🙂 Tuesday = #Blogbattle

#BlogBattle is a weekly short story challenge using a single word for inspiration.  Hosted by the talented Rachael Ritchey. She has changed things up a little bit.  Now the word and the genre is provided.  This will definitely stretch my creative muscles as I attempt to write other types of stories.

Feel free to join in, or click here to read the current week’s stories and vote for your favorites.

This Week’s Word: Shine

Genre:  Folklore  – the songs, stories, myths, and proverbs of a people or “folk” as handed down by word of mouth

This is my Hail Mary pass 😉

Your Time to Shine

My mom and grandma are coming by to see my new house.  They were so happy that we decided to move closer to them, it will be nice to visit with them, it’s been awhile.

My grandma comes in carrying her famous coffee cake, and a Ziplock bag full of assorted teas.  I take them and put them in the kitchen.  After I give them the grand tour of the house, we sit down in the living room.  Mom and grandma fill me in on who’s doing what in the family.

As if she could sense what time it was, Grandma looks at her watch and says, “Oh, Natalie, it’s almost time for tea, can you put the kettle on?”

“Sure Grandma.”  I say, as I continue talking to my mom.  But she interrupts me, and says, “I’ll help you in the kitchen, we can talk in there.”

Nearly dragging me in here, “Mom? What’s the rush with the tea?  I was going to do it.”

“I know hon, Grandma likes to have her tea at the same time.  It’s what she has always done, and her mother before her, just indulge her.”  My mom leaves the kitchen to let Grandma know it’s ready.

Once they sit down, Grandma starts preparing her tea and says, “Natalie, would you like to know why we have tea promptly at 1:30?”

“Sure Grandma. Do you really do this every day?”

“Of course dear, it’s a habit now.  But I can remember how my mother would do it every day, even if she was in the middle of something, she would stop and have her tea.  It wasn’t until I had a home of my own, that she told me why she did it, so this is why I am telling you.”

I look over to my mom with eyes questioning, with a smile on her face she nods her head slightly letting me know I need to listen.

“Well, I know you don’t remember your great grandfather,” she starts then says, “God rest his soul” as she makes the sign of the cross.  “You see, he was a very wealthy man.  Shortly after he married my mother, they moved into a beautiful home that backed up to a forest.  She didn’t have to work, so she took care of the house, then us kids.  She had 5 kids within 6 years, so she was very busy.  She didn’t believe in asking for any help, this was her job, and she was going to do it.  Well, one day after she put us all down for a nap, she decided to make a cup of tea and relax for a moment before she cleaned the house.  But the tea relaxed her so much so that she fell asleep.  But when she awoke, the whole house was clean.”

“Wait…what?  How?” I question, looking at my mom and then at my Grandma as they both casually drink their tea.

“It took a while for her to figure out what was going on, but after that first time, she decided to have tea the same time every day, and every day she would fall asleep and the house was clean when she awoke.  She felt that there could possibly be something in the tea that made her sleep.  So, one day she pretended to drink the tea so that she could stay awake, and see who or what was responsible for this.  As she pretended to be asleep, she could hear movement in the kitchen, so she quietly got up and peeked into the kitchen to see who was in there.  What she saw, she couldn’t believe her eyes.”

Another pause as Grandma cuts herself another slice of cake.  Are you kidding me? “What? What did she see?”

“More tea honey?” My mom asks.

“Mom,” I whine not unlike an impatient child.

Grandma laughs quietly before she continues, “What she saw in her kitchen were a half dozen elves, cleaning with an efficiency and quickness that was unearthly.”

I almost spit out my tea, “Elves.”

“Oh, not like Christmas Elves with pointed shoes and funny costumes.  She described them as beautiful creatures, with fair skin and long flowing hair, the females and males, both with piercing green eyes, though they did have the pointed ears, and were small, yet looked very human.  Boy, could these elves clean, the floor had such a lustrous shine you could see your reflection in it.  That day when they were done, she followed them into the forest to see where they lived.  As she approached the tree they called home, an aroma of sweet goodness filled the air.  Not only could these small beings clean, they could bake too.  That explained the freshly baked cookies she found a couple of times sitting on the kitchen counter.  After her discovery, she contemplated telling my father about what she discovered, but then she feared he would not believe her, and send her away.  So instead she decided to make that her daily routine.  The elves eventually stopped coming once she didn’t need the help anymore.”

We were all quiet for a moment as I absorbed this tale, until finally I say, “So you both believe that actually happened?”

Grandma spoke first, “You see Natalie, the way my mother told the story, you couldn’t help but to believe.  Now, whether it was true or not, only she knows, God rest her soul.  But I know because of it, I found the importance of taking time for myself each and every day.  It helped me be a better mother, a better wife, and just a better person.”

“But mom I don’t remember you doing this, did you?”

Before she answers she nods her head back and forth, “Yes, and no.”

“What does that mean?” My Grandma inquires.

“I’m more flexible in not making it a set time, and my beverage of choice is coffee.  You never saw me do it Natalie, because I always did it while you were in school.  Grandma is right though, when she told the story you couldn’t help but believe it.  So, as I took my break each day and sipped my coffee, I thought of the story, and the possibility of things that we can’t explain.  That time has served me well over the years too.”

“So, you see dear, we share this story with you so that you can apply it to your life, however you see fit.  Because it’s in those fleeting silent moments where you’ll find what makes your soul shine.”

© 2017 Carrie Ann

🙂 Tuesday = #Blogbattle

#BlogBattle is a weekly short story challenge using a single word for inspiration.  Hosted by the talented Rachael Ritchey. She has changed things up a little bit.  Now the word and the genre is provided.  This will definitely stretch my creative muscles as I attempt to write other types of stories.

Feel free to join in, or click here to read the current week’s stories and vote for your favorites.

This Week’s Word: Air

Genre:  Suspense/thriller – fiction about harm about to befall a person or group and the attempts made to evade the harm

Not sure if this qualifies as suspense/thriller,  gave it the old college try 🙂

Rhythm is Gonna Get You

I wake up like I always do. With coffee and newspaper in hand, I step out on my deck to enjoy the early morning quietness before work. My yard is my haven, my sanctuary, the place I retreat to for peace and quiet. My job on the floor at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange is anything but peaceful. I stand up, take a deep breath of fresh air, and set my things down on the patio table. Stepping off the deck to check on my hanging planters, I near the grass. Something was odd, different. Yes, it was taller than normal, and at the top of my to do list for the weekend. But as I crouch down, I notice a large insect resting on the tip of a grass blade. As my eyes adjust, there are actually thousands of them, all balancing gracefully on the grass tips.  Unlike flies, they are undaunted by my presence or sudden movement, as I step back. Returning to the patio table to drink my coffee, I open the newspaper, my attention drawn to a headline that reads 17-YEAR ABSENCE BILLIONS OF CICADAS TO DESCEND ON THE MIDWEST. Skimming over the article, I peer out at the scene before me, thinking, they’re here. I go to work, without another thought to this invasion of my sanctuary.

Little did I know that this would be the day from hell.  I lost a boatload of money for one of my biggest clients, I’m lucky I didn’t lose my job.  Damn, I haven’t made a rookie mistake like that in 17 years.  My boss is being generous, he requests I take a mandatory vacation.  One to clear my head so I can get back in the game.  I’ve seen it happen to many of my colleagues, never thought I’d be one of them.  I stayed alert, stayed sharp, but this unexpected turn of the market came out of nowhere, I wasn’t the only one who lost big.

I spend the first 45 minutes of my drive home in silence to decompress.  The last leg of my trip, I crank up the tunes until I pull into my driveway greeted by the sweet sounds of nature that my overpriced mortgage affords me.

I pull up and turn off the ignition.  I pause, it isn’t quiet.  What I hear is something I’ve never heard before.  It is a loud hum, a buzzing kind of sound, yet it is very melodic, it isn’t made by one, but rather a legion.  The sound reverberates from the trees, the volume ebbs and flows like the swell of waves coming on to shore.  I notice my grass is no longer covered with insects.  Just like the article said, they retreat into the trees and make a lot of noise, this won’t be so bad.

I walk into the house, expecting to be hit with cool air, but I’m not.  I don’t hear the central air running, check the thermostat.  It’s set on 68, but it reads almost 80 as the indoor temp.  Just what I need, I’ll deal with that tomorrow, I’ll just open some windows. 

All evening, and well into the night, the cadence of the cicada’s musicality serenades me.  But finally, by about 11 p.m., as if some great maestro waved his wand, it stops.  The silence is deafening.  Good I can get some sleep.  Oh, there were a few interruptions throughout the night, occasionally one rogue cicada buzzed just to be heard, just like a petulant child.  But for the most part quiet.

The next morning is a different story.  With the rising of the sun, the cicadas awoke, somewhat discombobulated.  There was no melodic tune.  It was more sporadic, creating a cacophony that I thought would make my ears bleed.

With no luck in getting a Heating and Cooling guy out today, not until the first of the week, I move on with my day. I go outside to cut the grass, first checking to be sure none of the insects are still there, all clear.  With the lawnmower humming, I begin my trek across the yard.  The cicadas must be drawn to the sound of the mower, they begin to swarm around me landing on my arms and back.  They don’t bite or sting, they are just annoying, so much so I have to go back inside.  As the sun begins to set, the dissonance turns into a melodic lullaby.

Several days pass, the constant sound makes me irritable and fidgety.  My best friend and colleague calls several times, leaving messages just to check on me.  Each time the phone rings or pings with an incoming message, I feel like I could jump out of my skin.  I don’t return his calls, my text replies are brief. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.   It’s as if the cicada’s rhythm controls me.  During the day, I’m agitated and unable to focus, but as the evening comes to a close, the lull calms me, it’s then that I discover in my research, these annoying invaders are actually good to eat. The following afternoon, as I prepare to dig into my bar-b-que feast, my phone chirps with an incoming message.

Dude, haven’t heard from you, what’s up?

            Nothing

You OK?

            Fine.

Thought I might stop by.

            No, don’t

Why not?

            Not a good idea. Stay away.

The next thing I know, he’s pounding on my door.  “Martin, it’s me Greg, open up.”

Walking slowly to open the door, I nonchalantly say, “Hey Greg,” as I flop back down on the couch.

“Dude, what the hell? You look like crap.”

Looking down at my clothes I wonder when I had actually put them on.  I scratch the stubble on the side of my face.  Hmmm I should probably shave.

Trying to snap me out of it, Greg abruptly says, “Martin!! How can you stand this noise?”

I reply, “You get used to it.  It’s not so bad at night.”

He must have noticed my restlessness.  It was then he says, “I’m getting you out of here. I’m going to grab some of your clothes, you can crash at my place for a while. Why is it so hot in here?”

“Air conditioner is broken.”

When he comes back with my gym bag full, he says, “C’mon, let’s go.”

We are only a couple of blocks away from my house, when I notice a change in the air.  The noise, it’s gone.  When I get to his house, the first thing I do is take a shower.  As the hot water streams down my body, I feel like I am waking up from a dream.  The events of the last couple of days run through my mind like a bad quality movie.

When I’m dressed, I walk into the kitchen. “Let’s eat,” says Greg as he comes in from outside, with a couple of steaks on a plate.  The delicious aroma causes my stomach to grumble.  Nah, I couldn’t of.  Did I actually eat barbecued cicadas?

© 2017 Carrie Ann

This story is based on a real experience.  I have experienced an invasion of cicadas. Needless to say the kids and I freaked out when we saw thousands of them all perched on the blades of grass in our yard. It’s like they all just appeared in full force one morning.  My oldest son filled his super-soaker water gun and open fired on them, and they did. not. move.  The noise is just as I described, and can produce a sound in excess of 100 decibels, a loud rock concert measures in at 120 decibels.  My mom did not believe me when I told her the noise was constant and how loud it was until she experienced it herself.  This went on for weeks.