2021 A to Z Blogging Challenge Reveal

Posted on March 8, 2021 by hdh

2021 A to Z Blogging Challenge Reveal

This is my 6th year doing the A to Z Blogging Challenge. In the past, I’ve done “Life Changes, Life’s Choices”, “What ifs?”, “Attitudes and Gratitudes”, “Whiplash (a collection of random thoughts)”, and an “A to Z Google Images alphabet book”. I’ve had a lot of fun exploring the different facets of my writing ability – memoir pieces, research-based non-fiction pieces, poetry, and fictional writing. Last year, some of those pieces continued through multiple letters of the A to Z Challenge to complete one story.  This year, I will continue to explore all of those genres. 

My theme for this year is Wishes, Lies, and Dreams. Whether it’s about when I invented a time-saving device that allowed me to accomplish multiple tasks simultaneously, like completing all of my A to Z Blog challenge writings for the next 3 years…today, or that recurrent dream someone had about flying, or that wish I had for a cure for the common cold which involved a lot of chocolate, it’s sure to be a lot of fun reading. 

This year will be a little different than in the past. In the past, I’ve asked for suggestions from students that I taught while substitute teaching in an elementary/middle school for ideas for each letter to help me decide what to write about. Due to COVID concerns, I’m not working with students this year, so I am putting it out to all of you, the readers of this blog, to give me your thoughts about wishes, lies, and dreams you might have had or want me to write about. Just click on the link below and add whatever ideas you come up with. Put a comma after your entry, so that others can add more ideas. Please note that my writing is not adult-rated only material and may also be read by kids, so keep your ideas appropriate, or else I will shut down all input. 

H’s A to Z Writing ideas – https://tinyurl.com/5v2d6c9r

For me right now, it’s time to get writing and prepare for the April Challenge. See you all on April 1st. Let the stories begin.

 

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To smoke or not to smoke?

Posted on March 4, 2021 by hdh

To smoke or not to smoke?

My parents smoked cigarettes when I was growing up. My mother would always light up a Kent filtered cigarette when she smoked. My father on the other hand would have nothing to do with filters. He needed that straight tobacco taste. He was a Camel cigarette smoker. 

Neither my sisters nor I were smokers. At least I never knew if my sisters ever tried smoking or not.  I would say it’s probably because we inherently knew that smoking was bad for us. Even knowing that, in my case, that wasn’t the reason I don’t smoke. 

When I was in sixth grade I was hanging out with a group of kids from my elementary school one weekend when one of them, Richie, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and said let’s smoke all the cigarettes in the pack. This was the first and only time I was with anyone my age that smoked. At that point, I was not very confident in my ability to say no. I knew my parents disapproved of smoking, even though they smoked and I didn’t want to be teased by the kids I was hanging around with. So I took the offered cigarette and smoked it, at least that is what I thought I was doing. There were no instructions given when I was handed the cigarette and I certainly wasn’t going to ask for any and look uncool. I took in the smoke and then blew it right out, just like I’d seen on TV. So that fact that you were supposed to inhale the smoke deep into your lungs was not a thought. I took in the smoke quickly and blew right back out. I ended up smoking 3 cigarettes that day. Had I known to inhale and breathe deep it might have ended up differently.

I didn’t see the fun in what I was doing. The kids offering me the cigarette didn’t look at me any differently. Plus these kids were not my normal everyday friends; it just happened that they were in my class. I never hung around with them after that and whether it was fear of my parents or sisters finding out, or that none of my other friends smoked, I never tried to smoke another cigarette again. 

As to my parents, my mom did eventually stop smoking. She realized the dangers of smoking, even though she claimed she never inhaled. It might also have been the cost of cigarettes that stopped her. My dad only stopped after he had a stroke. But he also stopped a lot of other things after the stroke too. 

I’m not sure if it would have been different had I chose to associate with a different group of friends, ones that smoked. But I’m glad that I made the decision that I did. Smoking held no interest for me; It cost too much and I found no pleasure in it. I’d have to find another way to look cool.

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Home

Posted on March 2, 2021 by hdh

Home

I lived in an upscale part of the Bronx called Riverdale, when I grew up. I say it was upscale because a lot of the houses in the area were big fancy ones. It also had a number of fancy private schools, Barnard School for Boys, the Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Horace Mann School, and Manhattan College.  And I’m going to guess that the average income of Riverdale residents was upper-middle class, though I can’t be sure. You see, my parents were from Germany and they were not upper-middle-class. My father was a shipping clerk, my mother, when she did work, worked for Fanny Farmer’s Chocolate in their factory. We did not live in a large house, we lived in an eleven-story apartment building across the street from Manhattan College and opposite a NY City subway depot. I guess we were lower middle class – if that high. 

The apartment I lived in after I was born was on the 11th floor. I lived with my two older sisters and my parents. I never knew my grandparents as they had all passed away before I was born. I was the baby, not only in my immediate family but also in my extended family, including all of my cousins, who also lived throughout the Bronx, Manhattan, and Queens. 

I don’t remember much about our apartment on the eleventh floor, but when I was about 5 years old we moved down to the 2nd floor in the same building which is where I lived till I was 21 and finished college. 

The apartment was a two-bedroom one with a kitchen/dinette area, a foyer, and a living room. I was the odd person out growing up. My parents got one room and my sisters got the other bigger room. I on the other hand got whatever space they could fit me into until my older sisters left to live on their own or got married.

At first, my bed was placed in the foyer right next to the piano. This was a very good place for me to be. I didn’t have any privacy but because of the bed’s placement, I could stay up late each night and watch whatever my parents were watching on TV in the living room. I just had to pretend I was asleep whenever my parents or sisters passed me by. 

When I reached the age of about 12, I had outgrown the foyer so my bed was moved to the dining area next to the kitchen. My parents placed a hanging curtain between the two areas so that my room was sort of closed off and I did have some privacy. I also had the refrigerator in my half of the divided room, which might have been one of the reasons that my parents put a chain around the refrigerator and a key lock to make sure that we didn’t get any unintended snacks. A game that my sisters and I played was, “Where’s the key?” Whoever found the key to the refrigerator’s lock, could sneak in and get snacks whenever my parents weren’t looking. I don’t know if my sisters shared the location of the key with each other when they found it, but they certainly didn’t share its location with me. Then again, if I found the key I was not so altruistic to share it with them either. 

When I was about 16 my younger older sister got married and my older older sister moved out, freeing up a room for me. My parents moved into the bigger room that my sisters had used since it had a bathroom attached to it and I got my parent’s old room. 

I now had privacy and a door that could close, walls that I could decorate, but none of the other perks of TV and food that I had had when I was younger. p

I guess that’s the way of things as you grow older. You win some, and you lose some.

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Kit

Posted on February 25, 2021 by hdh

Kit

She arrived on a summer’s day in August.

Where she came from no one knows.

She was small and frail, with no place to call home.

Malnourished and weak she squeezed through the trellis under our deck.

Finding a place of shelter and protection.

So we fed her outside. We called her Ms. Kit.

We were already feeding Thunder Snow. Our long-term outside cat feeder.

Kit made it a habit over time to come out from under to get food.

Occasionally there would be a confrontation with Snow. 

It’s hard to be a referee.

Weak as she was, she was always the stronger.

Or to be clear, Thunder Snow who has never uttered a sound was easily dominated.

As time went on, Kit grew stronger.

Wounds healed and she became a familiar sight.

But she was old, blind in one eye, and didn’t hear well. 

Her task became to tug on our heartstrings. She succeeded.

Then came the day in November when she decided to come inside.

She explored the house and went back to her under-deck home.

Days later she came in again.

It wasn’t long before she moved in. 

She never let us get near her. 

But she was satisfied with the arrangements.

Then came the seizure. It was time to get serious

To the vet we went. She had feline AIDS to add to her sight and hearing issues

Medication was given for an infection but the prognosis was not good. 

So we did what we could. We fed her and cleaned up after her.

Thankfully, setting up 3 litter boxes in different rooms helped guide her.

As time passed the number of seizures increased. 

Following each seizure, we were able to pet and comfort her. 

But she would recover fast and then have nothing to do with us again.

As the seizures continued over the next 2 months, confusion reigned. 

She had trouble walking with only one eye working, startled easily, and lost her balance more frequently.

It didn’t look good. Then came the bathroom accidents. 

A call to the vet resulted in some anti-seizure meds to help, a seven-day supply

Seizures stopped but everything else got worse. 

Five days later a decision had to be made. 

Quality of life has always been the benchmark that we used to make our decisions about her.

Not only our quality of life but more importantly hers. Her time had come.

In all the time we knew her, she never complained and never sought comfort, though much was offered. 

We did all we could to help her survive. 

Six months was a lot longer than she would have had without help.

And that’s exactly what we tried to provide. We could do no less.

So today, Ms. Kit, as we let you move on, know that we will not forget you.

We wish we could have done more. 

May you do well in your next life. 

 

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If the Shoe Fits…

Posted on February 22, 2021 by hdh

If the Shoes Fit

an adaptation of the Grimms’ Folktale, ‘The Shoemaker and the Elves’

This story starts sad but not very bad for the shoemaker who was poor

He had food to eat, with a wife quite sweet, but few customers at his door. 

With some leather, he’d choose, make a new pair of shoes and prepare them to sell every day.

He would cut and would sew, add some glue and you know, there’d be plenty of those that would pay.

Yet though he worked well, it is now I must tell, of the time he had leather no more.

Except for one piece, which he cut, shaped, and creased, and then left it all night on the floor. 

I guess it’s no crime so he stopped for some time planned to finish them off in the morn.

When he woke the next day, his wife then heard him say, that those shoes were now fit to be worn.

But not by his hand, for the pair looked quite grand, not a stitch could he see out of place.

Since they looked oh so good, he just did what he could and put them up in the window showcase

When a buyer stopped by, saw the shoes and did cry, “Those incredible shoes seem so rare.”

“They’re exceptionally nice, I will pay twice the price just to own that magnificent pair.” 

The shoemaker had won and the deal it was done, with more money he’d nothing to lose.

And he spent it most wise to get more supplies enough to make two pairs of shoes.

So he spent the whole day, tracing patterns they say cutting pieces so careful and neat.

Then he went off to bed, with more thoughts in his head, till next day when he planned to complete

He woke to a surprise as four shoes filled his eyes, all finished and ready to sell.

And each sold for more than he ever planned for. So now he was doing quite well.

As each day passed by, he continued to try, to finish a pair every night.

But just as before, he did cutting not more, and each morning his shoes looked just right.

As time passed on by, his wife said, “Let’s try and find out what’s up with this shoeing.”

So they hung up a curtain, hid themselves that was certain, and throughout the night both kept on viewing.

When who should walk in, dressed in just their bare skin, but two naked hard-working elves

Both went straight to their job, with nary a sob, and made shoes that they put on the shelves.

On the leather they rapped as they glued and then tapped all the pairs as they worked until dawn.

And they never did shirk, as they finished their work, and when finished they left and were gone. 

Well that’s a surprise, said the wife who was wise, we must do something to give them some payments.

The shoemaker agreed, and his wife said that she’d make the pair of them plenty of raiments. 

So she made lots of clothes, from their heads to their toes, while the shoemaker, he made them shoes.

They again hid that night, left the clothes in plain sight, hoping that’s what the two elves would choose.

Which they did when they came, all the clothes they did claim, as they cried we’re naked no more

They skipped and they danced, in their new pairs of pants, till they tired and went out the door.

The elves got what they lacked, and they never came back, and the shoemaker, well he felt quite good.

When you’re kind and you care and are willing to share things work out as we all know they should

Now he and his wife live a very good life and their shoemaker shop does quite well. 

And the elves if you doubt, if their story worked out, you must wait for today… I  won’t tell.

 

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Let’s Ear it for a Song

Posted on February 18, 2021 by hdh

Let’s Ear it for a Song

I’ve been told that I have an ear for music. I guess it is true. We had a converted player piano growing up, meaning that the player part had been discarded and it was only useful as a manual piano. My sisters had taken lessons when they were young, but I was not to have lessons until much later. So I did what any earful musician does, I taught myself how to play melodies with one finger.

When I was eight years old I was given a harmonica as a gift. I didn’t know how to play it other than blow into it, until one day I inhaled and got a different note. Not knowing any particular notes I happened to play three notes in a row, E-D-C.  It reminded me of the ending of a symphony. When I shared it with a friend of mine, Robby, he said that it sounded like the beginning of the song, ‘Three Blind Mice’. Now that was a real tune that I recognized. I spent the rest of the day figuring out how to play the whole tune. My parents were so impressed they sent me to one of those community programs to learn how to play the harmonica. The class was rather boring, as the teacher tried to teach us a song using the notes of a song I’d never heard of before, ‘Billy Boy’, when all I needed was to hear the tune and I would have figured it out myself.

When I entered junior high school I chose to play the trumpet. They gave us our instruments and showed us how to make a sound on our instruments. Before I had my first real lesson on trumpet, I had already figured out how to play a scale on my own. My band instructor was not impressed. I wasn’t really a great player. Because of my playing ability, I was always given 2nd and 3rd trumpet parts. That, of course, didn’t play into my strength. I was always playing harmonies and never had the melody tunes to play, so I actually had to learn how to read the notes, which I was and still am not very good at. 

As time progressed harmonies have become things I enjoy playing and singing when I know a tune. In fact, whenever I’m given the opportunity to sing for events like birthdays or songs that groups are playing and singing where I know the words, I will inevitably break out into a harmony that I’ve created in my own head to add fullness to the song being played/sung. 

This does cause problems with those people that are around me who know the melody of the song but get thrown off by my singing. Instead of a harmonious piece, we end up with a collection of notes that might resemble the song that everyone knows but in a rather discordant way. In turn, I get very frustrated when a group starts singing a song that I know, which I could harmonize very well with, but all the participants start singing their version of the song in different keys. I’m forced to sing the melody which adds nothing to the song at all.

Having an ear for music can be fun. Now if I ever take the time to actually learn how to read music and play at the same time who knows what wonderful sounds I’ll be able to produce and perform.

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Did you hear that?

Posted on February 14, 2021 by hdh

Did you hear that?

    One of the worst things in the world to hear is the phrase, “Did you hear that?” No matter what you are doing when that phrase is uttered by someone you always think of the worst-case scenario.

    Lying in bed at night, she turned to me and said, “Did you hear that?” The mind boggles as I think of who is invading my home? Do I have a bat or heavy object available to deal with an intruder? Or, what just fell?  Did the roof just fall in? Do I know where the escape ladder is kept and is it still usable? 

    You’re driving in a car with your spouse and he turns to you with a shocked look on his face and says, “Did you hear that?” I’d better grip the wheel tighter. Did I just run over someone? Did the axle just fall off of the car?  This reminds me of the time I was driving 55 mph on a highway with my mother and I ran over someone else’s exhaust pipe on the road, because I couldn’t avoid it and blew out a tire. My mother asked me, “Why are we slowing down?” as I tried to pull the car off the highway onto the shoulder with only three functioning wheels. That could have been a “Did you hear that?” situation.

    You’re teaching in school and one of the students jumps up and says, “Did you hear that?”  Oh no, are we being attacked by some crazed person with a gun. Should I go into lockdown, call the office, or call 911? I’m certainly not setting foot out into the hall to stop a knife fight.

    You’re walking down the street and your partner grabs you and says, “Did you hear that?”  Was there a car accident? A tornado approaching? Some dastardly rabid dog on the loose?  You know it could happen.

    Most of the time, none of these catastrophic incidents ever happen. But the creative mind does seem to have a bank of stored possibilities when asked to react to certain questions asked. 

    So I say be prepared ahead of time, before you ask, “Did you hear that?” so that when you do hear something that is not a life-threatening situation, you can either rephrase the question you ask or just make a statement of fact rather than play a guessing game.

Now don’t get me started on “Did you see that?”

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A Cup of Tea

Posted on February 11, 2021 by hdh

A Cup of Tea

Every morning Ellen woke up and had a cup of tea, before having breakfast and starting the day. Usually Fred would sleep late and not come down until she was ready to leave for work. Today was different.

Fred had woken up well before her and was nowhere to be seen when she woke up. She called out his name, but he did not respond. Yet she definitely heard movement coming from the downstairs kitchen. This concerned her. 

Throwing on a bathrobe, she silently went downstairs and peaked into the kitchen. Fred was there, fully dressed and working on something by the teapot. His back was to her and his body shielded what he was doing. What was he planning? 

Ellen quietly went back up stairs, quickly put on her clothes and then went back downstairs. This time she made sure to make enough noise so Fred would know she would appear soon. 

As she entered the kitchen. Fred was standing by the counter holding a cup of tea in his hands. He walked over to where she usually sat at the kitchen table and placed the cup of tea there. 

“I’m surprised to see you up so early,” she said.

“What?” he replied, “Can’t someone get up early and make tea for one’s adorable wife once in a while.”

The answer would have been yes, but he’d never done that. Not only that, there was a strange look in his eyes, one that she had never seen before. Something was definitely amiss. 

“I don’t see why not,” she said, “How nice of you. But I wasn’t planning on having tea this morning. I need to go to work early.”

“You can’t go to work without at least one sip of tea. It’ll help you through the day,” he said rather abruptly in a louder tone of voice than usual.

Now she was really worried. “Since you went through all that trouble, I’ll have some, but only if you join me. Here let me make a cup of tea for you.” 

As she went to the teapot to prepare another cup of tea, she couldn’t help but not notice there was not a tea infuser in the sink, nor any teabags. Clearly whatever was in that cup he made for her was not tea. 

She found the tea infuser and placed some tea in it. She asked Fred to check if the tea in her cup was still hot enough. As he turned to check she added a few ingredients of her own into the infuser for his cup.

When the tea was made, they both sat down to drink. Fred, not suspecting anything was wrong, drank first. Before she could even touch her cup, Fred was out cold. It was then that she saw the note sticking out of his pocket. It was a suicide note and it was signed with her name. 

Attempted murder is a crime. And so is murder, but only if you’re caught. It was not hard to sign the note with his name, after all it was in his handwriting. 

 

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The Shadow Knows.

Posted on February 8, 2021 by hdh

The Shadow Knows

It’s hard being someone’s shadow. First of all, you never know where or when you are going to show up. Sometimes you follow the person you’re shadowing, which makes sense since that is what shadowing means. But sometimes you are moving side by side and other times you are leading the one you are “Shadowing’” Shouldn’t you be called a “leader” then? 

And then of course there’s the size issue. Are you smaller or taller than your object or person? Are you long and thin or short and fat? A mirror doesn’t do that. But listed on your shadow job application and requirements are flexibility and adaptability. Also on the application is the requirement of stick-to-itiveness. Where ever your object goes, so must you. They may be standing still or running or digging a ditch and you have to follow their every movement. Even if they don’t work at all, you must always move, change size, shape, position. Our boss “Light” is a demanding one. 

The only breaks you are allowed are at noon when the sun is directly over your assignment’s head, if it is dark, or if your boss is just too lazy to shine. 

A shadow should be a well-respected entity. We are everywhere and provide a lot of comfort at times. Ask anyone sitting under a tree on a hot sunny day. We cool you down. That may be the only time we get any appreciation. 

We live in a colorful world. Beautiful flowers and sky, and oceans… you name it. So considering all of the colors available and how important we are you would think shadows would be the most colorful. But no, it’s monochrome for us. How boring. No wonder no one thinks highly of us. 

I mean, they even use us to make pictures. Get a strong light in a dark room and someone will put up their hands and make a dog or bird, show up on the wall. They think they’re so cool. They just have to fold their hands up, we do all the work. 

Life as a shadow could be an exciting thing. It would be great if all of us shadows got together and formed a shadow union. But alas, that is forbidden in our contract. If we ever do unionize, I hope the first thing on the agenda is to give us a voice, since we are only seen and not heard. I guess that’s where the proverb came from.

Hopefully, those of you that read this will now have a better understanding of our plight. You should stand still for a while and watch us work. A little applause once in a while wouldn’t hurt. And if you position yourself just right, you’ll even see us give you applause back. 

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Opposites

Posted on February 4, 2021 by hdh

Opposites

Being a two year old is hard. It’s not that I have no experience. I mean I’ve been around for over 730 days. That’s a lot of days. I know so much more than I did when I started. So if that is so, why does everyone always disagree with me and tell me I’m wrong?

“Here, you have to eat your vegetables. They’re so yummy,” my mom would say.

Has she ever eaten them without me around? Yuck. I want that sugar cereal instead. I know it is good for me. I feel so energized after eating it. I get no energy from vegetables. But no, I have to accede to their demands.

And these people know nothing of beauty. That painting I did on the living room wall was priceless. One of my best drawings, even better than the one I painted on the couch last week. But no, my dad would yell at me, “You’ve ruined that wall.  Now I’ll have to spend money to get someone to clean that ugly spot up.” Absolutely no appreciation for fine art.

Everything is you cannot do this, you cannot do that. Who made my sister in charge of all the things in her room? I live in this house too, you know.

And don’t get me started about cooking. Everyone in the house gets to cook on the stove, but the moment I go near it I get, “Don’t go near that, it’s dangerous!” from everyone. Yet they touch it all the time, even when they’re not cooking. It must be safe. 

Why does everyone call me stingy? Sure, I don’t want anyone to be playing with my toys, but what the heck, if sharing is so important,  maybe a little generosity on their part with their things that they won’t let me play with might set a good example for me. 

They always smile at me and want me to be happy. Well, I’m not. I’m quite sad. They don’t give me the opportunity to do anything. It’s always “Don’t do this Junior.” “No, Junior.” “Not now Junior.”

Heck, I’m over 730 days old. I should be considered a Senior by now, especially since the new kid just arrived yesterday. I’ll bet she gets to do all the things that I can’t do once she gets home from the hospital. 

Just wait until they want me to help her or do anything. I’ll just do the opposite. It will serve them right. 

 

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