Belly laughs of magic

Grandma's giggles had transformed into cackles of hilarity instantly infecting the rest of us sitting at the dining room table with laughter.  Maybe it was because it was the end of a Christmas day or maybe it was the bubbly white sparkling wine she sipped at all day but we saw a giddy side of our stoic and reserved Grandma us kids had never witnessed before.  

What was so amusing to Grandma was the red and white aerosol can of whip cream she held in her hand. She was doled the task of squirting each slice of pumpkin pie that had been set in front of us. The notion of holding the can upside down and pressing the nozzle to allow a stream of fluffy sweet cream spurt into a dollop of white sweetness was a novelty new to her. As she went around the table her spontaneous laughter grew into belly laughs with every pfffftt she created from the tap of the can.

For a young girl like myself the moment was magical to have so much fun erupting in my family over a simple can of whip cream. She got to my younger brother, perched at the far end of the table in his high chair, and carelessly squirted my brother in the face rather than the pie. Commotion broke out as Grandma stood there horrified as the rest of us were howling and snorting with laughter pointing at my brother covered in white foam while he was bawling and rubbing his eyes smearing the white goo from his face into his hair. 

That was forty years ago and Grandma has long since passed away. Yet at every holiday dinner I keep a red and white can of Redi-Whip on the dessert table to bring keep the magical memory alive.  

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This post inspired by the awesome folks at www.trifectawritingchallenge.com 

Todays word is Infect. Be sure to stop by and read some infectious writings!

Heart of Stone

"Give it here", she asks gently. His trembling lips give away his false bravado, pleading eyes searching for truth in hers. Holding his breath he opens his hand exposing the fiercely guarded stone. 

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This post inspired by The Trifextra Challenge! This weekend the challenge is to write using the word "stone" in less than 33 words. Be sure to stop by and read from amazing trifectians!

Self

It is comfortable to know only the familiar outer layer.

Yet if we press through the underlying crimson shield of emotion, feelings and thoughts we find the warm inner core where self lies. 

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The Weekend Challenge....

On to the weekend challenge.  As you'll recall from your elementary science class days, the structure of the earth can be divided most simply into three sections: core, mantle, crust.  Here's a diagram.

Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Give us 33 words from it.  Interpret the prompt however you wish--literal, metaphorical, or somewhere in between.  If you would like to use the image on your own blog, you must properly credit it.

The Moment of Freedom

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

Annie turned and put her hands up to the side of my face, her hands warming my cheeks as the frigid salty harbor mist of January swirled around us. A gesture so unexpected from the green eyed, timid woman I met only twelve days ago as our ship set sail from Queenstown. A ship full of immigrants with dreams carefully packed up among the meager and priceless life possessions stuffed in battered trunks and worn-torn satchels. Twelve days ago I left Ireland for adventure, for something more than being a village farmer that can no longer survive on what the land was no longer providing. Annie professed to me one dark stormy afternoon as we huddled with the other passengers durning rough seas that she was running away from a country that had persecuted her family for what they believed in. She was running away because she was afraid of not being able to be herself. 

“Jack, we did it. We are here in New York City. This is the start of our new lives!” 

“Yes, Annie, we certainly made it” I reply as I brushed back the red fiery hair from her face, her green eyes sparkling with excitement as the Statue of Liberty stood by solemnly proud welcoming us to a new beginning and kissed her forehead.

I struggled to smile back as I realize that I will soon have to let her go. Moments later the ship is in dock and the gangplanks set in place. The ships crew and the immigration stewards are shouting orders. Annie and I shuffle with the others, many struggling with their bags down the passageway. I take Annies hand as we walk down the wooden planks and squeeze it gently as together we step on American soil. A single moment shared only by the two of us. A moment of freedom and of new beginnings. No words are said as I let go. No words are needed as we go our separate ways.

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It feels good to be writing again! My goal for 2013 is to write more! 




This weeks Trifecta Writing Challenge is....

survive

1: to remain alive after the death of <he is survived by his wife>
2: to continue to exist or live after <survived the earthquake>
3: to continue to function or prosper despite : withstand <they 
survived many hardships>

The Wedding

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge is the word....

HOLLOW (adjective)

1

: having an indentation or inward curve : concave, sunken

2

: having a cavity within <a hollow tree>

3

: lacking in real value, sincerity, or substance : false,meaningless <hollow promises> <a victory over a weakling ishollow and without triumph — Ernest Beaglehole>

4

: reverberating like a sound made in or by beating on a large empty enclosure : muffled

As always we are to use the third definition of the word.

The Wedding

An empty hollow feeling came over me as I stood on the altar with the rest of the wedding party and watched my sister, the bride, float down the aisle on the arm of my father. The day seemed like a fairy tale because every seemed perfect.

From where I stood I could see my mother in the front pew, head held high basking in the glorious day. An event that had reached A-list status as this was the most talked about affair of the summer.  Her eldest was about to give her hand in marriage to one of society’s finest. 

As my sister stepped onto the altar and the groom took her hand I could see it in her eyes. Confusion and bewilderment. Others would assume it was nerves or excitement however I knew the truth. The truth was that she didn’t love this man. A late night confession fueled by copious amounts of white zinfandel and chocolate revealed that she was in love with another man. An artist rather than an entrepreneurist. A man who is  covered in tattoos, wore shorts and flip flops rather than the man with the crewcut, brooks brothers shirts and docksiders. A lover who set her soul on fire and made her feel truly alive rather than a compulsory union of bank accounts and lineage. 

The organ music had come to a halt and the guests settled down on their pews. The pastor asked the couple to join their hands and face one another. My sister looked down at her own hands. Then she looked into the eyes of the man she was to marry and shook her head from side to side. I held my breath as she took a step backwards and I exhaled as she turned towards me. I held out my hand for her to take, and together we walked down the aisle, ignoring the confused mumbles and whispers and we headed out of the church. And headed towards real love.

The sounds of her homeland

It's been too long since I've participated in the Trifecta Writing Challenge! 

This week the challenge is the following....

WHORE
1: a woman who engages in sexual acts for money: prostitute; also: a promiscuous or immoral woman
2: a male who engages in sexual acts for money
3: a venal or unscrupulous person

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

• Only one entry per writer.

Be sure to visit www.trifectawritingchallenge.com and join in the fun!

Maggie could hear the merriment a block away as she walked towards the Corner Tavern. It was getting darker sooner and already the gas lamplights were lit. This could only mean that the revelry will be starting earlier and earlier as the evening starts sooner. Maggie glanced inside the bar as she passed by. She saw young Irish girls, the same age as her, looking like strumpets and whores, their faces heavily powdered and their lips stained a tart red giggling like school children eating up the attention of the drunken lowlifes and card-sharks. Human wrecks make for good company. Everyone in their wanted something from each other and would lie and cheat to get what they wanted. Maggie knew this all too well from the old country. The country she sailed away from to start a new life in America. 

In the dark alley behind the bar is the entrance to the staircase leading up to her flat. She opens the door and runs up the wooden staircase, unlocking her one room apartment and quickly shuts the door behind her, hoping that no drunkard has followed her. As she undressed and laid down on her cot, the mattress so thin she could feel the wires underneath, she listens to the sounds of debauchery going on below her and into the street. This was the tradeoff she paid for having her own place rather than sharing a tenement with other women new to this country. She craved the solitude and the privacy and this was what she could afford for now on her meager pay.Truth be told, Maggie also craves the sounds of her homeland, a place she ran from yet the homesickness tugs at her heart. She drifts off to sleep and the squandering and boozing continues late into the night. 

Someday never comes.

His dreams and ambitions taped to his soul start to curl and yellow as they hang forgotten. The fire once in his belly doused by liquid courage. Someday never comes inside these walls.

This post inspired by the weekend Trifextra at www.trifectawritingchallenge.com

Hop over there to read amazing stories!