One Fine Day

As writers we strive for perfection, a balanced flow of words that will hook the reader in.  Writing can be such a serious hobby as we push forward to get all the words out.  Growing up we are taught to strive for the best, work hard, and many of us have lost the art of play within the seriousness of adult life.  I felt like playing today with words, and losing some of those preconceptions of how a story should go.

Just a forwarning, this story is rather pointless, and silly, and well, isn’t exactly  something I’d normally want to publish, but I’m all for silly fun, and I’m not afraid to hide it =)

 

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http://www.flickr.com/photos/osucommons/3387855728/sizes/z/in/photostream/

“A snow capped mountain is a glorious thing isn’t it dear sir?”

“Why yes Mr. Potts it is indeed. How fortunate are we to be able to come so far away to this land to bear witness to it all.”

“Well not without years of hard work Mr. Brown, after all if it weren’t for those natives slaving away on our plantations back in Malaya as we speak, we wouldn’t even be here. Although the shifty eyed locals certainly can’t be trusted, I don’t fancy having to pay a fortune to bring some distant relative or a jobless English chap over, after all, not many last in the stinking heat. The work is meant for local folk not for fine english Gentlemen like ourselves.” said Mr. Potts.

The two gentlemen continued their idle chitchat. They had rented a Ford motor car and with Mr. Potts large rump planted firmly behind the steering wheel, off they were to visit Mt. St. Helen’s. They had decided to leave their nimble fingered wives behind to play bridge and manage the domestic help, and vacation together in America where they had heard many a fine story from rowdy American sailors they had met on board ships over the years.

They had decided to stop for a light lunch of sandwiches they had purchased at a near by town cafe as they themselves were unable to cook despite the fact that their lodgings came with a kitchen. Mr. Brown s eyes followed an eagle soar across the sky and just as it disappeared from his view a crack was heard followed by a blinding light that brought irritated tears to their eyes.

“Good Heavens what was that?” cried Mr Potts, mayonaise dribbling down his chin.
“Why I do say, it was an act of God!” exclaimed Mr Brown who happened to be a God Fearing Christian and never missed church on Sunday’s.

Just as the light adjusted back to normal, and Mr Potts and Mr. Brown’s expression of shock started to fade, an old wizard stepped out of the woods and stood before them.
He had long silver hair, a pointy hat, and robes made of deer hide. Feathers dangled from his beard and his pink face had a particularly nasty sunburn on his pointed nose.

“Good day to you sir’s, I am Mordrid the great wizard, from Avalon, trained in the finest school of magic the kingdom has ever seen.” I seem to have gotten lost. Would you mind pointing the way to Camelot, I have some very important business to attend to there?

Mr Potts dropped his sandwich, his mouth full of half chewed food hung open.
“Is this some kind of an American joke?” Asked Mr. Brown in disbelief?

“I assure you it is not” said Mordrid. “What is an American, and who are you to question me? No one questions a wizard, surely you have met a wizard before?”

“You’re mad”, claimed Mr. Brown, “Why, Camalot is from a childrens tale. Surely you have spent far too long in these woods.”
Mr. Brown elbowed Mr. Potts who finally worked up the courage to speak “Yes, I am afraid you are in need of some assistance, it seems you’ve lost your mind!”

“Lost my mind? Certainly not, I have only just arrived here, and if you continue to not believe me, I shall turn you into a toad. I don’t like teaching people lessons the hard way, but it seems you lot are rather stubborn” said Mordrid rather calmly.

“Nonsense” Exclaimed Mr. Potts, turning quite pink in the face from the madness of the entire situation.

Sensing his frustration, Mordrid the Great turned Mr. Potts into a toad with a silent crack of lightening.

 

“Ribbit” Exclaimed a small green Mr. Potts from atop a half eaten sandwich.

Written for Writer Wednesday at World of My Imagination and Chasing RevelryThe prompt being the photo above and the five words Finger/Help/Relative/Cook/Tears mixed into the story.

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I’m engaged, no really I am!

I find it very hard to believe.  I look down at my left hand several times a day as a reminder that this is true.

It hasn’t fully sunk in yet.  It really, really hasn’t.

I think it’s because I was the kind of girl who rolled her eyes at the idea of weddings, poufy dresses and cheesy walks down isles with bridesmaids in awkward matching frocks, wedding vows, embarrassing speeches, and the dancing to ABBA after the banquet.

I was a tom boy for so much of my life, and so when my girlfriends would start dreaming starry-eyed about their ‘fairy-tale’ weddings with Prince charming, I’d look for any excuse to get as far away as possible.

My parents raised me to believe that the most important thing in a relationship is commitment and to truly love one another.  That is all that matters, and you only have to go through the wedding stuff if you want to.

Meeting Sam changed my life.  He brought a calmness, a peacefulness into my life and the feeling of being safe.  He is just so easy to be around, and easy to love.  He is a solid rock, my anchor, and I am the balloon floating around this way and that into the creative dream world of Spirit, like a kite exploring the sky, with the wind propelling it onwards and forwards, and the security of knowing I can’t get lost, because I can be reeled in, back down to Earth.  Grounded.

I do worry less with Sam in my life, and I relax more too.  Sam has brought a stability to my previously chaotic and somewhat nomadic life style.  He has turned just another big city into a welcoming home and a place of belonging.  This has allowed me more time and energy to be creative, to wonder in the world of Spirit, to get writing again, and to express myself and all the magic.

And I love him.  Deeply.

Sam and I have been committed to each other pretty much since the beginning of our relationship.  We gelled together liked a multi-coloured Colgate toothpaste.  He’s the blue colour, I’m white, two colours in a tube, squeezed out in perfect colourful harmony, with a touch of peppermint from my tea drawer for added flavour.  I believe we have truly loved each other since the beginning too.  It just happened that way.  We just knew.  We just fell in love.  We just committed.  Everything just fell into place.  Seemingly overnight, I had what my parents have, no cheesiness necessary.  This has been enough for me.

It was Sam’s idea to get married.  His family sticks to tradition slightly more than mine.   I believe my first reaction was to shudder at the thought, memories of girls squealing over poufey white dresses and ugly bright bridesmaids frocks rushing back to haunt me.  And then my darling said “but lets cut out all the tackiness, and make it something really fun up in the hills where we just love to be, with beautiful music, lots of dancing, our family and closest friends”  he won my heart onto the idea after that.

Perhaps it may never fully sink in that this is actually happening to me, not even when I find myself in a pretty white (non-frilly) dress, cracking jokes with my father as we take a little walk, seeing my best friend again who lives in Hong Kong, playing some fun little games, dancing to our beautiful spiritual and world music with dancing friends like many an evening past, all while looking up at the tall eucalyptus and gum trees of the ferny Dandenongs, listening to the cockatoos, rosellas,  kookaburras and magpies, and feeling completely and utterly happy.

This post was written in conjunction with Show My Face – 6 Word Saturdays and Carry on Tuesday # 129, the theme being “Love One Another”. Click on the blue linkys above to read other people’s entries.  

Utt…Utt…Utt…

It’s Thursday night and I find myself puttering and muttering around. Would rather be doing more muttering than puttering, but I seem to be too distracted by the puttering. Perhaps I should go make a cluttering attempt in the kitchen at cooking instead. When Sam comes home he will be uttering: “you actually cooked dinner!” And out of my mouth will come spluttering uttered as smoothly as buttering, “up.. utt.. um.. utt.. ur..”