In response to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Temerity and the limit, 69 words.
Illness after illness has besieged me from a fairly young age. I was diagnosed, in the dark ages, with severe growing pains. With hyper-intuitive nerve ball endings, with shingles, with herpes, with over excitable pain receptors in my brain and later, as a teenager and budding woman, as a hypochondriac. Very dark ages!
Now it’s called Lupus. My secret for survival? Stubborn temerity!
Sitting down at the dinner table, finally! Only after a ten hour work day, driving my youngest teenage son to his soccer practice afterward, a row with my seventeen year old daughter about the mess not only she had bursting through the seams in her room but left everywhere she went! A trail followed behind her like Lionus from the old Charlie Brown cartoons, that was her. Except, the dust cloud of chaos followed behind her, generally, and not all around her. But, something had changed this evening.
I did notice she was eating very slowly and watching her covertly, I could tell she was having difficulty eating. Several emergent scenarios ran through my mind in a matter of milliseconds. Cavities, loose teeth, a sore jaw? Oh Lord no, no wisdom teeth removal expenses right now please Lord.
As I watched something glinted and caught my eye.
“Daughter,” said I. “Open your mouth please?”
She clamped down hard, and winced. Now I was angry. “Tell me I didn’t just see what I thought I just saw?!”
“Ahh Ma, don’t go getting all hysterical. It’s all the rage, it’s brand new and I love it … see?”
My sweet, innocent first born opened her mouth after swallowing her food and there in the middle of her tongue, sat a massive silver ball. She lifted her tongue to display the clasp on the other side, holding her new tongue piercing in. It was swollen, red, looked grotesque and I just wanted it out.
She hurriedly explained that it had to remain in until healed to prevent severe infection. Yes, I verified this via telephone with the parlor that I reminded them, had performed this illegal service on a minor without parental consent.
The parlor apologized profusely stating she looks 25 and in fact, would turn her away if ever she returned.
“Ma! Now they will never let me back in their store!” My daughter was livid. Getting up from the table to stomp back to her room. “Everyone I get something new, you take it away or forbid all together!”
“Daughter,” I whisper quietly through her now closed bedroom door, “Just because something is new, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s welcome.”
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is our charming host for the Friday Fictioneers in 58 words photoprompt, picture from Brenda Cox.
Picture provided by Brenda Cox
His Works
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
The crowds race past the aging artist, no one paying heed to the beautiful paintings being created within the open air shack on the street corner.
A small child, less than six years entered, exclaiming how beautiful the cypress tree painting was. Kano Eitoku gifted it to her. Years later, the painting appraised at over $200,000 American dollars.
“We have to get down there Spock!” Jim Kirk’s voice nearly inaudible in the frigid wind.
“Captain, she could not have survived that fall and if she did, her Valerian blood would not tolerate the cold. She’s gone Jim.” Spock’s ever pragmatic voice, usually a comfort, only irritated Kirk as he leaned further and further over the precipice.
“Captain, it would accomplish nothing if you also fell to your death,” Spock held tightly onto Kirk’s hard biceps.
“Spock, what is it? Spock?” Now it was Kirk’s turn to grab Spock by the arms, shaking him.
Spock’s back had gone ramrod straight, his eyes glazed, his body unmoving.
“Jim, she is alive. She has asked permission to mind-meld with me in order to raise her core temperature.”
“Then do it man!” Jim’s voice cut through the wind.
“I am attempting to establish a connection now Captain.” Spock sank to his knees in the frigid snow and ice. “Jim, she is injured, she is shielding me from her pain.”
Kirk already had his communicator in hand. “Scotty, lock onto these coordinates. Beam Special Attaché Kyrie directly to sick bay, stat!”
“I’m sorry Captain, no beaming from down in the canyon. All three walls are solid iron ore, there’ll be no transporting from in there,” Scotty said. “We’ll have to do it the old fashion way with ropes and pulleys.”
Hours later, Kyrie lay in sick bay, her right leg immobilized, various scrapes, cuts and bruises tended to.
Above her stood the two men in her life. Both with their own degree of worry etched upon their faces.
Spock, “I’m still unclear as to how you fell Kyrie?”
“I didn’t fall,” she answered quietly “I was pushed.”
Written for Throwback Thursday, Hosted by Maggie and Lauren
This week Maggie asks us –
What makes you feel lucky? Is it a four leaf clover, a rabbit’s foot, or a lucky penny?
Photograph by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
I have never been superstitious except in silliness. I.E. As a child chanting, “Step on a crack you’ll break your mother’s back!” Which no one ever believed, obviously.
I do notice omens, when they happen; especially in animal form or by animal spirit guides. A lot of these teachings are handed down within the American Indian tribes. My grandmother was of the Saux and Fox Tribe in Tama, IA. An omen, or foretelling happened when nature sent a signal and the tribal leader or medicine man paid attention.
Should a flock of birds swoop down suddenly from the north, more than likely a cold, winter storm was on the way or in the summer, a mighty thunderstorm. If all of the animals came rushing out of the forest at once; a forest fire could be blazing or worse, a mighty army was headed toward the village. All were signs of something about to happen, an omen, a foretelling.
For myself, the majestic hawk has always stirred my senses and asked me to pay attention to my feelings, my circumstances or the area surrounding us.
Just a couple of weeks before Christmas, I moved. It was more traumatic emotionally than I expected and physically demanding. Then, my daughter and her family had to cancel their trip down to spend Christmas with me because she had contracted COVID and was extremely ill. Christmas was less than lack-luster as I was in a new place, alone, with my Christmas tree still in its box in the guest room.
The beautiful hawk came a couple of days ago and not only came but stayed a good thirty minutes. He sat across my back yard on my neighbors deck railing. I stood dead still at my back door when I saw him and I was sure he’d fly away. But he did not. Instead, he turned his head very slowly and stared right at me for the longest time.
After that, he flew to the ground in my back yard and started stomping before hopping quickly out of the way. He was hunting, patiently with perseverance and the fortitude of experience. When he finished his task, he looked at me then flew to the highest peak of my neighbors home where he sat regally looking over his hunting grounds. When I looked down at my camera and back up, he had gone.
My message from Hawk? Persevere, never give up and keep reaching for that next highest peak. Who am I not to heed this omen?
Weeks and weeks of tortuous aloneness exacerbated by Christmas and New Years Eve holiday celebrations going on all around – me
Waiting for that text that email that call that says you are thinking of me you miss me you are coming to see me – soon
Christmas passes without a glance back to see who might be waiting New Year’s Eve approaches anticipation builds excitement that the drought will soon – break
The tree is up and decorated a week past gift opening day Ready for you are prettily wrapped packages Beneath a beaming Christmas tree giddy with – excitement
The home is adorned pictures hung against bare walls Floors are swept Curtain bottoms dance across a polished floor practicing for that first dance with – you
The smart device signals with a ping a text, an email, a call Plans have changed you may or may not come Another opportunity as arisen for you Taking you from me – again
In response to Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge – December 28, 2021 by DEVEREAUX FRAZIER and BETH AMANDA – Today’s prompt: Use “my sins beyond” in any form of writing.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 
