responsibility, and  the consequences of not fulfilling that responsibility followed me in all my jobs and finally my career. I grumbled and complained when I was ten, but my parents knew what they were doing, and I am grateful for those  important  life lessons.

wordpress… what the heck

I like to think of myself as one who embraces change.  I”ve been a bit frustrated, though, with some of the changes on WordPress.  Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had the time or inspiration to do much blogging lately.  The changes  took me by surprise.

First there was the “beep beep boop floating bubbles”.   Really?  I have tried to be professional while writing my blog and sharing my innermost thoughts and memories with all of you out there in the blog world.  But  Beep Beep Boop?   Other than being an alliterative nightmare, it just makes me scratch my head and wonder “what’s it for?”

I also found it difficult to discover the drop down arrows.  I was convinced I could never “save” a draft again.

I thought they had done away with the “favorite tags”  as well.   It was just all too frustrating!

Which brings me to the missing “word count”.   Am I the only blogger who watches my word count?   I like to participate in Friday Fictioneers, which is a weekly photo prompt leading to a story of no more than 100 words.  WordPress, do you know how much I HATE stopping to count my words?

I know it’s just a matter of getting used to a new format… a new style.  But I am old school and “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”  mind-set.

I did finally discover that once you find your way back to good old “dashboard”, you can pretty much do things the way you used to.

I do wish I had some warning of the pending changes.



It figures, I thought.  First date and he brings me to this place.  Karma, I guess.  He asks me the usual questions.  Family, work, leisure, pets?  It all goes well.  He’s a nice guy and says all the right stuff.  My side of the conversation goes pretty well, too.

Then it starts.  The flashback, the hot sauce, the choking,the paramedics.  My mind hopelessly fixates on that awful night when my life started to spin and tumble into something I could no longer recognize.

I don’t even feel the hot tea splash on my legs as I stand up and run out the door.

friday fictioneer


photo credit:  Marie Gail Stratford



Another submission to Friday Fictioneers, which you can explore at thie site: