Verbal Confusion

OK, so we get in the car to go for lunch.  The A/C is on and it hits hubby right in the face.  Now I drove the car last, and even though he is some 9 inches taller than me, the seat height adjustment puts our faces at approximately the same level.  That means that when I have the three closest vents pointing at my poor, overheated face, he gets a face full the next time he drives.  "You have all three vents blowing on your face?"  My explanation is this:  "Well, when I've been out and I'm hot and I'm stuff."  "So is that a roundabout way of saying that you're hot stuff?"  At which I laugh so hard I could barely breathe.  

Isn't it great when you can have a good laugh at yourself?

Shattered Dreams

Photo courtesy of  Magpie Tales

It was a house like any other in this quiet, upper-class, suburban neighborhood...or so it would appear.  With fresh paint and new cedar shingles, it nearly glows as the evening sun dips low in the sky.  On the inside, the setting is spacious and elegant.  It exudes a kind of an old world charm with furnishings from across the globe.  However, in the fall as the trees lose their leaves and the moon is full, the house takes on a different air.  If you look through the windows you may see an eerie glow moving around the room.  It lasts but a few minutes, and then disappears as if snuffed out.

The house was built some 75 years ago by a wealthy man for his young bride.  It was built from the finest materials that money could buy.  The furniture was custom made in England, and was shipped over by freighter, along with china and crystal.  There were Persian rugs upon the polished oak floors and chandeliers that sparkled like a thousand diamonds.  It was a dream come true for the young woman, for her life with her handsome husband to be lived out here.  They would throw lavish parties, raise beautiful children and grow old together here.  

However, fate is cruel, and on a trip to purchase yet more trinkets for his lovely wife, the train he was riding violently derailed.  The cars were nothing but twisted steel and mangled bodies beneath the fullness of the moon.  At home, his bride awaited his return with a candle upon her desk by the window.  All night she waited, alone and worried.  She had received no word, and knew not of the wreck.  The next day a telegram was delivered.  The terse message conveyed only the barest details of the accident, and that her husband was among the dead.  

Clutching the telegram, she sobbed uncontrollably and staggered up the stairs.  She had almost reached the landing when, in her grief, she missed the last step and tumbled back down the steps.  As she lay at there in her last moments of life, her mind returned to the past night when her husband was still coming home to her.  Each fall, around the time of her death, when the moon is full, her candle can be seen as she wanders through the house waiting for him to come home.

After the death of the young couple, the house was sold, fully furnished.  The new owners and their children and grandchildren have lived in harmony with the former resident.

Written for Magpie Tales #29.

Those Who Read Blogs Together

Have some odd conversations.  Here's a couple blurbs from last night.

Hubby said, "Redhead had a new one 8 hours ago."  

Me:  "Yeah, I read it, the one about..." 

Him:  "eHarmony Fail."  

"Yeah, that one."  He reads for a minute then asks, "what about that guy she had the date with?" 

"I don't know - someone asked the same question, but I read, commented and moved on.   I haven't been back yet to see if she said anything about it." 

Next:

"Did you read Babs Beetle?"  

Me:  "I did."  

Him:  "She has closed angle glaucoma."  

Me:  "Same as me." 

As he read through the comments, he noticed one where someone using eye drops not only missed her eye, but actually missed her entire face.  As he started to remark on that, he realized it was my comment, and said "I thought that sounded familiar", and I said, "that would be me."

I blog and he reads.  I think he got into it when I showed him the now famous Junk Drawer.  Any of y'all share your favorite reads?

Quote of the Week

I'll think about it...right after my nap.

To think too long about doing a thing often becomes its undoing. 
 - Eva Young


Sometimes we can over think a problem until we are so overwhelmed by the process that we make 
no further progress.

Night Terror

Photo courtesy of Magpie Tales

It was late, and darkness filled the room like death creeping in through the cracks in the old wooden floor.  The only light was that from a candle on the vanity. The silence screaming inside her head was deafening.  She suddenly had a strange, creepy feeling.  Barely breathing, she moved her eyes left and right, peering into shadows.  "I'm alone", she kept telling herself, "I'm alone.  I locked the doors and closed the blinds before I came up here." 

The old iron tub was quite the challenge to get up that narrow stairway.  The workmen were cracking jokes about rich gals and bubble baths as they lugged it up the steps.  She and her husband had bought the old house to restore, and the tub was one thing she insisted on.  Now, alone in the house for the first time since they moved in, she thought she would enjoy a long soak in her tub. 

But now she felt a chill even through the warm water.  It was then she heard the first creak.  It's an old house she thought, it will crack and pop from time to time.  It's OK.  In the hall, the floor creaked again.  Fear began to settle into her heart.  Maybe I'm not alone!  She looked around the room, trying to see anything that could help her.  There was no phone, and nothing to serve as a weapon.  She had refused to keep a gun in the house.  Only the innocent get killed with their guns, she had said.  Now here she lay, naked in her bubble bath in a dark room, in a big empty house, with a psycho killer on the other side of the door.  Maybe it's just a robber and if I stay quiet, he'll take what he wants and leave.  Please, God, don't let him find me.  Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears she was sure he'd hear it.  Then there was a footstep just outside the bathroom, and the rattle of the old glass door knob as it turned.  The door squeaked as it opened slowly.  Eyes wide open, she stared through the dim light toward the door.  As a dark figure entered the room, something glinted in the light from the candle.  It was a knife, the blade long and thin. The killer waved it menacingly at her.  This was it.  She would die here in her tub.  Now, oddly detached, her last thought was "I'm glad I had a pedicure".  She screamed one hoarse scream and slumped back into the now cooling water. 

"Lily, wake up.  Wake up, you were screaming."  It was her husband, gently calling her back to reality.

A fictional story written for Magpie Tales #28