Friday JohnKu – AKA – TGIF

July 5, 2019July 4, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 49 Comments

Twiggy — “Tell Lucy it’s Friday and time to play.”

A little bit of a short week. I hope everyone came through the birthday celebrations in good shape.

Lots of good stuff happening around here.

The gutter guys showed up on the third and finished the job on quote and on-time. I have to give them a super review.

I managed to keep the 1000 words a day on my WIP. There is a ton of research needed and so I was happy to be able to go forward. As of today, I have over 14,000 words.

The cement guys were postponed until next week. The contractor gave me the best excuse I ever heard. One that has no comeback. “I want to be there when the concrete is poured so I know it’s done right and I have to go out of town this week” What could I say? “Pour anyway and the heck with it done right or not?” I was speechless.

Today’s JohnKu pays tribute to that excuse. I hope your weekend is wonderful.

When you ask why not?

There is only one excuse. . .

The sky is falling.

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Gwen M. Plano @gmplano

July 5, 2019July 4, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 53 Comments

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Gwen M. Plano with her story The Rosery.

THE ROSARY by Gwen M. Plano

Young or old, we are all children at heart. This truth became apparent to me last December when I had neurosurgery.

Prior to the operation, a clerk handed me a stack of documents to sign—billing forms for the hospital and the doctors and several medical release forms that included a list of potential risks. My apprehension grew as I fingered through the papers and provided my signature. It was then that I wished that my mom could be with me. Like any child, I thought she could make it all better. But sadly, she had passed away nine months prior.

My mom was a person of prayer, and when I was young, she’d gather her seven children, tell us to get on our knees, and then proceed to pray. We’d follow her lead—usually protesting—and pray for family members, friends, and the unknown masses. Often, she led us in saying the rosary. Prayer was my mom’s response to any challenge or difficulty, and we had plenty of both on our farm.

Mom’s most common expression was, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” While some of us might curse or yell in frustration, Mom would say this phrase instead. So, when one of my brothers sent a golf ball through the picture window, Mom called out “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before scolding him. When we siblings squabbled with one another, Mom would mutter, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before sending us to our bedrooms. Without exception, we grew up knowing that when Mom said “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” we were in trouble.

I can’t remember a time when Mom wasn’t praying. Whether washing the dishes, hanging the wash on the clothesline, working in the garden, or driving us to a sporting event or a 4-H meeting, Mom quietly prayed. I asked her about this once, and her response left an indelible impression.

“Life is short,” she began, “and we must use every moment to the fullest. People need our prayers, and some don’t have a family to pray for them like we do.”

I didn’t understand her comment about using every moment to the fullest until I grew older. But her explanation helped me grasp why she rarely watched television and why she rushed from one room to another throughout the day.

When Mom passed at ninety-two years of age, she left a legacy of beliefs and practices that had found a place in the heart of each of her children. We may have complained about kneeling on the hard floor, but even as little tykes, prayer became part of our lives because of our mother.

At her passing, we were bereft. Mom was our strength, our compass. She was the one we called about concerns, both large and small; she was the one we talked with about our hopes and dreams. Her passing left a huge emptiness that still echoes in our memories. When we sorted through her belongings, not so surprisingly, we discovered she had a dozen or so rosaries. I received two of them.

When I checked into Cedars Sinai hospital in Los Angeles, I took my mom’s wooden rosary with me. I felt her near when I held it, and this sensation gave me comfort. I held the beads tightly and imagined Mom with me.

After the surgery, I was rolled into a room on the Pain Floor where all neurosurgery patients were housed. Next to me was an adjustable overbed table, and when I awakened, I realized that my mom’s rosary rested on it.

My nurse, Lucy, regularly came in to check on me, and each time she walked through the door, she sang a refrain which included the words, our lady of the rosary. I was surprised by this, because Cedars Sinai is a Jewish hospital. After Lucy left, an aide visited, and she explained that her sister was a nun, and my rosary reminded her of this sister. Later, the night nurse came in and told me about immigrating to the US and how she loved the rosary.

During my hospital stay, one staff person after another visited me and shared family stories and photos—all evoked by the rosary that rested on the overbed table. As I was preparing to leave, Lucy came in to say her goodbyes. She pulled a photo from her pocket.

“This is my mom,” she proudly stated. “I thought you’d like to see her.”

The image was of a petite woman, hunched over by time, smiling broadly at the camera. She stood next to her much-larger daughter, Lucy. I was stunned; she looked like my mom.

As the hospital staff came to say goodbye and wish me well, I suddenly realized that Mom had been with me the whole while. I had been loved and cared for by many at the hospital, but it was Mom who drew them near with her rosary.

∼∼∼

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Gwen Plano RWISA Author Page

Thursday A Little Personal – Happy Fourth of July

July 4, 2019July 3, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 61 Comments

The pups, producer and I wish you all a Happy fourth of July. We also want to wish America a very Happy Birthday with many many more to come.

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA Rhani D’Chae @rhanidchae

July 4, 2019July 3, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 20 Comments

Today I want to welcome Rhani D’ Shae with an excerpt from her book Winter of the Drill.

EXCERPT FROM UP COMING NOVEL, “WINTER OF THE DRILL”

By Rhani D’Chae

***

Decker leaned against the hood of his car, talking to JT in a low tone of voice. His face wore a pleasant expression, and a casual observer would have had no clue as to the seriousness of their conversation.

“Second floor, third from the left?”

JT nodded without turning, keeping his eyes focused on Decker’s face. “That’s what Hunt said, and it does make sense.”

“Are you sure?”

The boy closed his eyes, remembering Hunter’s words immediately after the shooting.

“I think it came from that window over there!” Hunter’s eyes zeroed in on a building across the street. “Second floor, three in, left.”

JT nodded his head, confident that he had given the correct information. “Third from the left. I’m sure.”

Decker dipped his head almost imperceptibly, flicking his eyes quickly over the row of windows on the second floor of the nondescript building. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but he had not expected to find anything. However, the address of the building, as well as the location of the window and anything of interest nearby, went into the small notebook that he always carried with him.

“Well?” JT’s voice held a touch of impatience. “Do you see anything?”

“Yes.” Decker laid one hand on JT’s shoulder. “I see a boy who needs to learn that some things take more than a minute.”

The addition of a friendly smile took most of the sting from his words, and JT responded with a smile of his own.

“Okay.” Decker rose from his perch and stepped on to the sidewalk. “I’m hungry, and you never got to the Olive Garden. Let’s find some food.”

* * *

From his vantage point at the front window of the Greyhound station across the street, the man known only as Rhegan, watched them head toward a small cafe. He had returned to the strip in search of street gossip but had surprisingly heard almost none. And what he did hear was not worth listening to.

As he watched the pair walk slowly along Pacific Avenue, he thought back to when he had sighted on the boy and pulled the trigger. He had aimed carefully, not wanting to kill, but even so, he was surprised to see JT back on the street so soon.

After the shooting, he had taken a few minutes to watch the fireworks, knowing that the police would not be called.

His victim had fallen hard, his panic obvious as he managed to scrabble behind the nearest parked car.

His companion had reacted with cool precision, slipping one arm behind the boy’s shoulders and speed-dialing his cell phone with the other hand.

Even from a distance, Rhegan could see that the man was scanning the street. When the steel-blue eyes passed over the window that he looked through, he felt a sudden chill, as if those eyes had looked directly into his and issued a challenge.

A few passersby stopped to offer assistance, but Rhegan could tell that the man was dismissing each with a plausible excuse, for there was none of the panic that usually accompanied a public shooting.

Within minutes a car had pulled smoothly to a stop, collecting both men before exiting at a sedate speed that would not attract attention.

Rhegan had expected the part-time bouncer to run crying to Valdez, resignation in hand. Hopefully, the news that another person had taken a hit in his name would force a desperate Valdez to sign his club, the Toybox over to Malone, at whatever terms had been typed above the signature line.

Malone had told Rhegan that desperation was the only thing that would put a pen in his rival’s hand and had given him a list of potential targets. Malone had laid out his plan of attack, and Rhegan had no problem with any of it.

But, instead of running, his first victim had returned to take care of business. Head high and shoulders straight, he walked the sidewalk that still bore spatters of his blood, not even glancing down when his boots passed over the red splotches.

He was doing what Reagan himself would have done, and the hard-eyed gunman respected that, even while he planned when and where to take the boy out for good.

∼∼∼

Rhani D’Chae RWISA Author Page

Wednesday Story Day – AKA – Hump Day

July 3, 2019July 2, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 52 Comments

Lucy and Twiggy — “Hey, Little One.”
“What?”
“You interested in Wednesday?”
“Nope.”

It is Wednesday Story Day again and last week we listened as Andrew warned Larry to be careful with Captain Swartz as the good captain invited both of them into his office. I think we all thought it a bit strange that the captain came into the room to get Larry and Andrew. Well, we can’t tarry any longer. We’ve got to follow Swartz into that office.

“So y’all have a seat.”

“Thank you, captain. I must say the coffee is good.”

“Yeah, I insist on a good cup of coffee. So now that you’re comfortable, you want to tell me what you are doing in my town?”

“Yes, well. You remember Rafferty?”

“The guy killed on the slopes.”

“Yeah, the guy with over a 2.0 level of alcohol in his blood.”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“We think there is some funny business going on between—”

“Hold on Larry. We should not bother the captain with the details. We are on a fishing expedition and have no real proof of anything. So we better not bring up names until we have something more substantive.”

“Thanks, Andrew, I think you are right.”

“Okay. I get it. You two are sniffing around for leads. Is that it?”

“Yessir. That is it.”

“You know it kinda bothers me that I’m the last to know you are in town. After all, we talked on the phone and all.”

“I understand, captain. We would have eventually come to you, but with those thugs shooting up the place that option went away.”

“The ADA is really hot to pin something on you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know that little weasel and he called to give me a heads up.”

“Heads up about what?”

“About not getting involved in whatever you are doing. He called it ‘the appearance of aiding and abetting.”’

“That son-of-a-bitch.”

“You got him pegged.”

“So captain, what do you think?”

“I think you boys have pissed off some pretty tough characters. Whatever you are looking into it is bigger than just some guy being pumped with booze and sent screaming down a hill.”

“So, you think Rafferty was murdered?”

“Don’t quote me. I think he got up against the same rock that you two are rubbing. I also presented evidence to the ADA, and he said there wasn’t enough to bring the case to court.”

“You know who set Rafferty up for that tree?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Can you share them?”

“If you guys get cleared of murder which the ADA is looking to charge you with, sure. Be happy to help.”

“How do we shake the ADA?”

“Those guys who tried to take you out are hired guns. Prove that, and you are home free.”

“Can you help with that?”

“Yeah, I have a whole dossier on those two. The ADA knows them as well. I’m telling you I think the ADA is being squeezed by the same person who hired the hit men. You got a lawyer?”

“Yeah, we do.”

“Tell him to call me. I’ll give him everything I have on these guys.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Tell him to get a judge to order it. In the meantime, you guys better get humping on your investigation. I wouldn’t be surprised to see your conclusions apply to your case as well as Rafferty’s.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“I wish I could do more. By the way, if I’m ordered to testify about those hoods, I would be happy to do so.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA – A. M. Manay – @ammanay

July 3, 2019July 2, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 31 Comments

Today I am pleased to welcome A.M. Manay with her story Mirror, Mirror.

“Mirror, Mirror” by A.M. Manay

Set in the world of The Hexborn Chronicles

Shiloh stood in her teacher’s doorway, pulling anxiously on the end of a pink braid that had snuck out of her hood. Brother Edmun was in high dudgeon, ranting about insults and ingrates. A wooden crate sat upon the table, straw peeking through the slats. She could feel magic pouring out of it like waves of heat; it wasn’t dark magic, but it didn’t feel like good magic, either.

“Master?” she ventured. “Would you like me to make your breakfast?” She didn’t bother to ask about the box. He’d tell her if he wanted her to know – and, in his own good time, not before.

Edmun looked at her as though she’d appeared out of thin air. He waved her off. “Don’t bother, poppet. I couldn’t eat.”

Shiloh’s eyes strayed to the crate, but she said nothing.

“Go finish your essay from yesterday,” Edmun barked.

Taking her seat at her little desk with her back to the table, Shiloh could hear Brother Edmun unpacking the mysterious arrival. It was all she could do to resist the urge to peek when she heard the sound of a hammer. Under his breath, Edmun muttered a constant patter of unintelligible complaints. At last, she heard him pull out a chair and collapse into it. Carefully scanning the page once more for any mistakes, she stood to present her work to her master.

He looked down at the offering in her little hand, her words marching neatly across the page. Pen in one hand and her paper in the other, the glower slowly disappeared from his face as he read, leaving behind a hint of satisfaction. At last, he nodded, resting his unused pen. Shiloh exhaled in relief.

“Well done. A princess at the Academy could not have done better at twice your age.”

“Thank you, master!” Her smile lit up her eyes, which then strayed over Edmun’s shoulder to a mirror with gilded leaves and lacquered flowers hanging on the wall. The ornate frame looked out of place in the rustic mountain cabin.

“Don’t look in it more than you can help it,” Edmun ordered, calling attention back to her teacher’s face.

“Yes, master,” she replied. “May I know why not?”

Edmun hesitated.

“I can feel that it’s magic, master,” Shiloh continued.

He snorted. “I’m sure you can.” She waited for more, but knowing well enough not to press him.

Edmun heaved a sigh. “A man can give you a gift out of love, to please you. Or, he can send it as an insult, to remind you of errors and to caution you against repeating them. This mirror is the latter.”

“What does it do?” she asked.

“That is none of your concern,” he replied. “And that is all I will tell you. Go get a wand from the cabinet.”

Excitement sheathed Shiloh’s face. “We’re using wands today?”

Edmun glanced down at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Is there another reason I’d ask you to get one? Now, do it quickly, before I think better of it.”

***

The following evening, Shiloh picked up a clean rag and set about the dusting. Edmun was busy in the temple, preparing for the upcoming Feast of the Father. As soon as she was done in the house, she was to join him there. As usual, the red cabinet took most of her attention. The many books, wands, and magical curiosities inside had to be carefully wiped and returned to their accustomed positions. It was tedious work, but she was pleased that Edmun trusted her with the task.

Her work on the cabinet finally completed, she turned to dust the mirror and gasped. The silver surface had turned to black. A face appeared, and not her own. Shiloh took a step backward.

A man cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Shiloh did not wait to hear the words. She ran, her head scarf flying behind her all the way to the temple doors. She threw them open.

“What?” Edmun demanded, looking up from the altar.

“The mirror,” she panted. “It turned black, and then there was a man…”

Edmun crossed the floor and took her by the shoulders. “What did he see? What did you say?”

“Nothing! I ran as soon as I saw him. I was only finishing up the dusting. Who was he?”

Edmun ran a hand over his mouth and chin and took a deep breath. “The most dangerous man in the kingdom. Silas Hatch.”

“The Hatchet?” Shiloh shivered. “The king’s spymaster? Why would he appear in your mirror?”

“Who do you think sent it? Hatch likely meant to speak with me, to threaten me. The king hates and fears me for reasons you well know.” His brows drew inward. “He gave you a right scare, didn’t he, poppet?”

Shiloh nodded. Edmun knelt to look her in the eye. “Now, if I were a kind man, I’d tell you that you need not fear him. But I’m not, so I’ll tell you the truth. You should be terrified of him. If you ever give him reason to believe you are disloyal to the crown, he will slit your throat with his own hands.”

“Why would I ever be disloyal to the crown?”

Edmun placed a hand on her head. “Good girl. Now, put that man out of your mind and help me ready the temple for tomorrow.”

Shiloh nodded, yet the ice of fear in her stomach remained; as did the look of worry on her beloved teacher’s face.

***

Shiloh sat on her bed in the loft above her father’s smithy. Upon her blanket lay an array of charms she’d just made for protection against all manner of hexes or ill-wishing.

The look upon the mirror man’s face had chilled her to the bone—something about the smile. It had been predatory. Proprietary. Wary. It had given her the distinct impression that the man’s interest lay not only in her master but in herself, as well. I will not leave my teacher unprotected.

She pinned one charm on the linen beneath her tunic. The others she gathered into an old handkerchief. She tied it tight and placed the bundle in her pocket along with a jar of paste.

She knew Edmun would already be in the temple performing his ablutions for the feast day. She let herself into his house and crossed warily to the mirror. She exhaled with relief to find it clad in its ordinary silver.

Carefully, she lifted the mirror off its nail and turned it face down upon the table. She held the pot of glue in the crook of her elbow and pried it open, then affixed seven charms to the back of the Hatchet’s “gift” to her master, one for each of the Lords of Heaven. She returned the mirror to its proper place and hurried to the temple before Edmun could scold her for tardiness.

***

At dusk, Edmun sat his tired bones into his favorite chair and looked balefully at the mirror. Given the visitation to Shiloh the night before, Edmun expected to see Silas Hatch’s face, yet as the pink light of sunset faded, the man did not appear.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Edmun murmured. “I had hoped to get it over with.” He looked up at the mirror and realized that it was just slightly askew. Standing, he removed it from the wall. Turning it over, he found Shiloh’s handiwork.

Edmun smiled and shook his head. “My sweet, clever poppet. Too clever by half.” Sighing, he plucked the charms from the backing and set the mirror on the table, leaning against a water pitcher. Silas appeared in moments.

“Master Edmun, I feared you had forgotten the terms of our arrangement. There was to be no meddling with the mirror.”

Edmun swallowed heavily. “It was a momentary lapse,” he lied. “I thought better of it.”

Silas grinned. “You don’t have lapses. It was the girl, wasn’t it?”

Edmun said nothing.

Silas laughed. “It was. Ha! And what is she, only eight years old?”

Still, Edmun said nothing.

“She must love you as much as I did,” Hatch mused.

“What do you want?”

“Are you really teaching her mirror magic this young?” Hatch asked, brow raised.

Edmun closed his eyes and sighed. “Of course not. Evidently, I didn’t teach you your own well enough, as she defeated you with a handful of charms and some paste.”

The young man’s ears flushed. “Well, then,” he managed, “I shall have to redouble my efforts.”

“You do that. And Silas?”

“Yes?”

Edmun leaned in. “The next time you frighten that girl, it had best be after I’m cold in the ground.”

∼∼∼

A.M. Manay RWISA Author Page

Top Ten Things Not to Do at the signing of the Declaration of Independence by John Hancock in 1776

July 1, 2019July 7, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 34 Comments

This week marks the 243rd anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776 by John Hancock. It would be fun to be there but of course, there are things we should not do if we go. Take this list with you as it may save you trouble in the long run.

Top Ten Things Not to Do at the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776.

10 If you are at the signing, do not place that tankard of ale anywhere near the document. If you do, at best you might leave a ring on it. At worse, a careless spill could mean doing the whole thing over. (All those signatures not to mention the handwritten document is now soaked, Hosa. Quit trying to clean up the mess with that lace tablecloth. You are only making it worse. It will take days to redo and now July 4th will be on July 10th.)

9 If you are at the signing, do not go near the document as long as Tiny the WWF champ has been assigned the duty to protect it. If you do, at best Tiny will issue a warning. At worse, Tiny, who just left being scolded by John Hancock for being too soft, will demonstrate his toughness for all to see. ( Trust me you can survive the step over toe hold with a helicopter body slam finish, Houghton. You just have to relax more.)

8 If you are at the signing, do not volunteer to stand in for New York and sign on their behalf. If you do, at best you’ll be told to sit down. At worst, you will sign and cause a riff between the Continental Congress and New York. ( You see, Houston, New York made a conscious decision not to sign on July 4th because as delegates they weren’t given the go-ahead by New York leadership. They did sign on July 9th after erasing your name.)

7 If you are at the signing, do not think everyone will be signing on July 4th. If you do, at best you will be disappointed. At worst, the delegation will have you tossed into the street. (Most of the signatures were not collected until copies of the declaration were circulated to the colonies, Hovhaness. The final official document was not fully signed until August 2nd. July 4th is the date that the Declaration was ratified. John Hancock signed as leader of the Continental Congress.)

6 If you are at the signing, do not begin singing, “God Save the King.” If you do, at best you be singing alone. At worst, the delegates will take you for a crown sympathizer and ride you out of town. ( I know that rail is uncomfortable, Howahkan. Maybe next time you could pick a better song.)

5 If you are at the signing, do not give the author, Thomas Jefferson some notes on how you think the Declaration could be improved. If you do, at best like most authors he will have a thick skin. At worst, since he has gone without sleep in order to finish the document, Jefferson may challenge you to a duel. ( I think maybe you should walk a mile in Thom’s shoes before leaving a review, Hrolleif. Besides what do you know about writing a Declaration?)

4 If you are at the signing, although tempting do not suggest changing the word “men” to “humans.” If you do, at best your political correctness will involk a laugh. At worst, the authors had intended human beings to be covered by the Declaration and now a whole new debate has ensued. (Might have been better just to say nothing, Hu. It seems the Declaration has been tabled and the delegates have dispersed. So much for not creating a time continuum event,)

3 If you are at the signing, do not offer to hold the quill pens. If you do, at best you’ll mess up a couple of the nubs. At worst, when it comes time for John Hancock to sign there won’t be a fine point available. (So it was you who caused John to sign in that huge manner, Hueil? All along the story was he wanted King George to be able to see his signature without wearing spectacles.)

2 If you are at the signing, do not suggest adding pizza to the preamble which reads, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” (You have to wonder about the looks you got at the suggestion, Hugi. You should be glad nobody asked you to explain pizza.)

1 If you are at the signing, do not ask Samual Adams what his seasonal beer flavor will be this year. If you do, at best he’ll think you are joking. At worst, he will assume you are buying the drinks and invite all the delegates to your party. ( I wonder how you are going to cover the bar bill, Hui. I’m almost positive the inn won’t take that American Express card. Might be time to hit the escape button rather than face the theft charges.)

Views of the Neighborhood – A Visit to The Natural Gardener

June 30, 2019July 13, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 69 Comments

This past week the producer and I visited The Natural Gardener, which is a retail nursery featuring organic plants and shrubs. We were surprised at the size of the grounds and the number of species offered. There was so much to take in, I’m going to use two posts to cover it all. This week is the first, and since next week is the Fourth of July parade, the final will be in two weeks.

Here is a map of the grounds. There is so much to see. Over forty areas of interest.

You know you are in a retail place when you see a big selection of pots

There is a revival tent which Teagan Geneviene would like.

Of course, this tent is for learning to save plants, not souls.

Next is the butterfly garden

With guess what? A butterfly.

And another.

Beautiful flowers to attract butterflies.

More.

A little spot to sit with a butterfly theme.

Another view of the garden.

Sunflowers that reach the sky.

Purple coneflowers.

Lovely assortment. Brazilian Rockrose on the left.

Leaving the Butterfly garden on the left. A delightful path to follow.

A funky shed with a painted scene leads us into other areas. We’ll be back.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Prompt “For/Fore/Four”

June 29, 2019June 28, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 49 Comments

It is Stream of Consciousness Saturday time again. This weeks prompt is “four/fore/four.” Linda Hill advises using one or all three. In her usual way, she also advises to “have fun.” If you would like to join in visit Linda’s blog to read all about how easy it is. Here is the link.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 29/19

“Ah, what a gorgeous day.”

“It is a perfect day for being outside.”

“Look at that sky. I’ve never seen a blue like that.”

“I know, right? How about the green of the grass. Just inhale the smells of a beautiful morning.”

“How about it? You want to play today?”

“Well, we are here. Half the battle is showing up. Why not?”

“I have to warn you, I may be only good for four holes.”

“Oh please. You say that every time we come out, and you end up finishing nine.”

“I do look forward to the time when I could do eighteen.”

“Well, at your age, that might be a stretch. I think just taking one hole at a time is the way to go today.”

“Do they still yell “fore” if a ball might come close to you?”

“That is part of the rules, so yes.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to get hit. You know how some of those players are. Bearly give you a chance to start on a hole before firing a ball in your direction.”

“I guess they don’t know how to savor the moment. You ready to get started?”

“I sure am. I feel like a million bucks. Where should we go?”

“I was thinking of a nice sized hole on the first fairway.”

“With a big mound that drives the groundskeeper crazy.”

“That’s right. That guy is a little nuts anyway.”

“Should we burrow there or go overland?”

“Let’s save our strength and hoof it. Best way to make nine holes.”

“Did we mention what a beautiful day it is today?”

“We did.”

Friday JohnKu – AKA – TGIF

June 28, 2019June 27, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 68 Comments

Friday again for all you full-time workers. For us, slackers, it is another day. Just kidding. I always love to see Friday come along. It is especially lovely when I have spent a good week writing. I gave you a sneak peek at the new WIP last week. I’m delighted that the story is going well and I managed 7444 words for the week. Doesn’t sound like much, but as a reminder, I only do 1000 words a day on my current WIP. This one takes a lot of research time as well, so my 1000 words are taking more time than usual. Couple that with having to go to several medically related appointments I’m pleased to hit the goal.

This week also saw ( as some of you might know from yesterday’s post) the arrival of the sprinkler system installers. I also got word the gutter guys will be here on Wednesday, July 3rd. So, call me stupid, but things seem to be moving forward.

Today’s JohnKu reminds us to keep the faith. Have a great weekend.

If the clouds turn dark,

And you cannot see the light . . .

Remember the match.