Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Papa’s Flashlight
She avoided going to the basement whenever she could. But tonight she did not suspect that her basement paradigm was about to be shattered.
Having descended the long creaky flight of steps, she begrudgingly acquiesced to the darkness, slipping into an almost trance-like state, where she and the night melded into a delicately balanced coexistence. Besides, lifting the heavy shovel gave her a sense of strength, and the uneven wooden handle created a strangely satisfying tactile tension, while threatening to send splinters deep onto her tiny palm.
The ‘delivery’ that morning, meant that there would be a new mountain to attack and the “chalk-on-a-blackboard” shriek of steel against concrete, was strangely reassuring. Wielding her instrument deftly, she slid it under the black, uneven lumps of coal and lifted the load into the smoldering embers. Sparks spewed, as the coals hit the fiery bed, and the reassuring crackle told her that the added fuel would soon be sending much-needed warmth to the rooms upstairs.
As the second shovel scraped the stall and another dose of coal was poised for dumping, as her goose-bumped skin reacted to an unfamiliar and frightening sound. Creeped-out and wary, she fought the urge to drop the shovel and run upstairs. Her shovel had suddenly (thankfully) become a potential weapon, as she strained through the darkness to see the source of the unearthly murmuring.
Hadn’t she told Papa he needed to change the bulb? But it wasn’t time yet, as a few more day’s pay was needed to fill the till before they could make the trek up to the store for replenishment of food and supplies.
There it was again!
She inched closer, delving deeper into the coal bin; guided by the now-flaming firelight. Spinning around, the mountain of coals at her back, she directed her gaze to the black crevice in the corner. A glimpse of white, heaving and shifting on the floor, confirmed that she’d uncovered the source of the inhuman sounds, now growing louder. Moving closer, shovel at the ready, she gasped, instinctively stepping back as she was suddenly and inescapably, face to face with her night-demons.
Dropping the weapon behind her, she bent softly and with care and delicacy, cradled Duchess, her miniature collie, who’d apparently decided that a dirty coal bin was a perfect place to birth her puppies. There were four little murmuring creatures, all wet and slimy, blindly huddling, being nudged to latch onto mom.
Moments later, aware now of human intervention, Duchess seemed to smile contentedly, swaddled now by towels and blankets, and surrounded by the fawning, pajama-clad family, led by Papa and his flashlight.
The house was very warm that night thanks not only to the coal delivery, but the unexpected subsequent deliveries in the coal bin. That dark, dank basement with its clunky old coal-fired furnace and sooty coal bin, had become a friendly place, filled with fond memories.
Decades later on the eve of Father’s Day, she rocks on her back porch, listening to cicadas and recalling that memorable night. She smiles, knowing that Papa is still watching, just in case she needs a little extra light.
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
Written in response to the Studio30P Prompts for this week: PAPA
Illuminating Irony
Re-enacted religiously since that night,
Remembering with sensual clarity the first time:
Crystal chandelier ascending; upward, inward,
slowly but seemingly inexorably,
Stunningly skyward.
Grand Tier light extinguished
As smaller orbs, in spoke-like formation
Follow, like ducklings waddling after mama mallard.
Lights go down when lights go up:
Irony, simplicity, harmony
🎇🎇🎇
Trifect Writing Challenge:
LIGHT (noun)
1a : something that makes vision possible
b : the sensation aroused by stimulation of the visual receptors
c : electromagnetic radiation of any wavelength that travels in a vacuum with a speed of about 186,281 miles (300,000 kilometers) per second; specifically : such radiation that is visible to the human eye
2a : daylight
b : dawn
3: a source of light: as
a : a celestial body
b : candle
c : an electric light
Headline: Disaster Narrowly Averted
Cicadas were everywhere: flying, landing, creeping and crawling by the thousands, so it was not surprising that one of the critters would land on his shoulder. For a split second that’s what he thought, before quickly realizing that something was amiss. This was no lightweight cicada!
He bolted up, just in time to see a tiny bird fly through the open sliding door into the bedroom, followed in excited, persistent pursuit by Bandit, a mischievous Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. In an instant, the Sunday morning serenity was shattered!
More importantly, there was a life hanging in the balance. After corralling Bandit and removing him from the scene, Bob assessed the unfolding chain reaction:
- Cicada alights on human.
- Bird pursues cicada, hoping to snatch the tasty morsel:
- Human brushes shoulder; Cicada escapes unharmed, Bird is swatted to deck.
- Dog chases bird into bedroom.
- Human secures dog.
- Bird hides in fear, under the bed!
The path was clear, Bob had to save the bird. With some coaxing, it was nudged out from under the bed, only to be wedged in the corner, still trembling with fear. Gently, Bob pushed the tiny bird out onto the deck, where it shakily sought shelter in a large shrub-filled planter.
Finally, Bob lifted the the protective wire mesh and little birdie flew away, probably to resume his cicada quest. Bob smiled and poured himself another cup of coffee, as he imagined tomorrow’s headline:
“Disaster narrowly averted: Man saves cicada-hunting, dog-fleeing, bedroom-imprisoned bird. “
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/10/daily-prompt-headline/
Reunion
Arriving early at the cafe to claim ‘their’ table, she ordered the ‘usual’ fondue and carafe, and nervously tried to temper her unrealistic expectations, even though he’d agreed to see her.
A decade ago when she fled Geneva, slinking from their pension into the dark alleys of the vieille ville like a thief in the night, she knew he’d be devastated.
The long-ago familiar click of his step on the age-worn cobblestones announced his arrival, just moments before she could read the years of hurt, loneliness, and undying love in his sad, forgiving eyes.
🌹🌹🌹
Trifextra Weekend Prompt:
This weekend we’re revisiting an early Trifextra, our second ever. The challenge is to write a complete story in only three sentences. Good luck
Weekly Photo Challenge: Fleeting
This fleeting moment, captured so beautifully by my daughter, tells us of the pure simplicity of the love a boy has for his dog.
This fleeting moment cannot be staged and will never be repeated in exactly this way.
But my daughter caught it, locked it in her heart and her memory, and captured it for posterity.
Victory Lap
I grow weary. I’ve been scanning the shoreline since dawn, haggling over bottom-feeders, swept ashore by last night’s tide. There must be more, but where are they hiding?
[She mused that perhaps she’d lost her mojo; that her age would inevitably push her into depending on others for sustenance, or worse, she’d be swallowed whole by a sudden shark-leap or pulled, gasping, to the bottom of the sea. She dismissed that thought, as if merely by thinking it, it would be true.]
Look at me…I am beautiful…I am strong…I am wise; wise enough to sense the life teeming beneath that distant swell, just out of reach.
Wait for it to roll nearer.
Climb!
Swoop!
Ascend once more!
[Gathering all her strength she soared upward, then swooped gracefully – as gracefully as she’d ever been. Her span and the sleek silhouette of her wingspan against the burning, orange sun rising above the horizon, created a perceptible frenzy on shore, as all stopped to marvel at her magnificence.]
I’m an old pro. I have stature, breadth of span, timing and wisdom, where the rest only have speed and flexibility.
I soar again and dive, daring to delve into the about-to-break swell.
With precision and grace I pause to strike; and for a moment, I’m immersed in the briny breaker.
Just as quickly, I escape with my prey, as the suds continue their rush to shore.
Success! I’ve charged forward to seize my destiny, while others wait and wade on shore.
Today, I am exhilarated and rejuvenated.
Today, I’ve earned the right to face this day, as I take my victory lap.
Today, I’m victorious!
Tomorrow, I’ll fight the survival game again.
Tomorrow will come.
Tomorrow!
🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠
Written in response to Studio30P prompt:
UNIQUE and/or SWELL
(for swell, you can go with the ocean swell with image below or the adjective)
Haiku Friday: Bordeaux
🍀🍀🍀
Shades of blue-green clouds
Kiss sun-soaked farm scene below
Bucolic beauty.
🍀🍀🍀
Photo Friday: Body of Water
The Mediterranean Sea glistened in the early morning sun, as our flight from Geneva tipped its wing low in preparation for our approach to Nice. Later, when this photograph was taken, we were perched on our terrace at the hilltop, Eze Village, viewing the same body of water, unencumbered by an oval window.
Here, high atop the mountain, we planned our day trip to seaside villages below, nestled along the Côte d’Azur. It was balmy, breezy and beautiful. Throughout the next few days, this unique body of water seemed to dominate my camera lens, with good reason, but this shot is one of my favorites.
Memory Lane
It was the summer of 2012.
A casual stroll through a quaint New England town had suddenly morphed into a glimpse of nearly forgotten youth. Expecting to find a cute cafe, but settling instead on a trendy pub, she was startled to find herself in the middle of ‘Memory Lane‘:
She was a chemical engineer in 1970, the lead process designer / software engineer, working out of New Jersey Headquarters of multinational consumer products company, and leading the spray tower automation project in Berkeley, California, slated for start-up that summer.
Her husband was a French teacher, whose Paris sabbatical coincided perfectly with her trip to San Francisco. He was to study for the summer at the “Sorbonne”, while living with a Parisian family. Considering her California project, the timing was perfect!
They said their emotional goodbyes on June 23, and a few hours later, he boarded the plane. They’d been married two years, had never flown, and had never been apart. Still, a summer apart would be good for them professionally, while they were young and otherwise unencumbered.
They wrote to each other every day, but snail-mail daily updates were old news; so their phone call on Bastille Day was greatly anticipated – the day before her departure for the west coast. She had so much to tell him:
” I can’t hear you…. your letters….? “
“I can’t hear you…”
“It’s Bastille Day …What about being ‘late’?”
“Honey…we’re….”
“What? …I can’t hear you…Are you…we….?”
“Yes! Yes…we’re pregnant!”
“I love you!”
In mid-August, he flew to SanFrancisco and for the next few weeks they lived in Berkeley motel. She went to work each day at the plant, where each lunchtime he satisfied her new craving – bologna, hard roll, mustard, pickles! On weekends, they got their “freak” on, strolling past lingering traces of Berkeley’s ‘Summer of Love’. 1970 was their summer of love.
In 2012, they finished their artisan beer and bologna sandwiches, smiling at the outrageous stage and at each other.
This is submitted in response to Trifecta Challege.
Prompt word:
FREAK (noun)
1a : a sudden and odd or seemingly pointless idea or turn of the mind, b : a seemingly capricious action or event
2. archaic : a whimsical quality or disposition
3. : one that is markedly unusual or abnormal: as
a : a person or animal having a physical oddity and appearing in a circus sideshow
b slang (1) : a sexual deviate (2) : a person who uses an illicit drug
c : hippie
d : an atypical postage stamp usually caused by a unique defect in paper (as a crease) or a unique event in the manufacturing process (as a speck of dirt on the plate) that does not produce a constant or systematic effect
Weekly Photo Challenge: “The Sign Says…”
Eze Village
Provence, France
As we traveled through Provence during the Spring of 2012, we spent a few days at the hilltop, medieval village of Eze.
While leisurely exploring the hilly cobblestone alleys and promenades, we soaked in the Mediterranean sun and saturated colors; a spectacular backdrop for this casual chalkboard creperie sign. (It’s curious to note the use of an American expression on this otherwise French sign, in the heart of France).
Most memorable, was that although we sat outside on the adjacent, creperie terrace overlooking the azure Mediterranean, our ‘garçon’ had to cross the tourist-filled promenade and archway, ascend a flight of stone steps to place orders, serve up bouteilles de vin, and of course deliver from the kitchen our perfectly made-to-order crepes. In spite of this daunting task, service was wonderful, warm, and as the sign promised – “non-stop.”
When I look at this photo, I can almost sense the aroma of melted cheese, and feel the wafting breezes blowing through my hair; cooling my sun-drenched cheeks.
Days of our Lives
Today,
we hide from
the dis-believers
below.
Tomorrow,
our paths severed,
“we” will not
exist.
Someday,
I will return
to this secret, solemn
site.
That day,
tresses falling freely,
tears will fall
silently.
I’m Still Learning …
My daughter, Stephanie is a talented young woman who writes an insightful blog. I think you will appreciate (click on the photo) reading “Marriage is not What I Thought It would Be”.
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 