It is Stream of Consciousness time again. This week is a doozy. Here is Linda’s instruction. “Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “book title.” Take the title of the book you’re currently reading or the one sitting closest to you when you’re ready to write your SoCS post and base your post on the title only. I’m not asking for a book review or a synopsis, just whatever the title itself brings to mind. For example, Gone Girl makes me remember the first time I left home to live by myself. Or Lord of the Rings makes me think of all the rings I’ve owned in my life. Enjoy!” If you want to join this happy band, go to Linda Hill’s post and read how. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2017/07/14/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-1517/
Another Friday and we can now see the weekend from here. Our weather has been very humid this week. We have a big ole high sitting just North and West of us which invites the Gulf moisture to come streaming in. It wouldn’t be so bad if it would rain but all we get are some sea breeze showers which wouldn’t fill a teacup.
So we continue to sweat with no relief. The Gulf temperatures are running around 89 degrees right now so we can’t count on a cooling effect. I guess that is why they call this time of year Summer. Today’s JohnKu speaks of Summer, and I hope you have something fun planned for the weekend. Thanks for stopping by. Grab an ice tea and sit a spell.
It is Wednesday Story Time again. Last week we found Lucas awake but with some memory loss. A number of you did comment on the fact that he might be faking it to save himself from Alice and Harriet. I think we should get back to the hospital and determine the real story.
“Mr. Saveride you have visitors.”
“Oh my gosh. Who are they?”
“Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Murphy.”
“Um do they say they know me?”
“Why yes, they do. They came in when you were admitted. I think they are friends of yours.”
“Nurse um.”
“Campbell.”
“Yes, Nurse Campbell. I can’t place them right now.”
“You know the faces might be familiar. Do you want to see them?”
“If they are friends I guess I should. As you say, maybe their faces will help me remember.”
“I’ll let them in.”
“Oh, hello Lucas. You poor boy how are you feeling?”
“I-I feel fine. Did the nurse tell you anything.”
“Yes, she said you had temporarily lost your memory but you were doing well otherwise.”
“I can’t move my legs.”
“Well, there is that too. They think it is only temporary as well.”
“I’m sorry but I need to ask both of you for your name. Your faces are very familiar but I can’t remember your names.”
“I’m Harriet Murphy.”
“My name is Alice Weston.”
“How long have we known each other.”
“Not long, Lucas. I hired you to paint my house.”
“And you and I are friends.”
“What kind of friends Mrs. Weston?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are much older than me. I was just wondering what kind of friends.”
“Yes, Alice I think we all would like to know the answer.”
“Harriet you can be a pain sometimes. Lucas, you and I decided to have a drink together is all.”
“Okay. Thank you. So we never talked about making love.”
“Oh, my goodness no. Why on Earth would you ask that question?”
“I really don’t know. Just a feeling is all.”
“Well Lucas when I hired you to paint the house, Alice here came right over and I think she was sweet on you.”
“Harriet Murphy you take that back.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“Is not.”
“Excuse me ladies but I’m real tired. Could we take this up some other time?”
“We are sorry, Lucas. Of course. We’ll check back later. Come, Alice let’s leave Lucas alone to rest.”
“Bye Lucas.”
“Bye.”
“Well, how’d it go?”
“Nurse Campbell I think I’ve got a problem. I’m not talking health either.”
“Using this photo (below) as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.ino before 6 pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.
The inspiration for this post is the Texas sport of tubing. To be a tuber, all you need is a truck inner tube, cooler of beer, snacks, and a lovely full river like the Guadalupe. Since I have not been tubing myself, this list is a matter of observation.
10 If you are tubing, do not wear regular shoes. If you do, at best they will be water-logged. At worst, you will lose just one and will have a distinct limp at the end of the day from walking with one. (Something about water and loafers that just don’t mix huh, Bosco?)
9 If you are tubing, do not leave your cooler tube untethered. If you do, at best your floating neighbors will catch it before going downstream. At worst, your cooler will wander off and bump into Tiny the WWF champ who just finished his twelve step plan to quit drinking.(Funny how he ripped the top off the cooler almost like he knew there was a twelve pack inside. He is looking at you, and I would paddle on if I were you, Buster.)
8 If you are tubing, do not assume you won’t drag bottom. If you do, at best you will get a suit full of mud. At worst, you might lose your suit to the weight of the clay and will have to work out a creative way to exit the river. (Looks like Channel six news is doing a special on tubing. You should be a big hit with that officer waiting for you, Ferd.)
7 If you are tubing, do not ignore the current. If you do, at best you’ll struggle to get out at the end of your float trip. At worst, you will keep going until you empty into the Gulf of Mexico. (The Coast Guard wants to talk to you, Buford. Something about smuggling by inner tube. Good luck with that.)
6 If you are tubing, do not forget to park your car at the end of the trip. If you do, at best you might catch a ride with your friends. At worst, you will still be hitchhiking after the sun goes down. (Who is going to pick up someone with a tube and cooler who looks deranged, Tex?)
5 If you are tubing, do not overserve yourself. If you do at best, you’ll fall asleep. At worst, you’ll decide to imitate Jack Sparrow and board your neighbor’s tubes demanding pieces of eight. (Funny how that one guy gave you a knuckle sandwich calling it a piece of five huh, Putz?)
4 If you are tubing, do not forget your manners. If you do, at best most will ignore you. At worst, a committee of fellow tubers will intercede and make sure you get drydocked. (Shouting obscenities at homeowners along the bank is something your crowd doesn’t do, Bunky.)
3 If you are tubing, do not decide to pull out and eat your lunch on private land. If you do, at best the owner will nicely ask you to move on. At worst, the owner threatened to shoot the next trespasser, and it looks like it is you.(Nothing like a shotgun to inspire movement right, Leroy?)
2 If you are tubing, do not tie up with your friends and make an island such that no one can pass. If you do, at best expect a lot of yelling. At worst, you might experience a few blowouts as others pass you. (You did not expect that sharp object did you, Ralph?)
1 If you are tubing, do not think the banks of the river are all public rest stops. If you do, at best you might embarrass yourself. At worst you may violate local obscenity laws and find yourself in big trouble. (Never thought you were demonstrating lewd behavior huh, Pal?)
Yesterday was a big day in Port Aransas. There were two main events taking place. The first is the annual dog surfing contest. The second is the deep-sea fishing tournament. This week I will feature the dog surfing contest and next week will be the deep-sea fishing contest.
The dog surfing contest is put on to benefit the local dog rescue group in Port Aransas.
The first photo will take you back to the 60’s. The VW micro mini bus is the source of the sounds of the event.
Here is a shot of a contestant waiting for the under 25-pound class.
Here are a couple of lightweights cruising in on a wave
Finally made it to the beach
Some spectators were there with their humans
Waiting for the above 25-Pound class
He is up and riding
Rode it all the way.
I think he may be in trouble
Yup need to take that big step.
Now the champ catches the curl
Steady as she goes.
And a great finish
The Texas Surf Camp was in session while the dog surfing was in progress.
It hardly seems possible that the Fourth of July has come and gone, but come and gone it has. I hope you all had a rewarding and fun day. After all, the birthday of America should be cause for celebration. We did get our beach back and for some reason, this year was pretty tame compared to year’s past. Folks tended to stay longer, but I think there were more families than drunks. (Which is saying a lot)
The fireworks were at a minimum as well. I think the police were giving some extra attention to those who were lighting them. They are illegal here in Port Aransas but legal is only as good as enforcement.
This week’s JohnKu gives a nod to the Birthday of America. I hope you like it.
Enter the world of Windemere with 11 action adventure short stories featuring a man who is out to make an honest living.
Some heroes seek fame. Some seek fortune. Others simply want to save the world. Ichabod Brooks only wants to put food on the table for his family.
Known and respected as the man who can get any job done, Ichabod has seen his share of adventure. Most of which have been highly exaggerated by bards. Still, the man has his famous reputation for a reason. Whether it be climbing a temperamental mountain for eggs or escorting orphans to their new homes, Ichabod takes every job seriously and makes sure he is as prepared as he can be. Not that it helps since things always take a turn for the worse.
“Is this any way to greet an old friend?” a dwarf in dark gray chainmail asks before plugging his ears with his dark red beard. Wanting the bard to stop, the mountaineer marches over and puts a hand over the young woman’s mouth. “Are you supposed to use her as bait? I did hear there’s a hobgoblin pack that moved in a few months ago. You know how those drooling scavengers love elf flesh.”
“Sorry about that, Dex. She latched on at my last stop and I haven’t been able to shake her off,” Ichabod replies, shaking his guide’s hand. He rubs his own black and white beard at the sight of how his friend shows no sign of graying. “I have to give this one credit for tenacity, but this is where we part ways. Galaces Mountain is not a place to go unless you have experience, an excellent guide, and common sense. So far, I don’t see you having any of those things and I’m not going to babysit.”
“I must go. That’s the only way I can write about your newest adventure,” the bard insists, unwittingly proving Ichabod right. She crosses her arms and meets the icy stare of the dwarf, who she considers leaving out of her tale. “Being the first to speak of your climb will help my reputation. I promise not to cause any trouble and pull my own weight. Elves are graceful and agile, which makes us perfect companions for whatever it is you’re doing. Besides, Galaces Mountain doesn’t look like that bad a climb. The stories must be nothing more than colorful exaggerations.”
Ichabod puts on a pair of white-palmed gloves and slips a blue band on his finger, a charge going through his body to enhance his lungs. “I suddenly relate very well to this mountain. Take a look at the empty space between us and Galaces. You’ll see why this place has earned a reputation.”
The bard puts her lute over her shoulder and walks to the yellow rope, which sparks with a mild magic. At first, she is unsure of what she is supposed to pay attention to among the shrubs and fallen rocks. It takes the elf a few minutes to recognize weather worn bones sticking out from under a boulder. The limbs are splayed since the climber plummeted with the rough stone pressed against his back and the landing embedded him in the ground. Knowing what to look for, the bard realizes that there are at least ten old corpses hidden by the mountain’s litter. The bard spots the fresh body of a yellow-skinned creature sitting behind a shrub, the armored creature crumpled from landing butt first after its fall. She is about to ask a question when a small pain runs up her arm and she collapses into a magical slumber.
“Guess that’s more humane than knocking her on the head,” Dex mentions while Ichabod carries the young woman to the dwarf’s cart. He shields his eyes as he stares at the churning clouds that have been trapped around the peak. “Looks like the eagles captured a storm beneath their nest this year. Means the winds are going to be brutal and the tunnels are infested with horned spiders and revelers. Not going to be an easy trip. Sure, you don’t want someone else to take this contract?”
“I’d love to hand this off to someone else, but Chef Zyrk always insists that I take the job. I have no injuries, diseases, or family events, so I’m here,” Ichabod replies, sheathing his sleep-inducing shortsword. As an afterthought, he grabs a horse blanket and tosses it over the bard to hide her from view. “The Starwind Eagles lay eggs every ten years and now is the time to get to them. Wait any longer and the mountain will be crawling with hunters. A youngster wouldn’t know that or have you as a guide.”
The dwarf grins as he lifts the rope and gestures for his friend to lead the way. “They also don’t have your wife making deals that you can’t say no to. She mentioned that you’re getting three times the usual pay because this baby is going to be prepared for Duke Solomon’s wedding. Personally, I’m looking forward to your wife’s cooking after this. Surprised your gut isn’t huge considering that woman can make a pot roast even the gods would praise. Did you happen to bring some of her dishes for the road?”
“I can cook too, you know.”
“You can bake, Ichabod. Not the same as cooking in my book.”
“So you don’t want the cookies I brought.”
“Oatmeal and cranberry?”
“With a touch of cinnamon.”
*****
About the Author:
Charles Yallowitz was born and raised on Long Island, NY, but he has spent most of his life wandering his own imagination in a blissful haze. Occasionally, he would return from this world for the necessities such as food, showers, and Saturday morning cartoons. One day he returned from his imagination and decided he would share his stories with the world. After his wife decided that she was tired of hearing the same stories repeatedly, she convinced him that it would make more sense to follow his dream of being a fantasy author. So, locked within the house under orders to shut up and get to work, Charles brings you Legends of Windemere. He looks forward to sharing all of his stories with you, and his wife is happy he finally has someone else to play with.
About the Author: