MAGPIE 25 ...A LOTTO STORY

The following was inspired 

by Willow's Magpie Tales.
Go visit HERE for 

FAR more creative 

poems, stories etc!

ALL LOCK AND NO KEY

THE LOTTERY

There is a twinkle in the old lady's eye.
My dear mother, all grayed, ready to die.
Where there's a will, there's also a way
To keep on moving in this life...to stay
In the situation. That is her today.
It is her mind which is failing.

With camera, computer in a tote
Inspiration called to me, and so
After lunch I sat down and wrote:

Once upon a time
A little man 

Wrote a little rhyme
In it he said that I'm
Nor fit nor able to climb
Up out of all this slime.

Forever he kept me
Under lock and key
Until, at last, you se.....
...(ring, ring!....ring, ring!)

Yes, what is it? What d'you wish to say?
Yes, I'm sitting. I am writing.
I am composing my first masterpiece
Which will breathe into my life new lease.
What is it?
Tell me, please...

WHAT? The LOTTO?
Where? The Tri-State?
When? Last night?
How MUCH? Over $3 Million!!!???

I'll be right home! Wait for me, my love!

...Where have you been? So much time
To get home here with me, where you belong.
Your mother is in a reverie so sublime
Rocking in her chair, singing that happy song

She hasn't known a real thing for years
Her mind is gone creepy-weepy
Now we must design some good plan, Honey
For how we are going to keep all that money
From her knowledge.
She'd just end up giving it away
To some college, or to anoth-----DING-DONG!

The doorbell! But WHO? Should we-----DING-DONG!

OK I'll go see...Hello, how can we help you?

Good evening. I am your mother's attorney. She phoned my office as soon as she received word about her lottery winnings. We are here to discuss with your mother privately her wishes for handling a prize of this size--it IS a lot of money, you know......do you have a room with a lock where we may meet?

--steveroni

(Still sober--although you may be 

wondering about that by now???--grin!)

 

FRIDAY "55" ... ALFIE--WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT???

Wholly absorbed in the present
Carrying little of the past
Worrying not of the future

Attached to no person nor thing
I finally taste
The Symphony of Life.

It alone deserves this love--of
My passionate attachments:
Heart, Soul, Mind, Strength

Unencumbered,
Living in the Eternal NOW...
Of what else IS the meaning of life?

--steveroni

(inspired by Anthony De Mello)

 

The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, (click HERE), a host with the most (years--grin!).

COFFEE SHOP WITH A MISSION STATEMENT

On the corner of the HAZELDON TREATMENT CENTER--NAPLES

 

Take a peek at new Hazeldon in Naples, Florida. Top left photo (in link) is the "Coffee Corner", by that palm on the right is where I park my scooter daily. I have NO affiliation with HAZELDON. Simply I buy a cup of (REALLY GooooD!) coffee, and chat with the Peeps who come and go. It is a fun way to relax for an hour or two, and also occasionally "Pass The Message" (of recovery).  And also "receive" that message--grin!

I just wrote a short poem in honor of...BARISTA and friend, John W.

There is a new place
In Naples Florida
Where peeps come to face
Problems personal--like LIVING!

On the corner, a Coffee Shop
Big easy chair
And that is where
One can see steveroni plop

"MY" chair, if I get there early--opens 7 AM-2:30 PM

 I sit there, aware
Of Peeps' Afflictions
Of Peeps' Addictions
'Cause I been there.

It's called "HAZEL'S CUP"
Peeps meet and say "Wa-sup"?
We discuss old times and new...
We might even talk about--YOU!

If recovery could happen simply by reading, "THE CUP" is the place to be....

Peeps, this is a thumbnail of one small part of my day. Hope you enjoyed the quick tour. 

"And all Peeps on the ships at sea--
When you pray at night, think of me."

 --steveroni

EXCEPTIONAL CES!

There exists SO many fine--THE finest, most sensitive, spiritually-centered--artists in these blogs. I have "met" about a small number of them through our Blog Connections (one in person!). An art connoisseur I am NOT! But I have come to love, in this short half-year, the people who do this, the messages, and their work.  CALLI, sent me her LADY IN RED, last year, which is hanging now above my computer. CATHERINE (CAT) VIBERT sent a print (#1/100), postcards, and a bonus piece which I love. All are hanging here.  Other artists which I admire SO much are Manon WOW!, LINDA, California girl, whose Header "FARM SCENE" has so wonderfully changed (as if by magic) over this year...and there must be more? Oh Yessss--Cessss! (Actual Name: CES ) who provided inspiration for this blog post titled:

EXCEPTIONAL CES

Ces sent me an Acorn which she drew "just for steveroni" (I have to believe that--pride, you know--grin!)  ACORN is pictured below, I propped it against a vase in dining area:

Hey I had to get some BLUE in here, OK?

The Biggest Damm Acorn Ah Evah Deeid See!

A TREASURED NOTE FROM CES

ACORN AND NOTE FROM CES

CES, CES, CES! YOU have sent me the most nicest gift, and porquoi? For doing simply what I enjoy, staying up late, and kibitzing with others (like you) who stay up late.  PURE happy moments, exchanging silliness in early-morning comments.

And you GIFTED me!  How EVER can I thank you, except maybe to do something for another.

My blog would like to post most of this Email, unless you have an objection.
 
YOU! A real blogger-friend.
Steve! A real grateful blogger guy.

PS I'd like to tell you about this funeral I played Saturday.  It was quite large in numbers, a prominent AA guy here, and big BIG Italian NYC family--looked like Mafiosi to me! Anyway, one of the Mafia Princesses sang the whole mass, and Panis, and Ave Maria. I played obbligatos to her singing. 

As soon as we began our brief rehearsal, we each looked at the other, and KNEW we had "clicked". It evolved into a most beautiful musical funeral. The whole Italian family (7 sisters, and all their husbands and children, etc) loved every bit. 

A truly wonderful experience for this old fiddle player. Man who died, age 53.....I overheard someone say something about a garrote. Does that mean he died in the attic?--grin!
S

Peeps, that is my post for today. Soon I will be posting other artists with whom I've become acquainted here. It is my HONOR to applaud them, the only gift I have--and to love. 

And yep, 
I am sober today.
At peace today.
Love you Peeps, always and forever!

--steveroni

MAGPIE 24 --THE BAD BED

Go HERE for first part of story

Saturday's post on steveroni.

 MAGPIE 24
the bad bed

Beautiful, comfortable, sleepable big bed.
"Why only half-used?" She mused...
Responding to herself she said

"He went away, in middle of night
And now I cannot tolerate the sight
Simply cannot stand Stan
Any more, that stupid man!

It has been nearly two weeks since
(Just thinking of it makes me wince)
And I have heard a bit of news--some
Crazy man jumped off a thirteenth floor

To his death. Oh! Think of the gore,
All those broken bones and more.
It could NOT have been "stupid-the-bore"--
Or...could it? I'll just go back to bed. ZZzzsnore!

Can't get to sleep.
Damned horn Beep.
What is it, Pops?
Oh God, it's the cops!

Ma'am, do you know this man?
Officer, this is the guy who ran
Out on me, left me all alone.
Don't care if he NEVER comes home.

Shhhh! Now she is thinking:

OMG, I cannot suppose
That big ugly construction fellow
With two rings in his nose
(couldn't abide streaks of "yellow")....

Oh crap--he DID say he'd "take care of things".
Packing two guns along with those rings
Did  he "take care of" my man?
Oh! What they do to you, Stan?

My bed is but half filled
No more will I be thrilled
By such as your sweet touch
I sill love you very much

But rot in hell, you bag of bones!
Again my bed and I are not alone
Didn't you ever, ever even once suppose
I might be playing with the rings in Joe's nose?

--steveroni

As I understand, to do a MAGPIE, write a short story or rhyme using MAGPIE'S weekly PICTURE as a guide. It is REALLY FUN--or I would not be here. Go to MAGPIE for more info, hardly any rules...and lots of leeway for this one, Peeps!

ONE STEP AT A TIME

 STEP ONE
A REVERIE

It must have been that first step. But that was NOT my first thought, which was more like "Wheee! This feels almost like flying!" What a short-lived thrill. Flapping my arms and hands did nothing to level my flight. Even my feet were trying their best to bring me back.

Why do I still feel that sharpness-of-needle-point poked into my wrist? What the bloody hell, enjoy it while it is happening, yes? I was instructed only to take one step, the first. Simple. Easy. GO for it! I'm drowsy, actually sleepy...scarcely remembering. Why did those men have guns? They had been shoving me around like a wet rag-doll.

And then...well, NOW--it is becoming clear. They were bad men. They drugged me. They put me at the edge of the world, a doorway into nowhere. Everywhere. "Take one step forward".....

Oooh-kaaay! And--feeling as if in slow-motion, it became my final unwilling--yet willing--human act.

Yes, there is that tunnel. At the end, WOW! that bright light. I believe there is no way to go back--do not wish to go back...back.....back......black, black, BLACK!

"HEY! Did you guys SEE that? Fellow just walked out on the ledge, said something about 'Take one step' and over he went. Didn't he know we are on the thirteenth floor?  OKAY guys, back to work, I'll call EMS. Did anybody recognize him?"

"Sargent, we had never seen him before this evening. He just mumbled he was going to take Step One. Guess that First Step was his Last Step."

--steveroni 

NOTE:   This is my first recollected try 

at a 'real' short story, which is NOT about

...well, me!  So please be kind this time. OK?

SUNDAY NIGHT WILL BE A 

CONCLUSION FOR THIS STORY

RIGHT ON THIS BLOG...

MY FLASH "55"-WORD FRIDAY

FLASH "55"-Word FRIDAY!

  

The message following
Is being sent to a friend
Far across rolling
Water-waves
In country tropical:

The old man asked this of me
"Do you wish to hear God?
Do you wish also to see?"

Question first
Now the answer--

"Look intently at
Your Nation...
Creation.
Then listen to the
Sound of the sea."

--steveroni

The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most (years--grin!).

AMENDED: Few Words Thursday

Dreams have only one owner at a time. 
That is why dreamers are lonely.

Erma Bombeck

AMENDED

Thank you for being here. A dream is so private a happening, with thousands of nuances which, as much joy it would be to share, there seems--to me--to be no way for any other to have even a clue show up as same or similar, in their part of the share. My opinion. 

--steve 

Image: In good Hands by Mity Mite

 

DO ME AN HONOR--READ THIS PLEASE!

A PARTIAL REPOST FROM JUNE 27, 2009

  MAY I ENTER?

WHO AM I??

A lover knocked at the door of his beloved.

"Who knocks?", said the beloved from within.
"It is I", said the lover.

"Go away, This house will not hold you and me."

The rejected lover went away into the desert. There he meditated for months on end, pondering the words of the beloved. Finally he returned and knocked at the door again.
"Who knocks?"

"It is you."

The door was immediately opened.................
 
--Anthony De Mello, "The Song of the Bird", pp 99-100

After reading the above parable, a thought was implanted in my head as I rode the next early morning before meetings, before day began. I might say "before light". however, I seemed to have sensed a certain light from the pre-dawn darkness

MY "IMPLANTED" THOUGHT
(interpretation)

In this dream-story, the 'Beloved' is God. I (or one of you Peeps?) am the Lover knocking. When God says, "There is not room for both of us in this house...", He IS referring to the 'self', my Ego, my Pride.
 
So, after months of meditation in the desert and a burning, yearning, learning experience I return to the door of heaven. In answer to God's query "Who is it?" I answer, "YOU!"

And the gates of heaven are swung open in true "welcome"...

What does this mean to me? All that there is left--after all's said and done--is GOD! That's why we say now, with certain certainty, "God, the Great Reality, is deep down within us...that is the 'only' place He can be found." --Paraphrased from Big Book, Page 55
 
Isn't that a beautiful thought, a beautiful story? And...be pleased to know this IS the last you will read of it--from me, that is!
 
Thank you bloggers, for allowing me the freedom of expression. I write what comes to me, hoping you will forgive my inadequacies and share in the thrills of spiritual peace, day-to-day serenity, and little more than the willingness to be helpful to any and all, through Him, with Him, and in Him.

Peace, blessings, and yep! Love,
 
--steveroni

A BIT OF TRIVIA

(It did not seem fitting to place this between what's
meant to be spirit-filled lines of thought above.)

When Berlin was under horrendous attack toward the end of WWII, two civilian enterprises there continued non-stop operation. The weather bureau and SEVENTEEN BREWERIES!

Parts of "Trivia" are taken from L.M. Boyd's "Curiosity Shop"

WHERE GOES MY HEART--THERE GO I

WHERE GOES MY HEART
There go I

 Sunday evening as I sat admiring a painting on the blog of fantastic artist Manon Doyle, a title for her piece came to me. I commented (Why-oh-why do I DO these things?) that if she would use my title, I'd write a song to go with it. NEVER in my life have I even distantly harbored a notion of doing something like this. 

Anyway, I sat right down and the words (lyrics, if you will--grin!) just poured forth, "ready-or-not---here-I-come"-type of thing.

Manon seemed to like what I wrote, and we'll see what happens with the music. I invite any of you bloggers to give me some ideas--pointers, on writing a tune. I'm just a fiddle player. I can write notes, do not understand "charts"...

You might wish first to zip over to Manon's blog and see the wonderful work she does there. This URL is specifically for the painting "Where Goes My Heart Go I"

SONG LYRICS

Where goes my heart go I
There goes my heart, so why
Do I not follow close
Even though most
Of me--body, soul--yearns to fly

To meet my beloved
To see him, kiss him
Yes, I wish to touch
Him. I miss, I need him
Way way too much

Fly me away to Asia
Europe or Malaysia
Afrika, Amerika
Wrap me in a package
Marked "Sent to the Orient"

To meet my beloved
To see him, kiss him
Yes, I wish to touch
Him. I miss, I need him
Way way too much

Each time we've met, I cry
Where goes my heart go I
My heart is already there
No! Here I will not stay
For I'm ON MY WAY

To meet my beloved
To see him, kiss him
Yes, I wish to touch
Him. I miss, I need him
Way way too much

--steveroni

LET'S TAKE A RIDE TO SERENITY!

One of the blogs I follow daily contains 

a particularly spiritual message today.

Please check Dulce out HERE

ATTACHMENTS OR REAL HAPPINESS?

WARNING: This is deep stuff-at least, for me.
 

Hopefully, we keep on learning, and it becomes FUN.  E.g., this sentence in a message two years ago to a favorite "artist" blogger, taken out of context:

"...when I read your messages, and you read mine (as now?) there is a special happiness which arises, and it is good...."

Example:  I used to write something like: "It sure makes me happy when I receive a note or a call from you..." or something like that.  This implies that  my happiness is dependent on your writing or calling me...and that's erroneous, on several levels. 


Today's inspiration--this is an edited repeat post of maybe a year or two ago--came to me in a small vest-pocket-sized booklet of De Mello's final Meditations. Topic is 'love'...of course, being a Jesuit, he's an expert! Oh Yeah? 

Please note that the following is an excerpt. It has to do with attachments to people, places, and things...mainly (I think) PEOPLE, and really needs the brief background of the chapter for true understanding:
From THE WAY TO LOVE, the last meditations of Anthony De Mello, page 58, slightly edited: 

"....I will not longer say to my friend, 'How happy you have made me.' For in so saying I flatter her/his ego and manipulate her into wanting to please me again. And I give myself the illusion that my happiness depends on my friend.  (What a responsibility for her to assume!) Rather I will say, 'When you and I met (meet, talk, write)...happiness arose.'  

That leaves the happiness uncontaminated by her/his ego and mine. Neither of us can take credit for it.  And that makes it possible for the two of us to part with no attachment to each other, or to the experience which our meeting generated, for we have enjoyed, not each other, but the symphony that arose up in our meeting......"

Peeps, I discern that inside happiness often manifests itself as an outward expression of my realization, my faith, that God is with us, and within us--each of us.  

Please do not ask me how I know this.

I bet I'm gonna be sorry after I hit "PUBLISH POST".....but, here goes...NOW!


SOBER today!
AT PEACE today!
LOVE today


Peeps! Live a good life...TODAY!
--steveroni

55-WORD FLASH FRIDAY+MAGPIE 23

MAGPIE 23

 (My first MAGPIE--hope it is correct procedure)

Rusty and old
Top used to be gold
But in the cellar
Still some color

It Is said
'Twas fire-red

Bereft...Distinguishable
Left on a shelf
Before it...you know,
Extinguished itself.

Something like me
Over the hill
Or even like Thee
When the years will
Accumulate
Accentuate
Violate
Until the final ill
 
Until...nihil

--steveroni

The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.

SPOOFERINO VIOLINO

SEVENTY-TWO YEARS TOGETHER

NOTE:  A POST ON  JULY 10, 2010 INSPIRED ME TO 

"COPY-CAT" AND I WISH TO THANK YOU THANK YOU (echo?)

CLAUDIA FOR ALLOWING ME SOME LICENSE IN USING 

YOUR IDEAS AND A FEW OF YOUR OWN WORDS. 

I HAVE IMMENSE RESPECT FOR YOUR 

TALENT AND YOUR BLOGGING.

VIELE UMARMUNGEN!

Your were age nine, I tender five
So young we, but very much alive
My mother gave you to me
And me to you. You see
It was not a marriage made in heaven
Me only five, and you...eleven

I touched you... I lovingly smelled.
(Relationship in doubt for several years)
You vibrated, and "OH!" you yelled
'Til screaming hurt Peeps' ears
Eleven was heaven
Five--still alive

They said it could never, ever be done
My hands could not fit your body
I touched your smoothest neck--and you were won
Over. I drank of your muse like a toddy
Unseemly to most--this marriage in heaven
When one was five, the other eleven

As I rubbed my hair over your rounded top
You had never, ever said "Stop!"
Ribs on  your sides, they loved my touch
"Maybe", said the Peeps, "Way too MUCH!"
Heaven and earth had waited
Eleven and five finally mated

My fingers slide over your body, pluck your strings
Slip around your neck, to do just those things
Which drive you to rhythmic shaking
Vibrating.

My lips brush slowly over sanded slopes
Kiss cherry-stained covering of God's wondrous art
The rest of me standing there...still...feet apart.
Whilst all of nature with me hopes

So good to spend time with you
We've spent lots of time together...
Hours of holding you, now not so new
Bliss'ly tied with our hearted tether

I fell in love with your smooth sound
You stole my soul from first moment.
I held you then, under my arms
As if to shield you from harms

Since, I tried countless others
But none ever to compare
With you, here, next to me
While those others just stare

You react quickly to what I suggest to do
I love to express all my emotions through
You, always true to your word
Forever gone wherever I lured
You are a mirror of my soul
You are earth, I am the mole.

When we perform, we love
And the Peeps below and above
Share with us All the Joy
Chords, Sounds,
Notes, Melodies.

Now at the end
It is now
We bow:

You, then
Only eleven
I merely five
Many, many winters ago
On a farm far, far away
Amid flying snow

I love you
My violin....

--fiddlemn aka steveroni

Inspired by, and a few of her 

own words used from 

Blogger-Friend CLAUDIA  

RAIN OR SHINE

For more than 20 years, this was

my view of the Florida SUNRISE--

Thank God, for SOBRIETY today!

A FEW WORDS

Florida's summertime showers

Happen daily, with regular hours
Usually in afternoons, two 'til five.
Gladly help everything to stay alive.

Thus, I perceive almost every morning
As Glorious renewal, a fresh new day,
God's Beauty on Great Display
Noticeably absent: my former forlorning.

Reflecting in sudden breaks of light--
Rising sun, left-over dampness from night...
And with exquisite smells, odors of Creation.
There begins my elation--my summation.

Every morning a lighted pathway....
Each dark night, a map to the stars!

--steveroni

(NOTE: The last 2 lines I picked off 

someone's blog, but cannot remember 

whose.  If it's yours, let me know please.)

Picture: Sunrise in a Bottle 3 by wbskinner.png @ Deviant Art

WHO? WHAT? ME?

CONFUSED   

JUST ANOTHER AA MEETING?
YEP!
THIS IS WHY I LOVE THEM...

Amended: We lost two this week to suicide, both shocking, because there were no clues that they were harboring "stuff" about which they cold not share with another. God, please take care of their souls, and let the lesson of their lives--and deaths--be for all to open up, ask for help, and share in this wonderful life of sobriety and beyond....

   
At a recent early morning AA "Speaker" meeting the speaker was talking about the chaotic life he's lived, the money he'd owed. Thousands of dollars in child support, many, MANY thousands to the IRS, thousands to former employers, employees, also former business partners. And he told of the Peeps he had hurt throughout life, beginning with the parental home, then the marital home, then the next marital home, etc....children--not physically... friends  who were friends no longer.

All these streets have now been swept clean, owed debts satisfied, amends made, changes in himself, changes which came about in some others BECAUSE of his new way of life. IF you are recovering (OK..."recovered") from an addiction, you understand of what I am writing here. If not, you well may still "get it"...OK?--grin!

The point is soon coming, stay with me here.  He next told of how he "found" AA, attended a few meetings, had trouble deciding whether he was an alcoholic or a "social" drinker.

(I am again hearing those words:

If I drink to be social, it is not "social Drinking"!

 
Actually he really knew deep-down that he had long ago "crossed over that line" because he thought about drinking much of the time, as in "How good it will be when I'm off work in about (ugh!) three more HOURS???" --OR-- "How wonderful that I have two days off, I can drink as I please with no work obligations!" And when alcohol was not in the "near-future" picture, he was restless, irritable, and discontent with himself, with everything.

At a meeting (years before), even though he identified with the THINKING of these odd sober Peeps, he wanted NO PART in stopping...and he just didn't "fit in". The alcoholic Peeps accepted one another with laughter and easy conversation, but not HIM. Nobody went out of their way to talk with HIM!

When, at the finish of the meeting, all stood in a circle next to each other to meditate a moment, there was no place for him in the crowd.  He was ready to sneak out of the room, when one fellow said to the girl next to him, "Hey, let's move a bit so this new fellow can get in here". Then, with a big smile, "Come on in buddy, there's room for everyone here--grin!"

At this point, the speaker was in pre-cry mode, as he choked a bit, and softly said, "THAT'S when I knew I belonged here. I was now ONE OF YOU. I FIT IN. I STAYED. I AM STILL HERE 36 YEARS LATER. Thank you AA Peeps from the bottom of my heart for giving me my own Higher Power as I understand It. I call It by its name, GOD. And I thank GOD for bringing me to you peeps, when I had not a clue God was doing so."

HERE IS THE REAL POINT: I never know when a single word of encouragement, a calmness of demeanor, a look of recognition, a smile, will be that message which God is sending to a Peep who is suffering inside with all the fear, anxiety, low self-esteem, anger, hatred, bitterness, guilt, resentment, self loathing, depression.  A message which might help relieve her/him from the bondage of self.

PEACE, Peeps!
LOVE, peeps!
SOBER today, Peeps!

--steveroni

PICTURE BY:  

Confused__by_sinademiral

@ Deviant Art

GOD, YOU ARE HERE AFTER ALL!

May God protect the players--and the fans--at the WORLD CUP FINAL today, Sunday July 11 . ABC TV and UNAVISION will air the game between NETHERLANDS and SPAIN 

at 2 PM EDT in the area where I live.

One who commented on my blog asked me if the header picture is my bass. I wrote her that it wasn't mine, but that it was a violin.  So it is from Dianne's suggestion that I remember and blog this experience:

This story I may have 

blogged two years ago

not sure--oh well...

A VIOLIN--IT'S MAKER--HIS PROGENY

Fifteen years ago I was returning from Cincinnati Ohio, on a flight to Fort Myers, an hour drive from Naples Florida, home. home. Seated next to me was an attractive woman, very quiet, as was I--yes, believe that, if you can--grin! Fort Myers International Airport was being drenched with an electrical thunderstorm centered directly over the landing strips. Our flight was delayed. This resulted in a "ring-around-the-rosie" circling of the airport high atop mountains of clouds and high above the raging electrical storm.

The lady I'll name Ellen asked me if the case under my seat housed a violin, that she'd been wondering about it the whole trip.

ME:  "Yep!"
SHE:  Oh! My Great-Great Grandfather was a violin maker, a luthier."
ME:  "Was he a famous maker?"
SHE:   "Yes, his violins are played by many orchestral musicians around the world."
ME:  "What was his name?"
SHE: "George Chanot. He is French."
ME:  "Lady, you won't believe this...but this violin of mine--under the seat--IS a Chanot!"
SHE:  (Thinking I am making an advance), "Welllll...may I see it?"
ME: (Hearing her disbelief), "Of COURSE!" I am just in awe over this happening here...what are the odds? ASTOUNDING!

I opened the case, uncovered the instrument, and she properly gasped--yesss, she gasped--grin!  My fiddle has a beautiful reddish color, which is envied by many. As she looked inside the "f" holes (Allright, guys, STOP IT now!!!) she could read the inscription of her ancestor's signature, the city, country and date. "Georges Chanot, a Paris, 1856" Some other words illegible...

It was an awesome moment that we sat there, each thinking of the wonders of this moment, this situation, this connection.

There should be some kind of ending here. whenever I think of those few moments before we landed, I feel like something is unfinished. I should have asked her name--she lived in Ft. Myers. I guess I and she were each so struck dumb by this event, we were beyond normal "thinking" stages of behavior. So, that's it.

Oh, just one more thing. She asked if I'd play something. And so, still seated and belted, I bowed out a couple brief show tunes. She cried softly, silently, genuinely and tearfully.  The passenger Peeps enjoyed every minute of this whole episodic adventure, even my playing.  Passengers and airline Peeps alike, were supportive, and agreed that God had a plan here, but nobody could guess what that was.

...and fifteen years after--neither can I.

THE DEVIL DEVILS EGGS

YOU WANT EGG ROLL 

WITH THAT????

Several years ago I was member of a group which decided to have a "pot-luck" annual celebration dinner. You do not need to know this, but the only thing I EVER did in the kitchen area is wash dishes--by hand. I do not like dishwasher appliances, they are SUCH a waste of water and power (hot water)!  I did watch my mother--at age 7 (me, not mother!) make deviled eggs.  And I fondly recall how the dish on which her eggs were served was the first empty dish at the party.

I literally had to ask what "Pot-Luck" meant, since I thought maybe the one with the biggest stomach won a prize.  (Let's see--do I know any prize-winners?--grin!  Any prize-winners out there? Bloggers?)  Actually, I like the looks of a well-fed stomach.  (BRIAN would have a ball with his ice cubes melting and dripping over the skin af a prize winning body-front!)  The scene often portends a happy-go-lucky Peep who just doesn't give a DAMMM how they look.  And I LOVE that attitude!  Note to self: I must write a short piece about Frumpy, Bumpy and Lumpy!

Back to the eggs. The Peeps volunteered ME to buy or prepare an hor d' ourve. I determined to "cook" something. After all I make coffee (while doing dishes!). Upon finding out it required 6 dozen eggs for 144 pieces, I was ready to back out. However, although I don't do our marketing, I enjoy being in the supermarkets.  They smell good, and are clean, bright and pretty.  Something comforting about being around all that food, even though some of the names I've never heard of, before nor since.

6 Dozen "large" eggs...HEY! WHOA!!! THESE aren't "large"!  When we sold eggs on the farm 60 years ago, these would have been labeled SMALL. What happened, did the large eggs shrink? After filling my hand basket with six cartons of Extra Large eggs, it was time to search for the Helmann's Mayonaisse.  And the mustard--bland, yellow. I had trouble finding plain old mustard, there were too many choices of colors and flavors.

Oh Yeah! Don't forget Paprica and salt and pepper. Well, as I found out later, we had at home enough already of the condiments to last until September 2085 AD.

So, with everyone gone, I alone in the kitchen, became chef-of-the-day. With cookbook in hand I timed, boiled, poked with needle (ouch), salted, did all the right things. Then I set up a sort of assembly line for the fine art of pealing the eggs, separating the yokes, beating, stirring, tasting, adding this-and-that.  Each yoke I looked at as a baby being aborted...How cruel are we to just EAT these embryos!  Well, I ate enough of them that I should be living in the chicken coop.

Well, "Serve chilled" were instructions. So I packed them with ice. It worked, but there WAS an easier way, I found...like the modern refrigerator?

The only injury I sustained was a sore back, from bending over the sink (NO--NOT vomiting--Sheeeesh!) for several hours...pealing the eggs. OH! Yesss, almost forgot, I ended up with lots of tiny pieces of egg shell embedded under my finger nails.  These finger endings became quite sore, and took several weeks to heal.

Didja ever try to play the violin with shell-embedded fingers? It is neither easy nor fun....
Bottom line was that "my" deviled eggs were the most popular item on the table that night! Even the toothpicks were gone!  And I ate about 12 of them. Is that a half-dozen?  Has "twelve" become "six"? Oh, my!  Well, when I remembered each egg was cut in half...YEP! One half-dozen eggs for steveroni.

Note: That was my only cooking experience in 70-plus years.  And this is my FIRST-and-LAST entry in the "Food Section" of our blog world.

55-WORD FLASH FRIDAY

If you wish to write some kind of story in exactly 55 words, let the G-Man know about it and he will respond. Then visit other 55-writers (there are many...) Go HERE

The City, San Antonio:
site of International Convention
of Alcoholics Anonymous
Celebrating the 75th
Anniversary of AA

RIVER WALK

...and WE WERE THERE!

 City that never sleeps:
Could be that all the Peeps
Are breathless
Restless
Nervous in
Service?

On "high" which
Will not switch
To low gear?
Not to fear.
Another Starbucks here!!!

Never had city seen
Such sights.
Stay, lights!

Never before
Sixty-four
Thousand Sober Peeps
Drinking coke, coffee
Maybe a spot o' tea

....At Midnight

....Here

SCRIBBLINGS

 EOS

...SO EARLY IN THE MORNING!

What is it I hear
Yet so unclear?
--Ringing?
Singing?

An angel came and took my hand
I felt as in a foreign land...and
As I awakened to rosy-fingered dawn,
Remembered--today I mow the lawn.

(Those exciting first four notes of Beethoven's

Fifth Symphony

Remind me daily of what must come before all else

...OR else!)

I actually SING this:

GET ON YOUR KNEEEEES...
Thank You God for sobrieties
For friends who stay at home I pray
For those Peeps who roam I pray...

"Please watch over N and D and M and C and V and

M and P and PG and D and Z and S and E and S and

J and J and C and C and Anonymous "L", G and K and

AK, and ML and G and I and S and S and F and C and...  

And...and...and SO many others!"

But first things first, the ex-drunks meeting:
At 7AM, still sober, and here we are greeting
One another, every single ninety of us.
I ride my Suzuki, instead of the bus.

OH! This scooter, a Bergman 650 cc
Zero-to-seventy in "under three"...
Early morning, breathe fresh, cool air
Ride right on, watch the People stare

At one of the happiest Peeps I know
Scattering peaceful seedlings to sow
Seeds of pure JOY where ere I go
Smiling...passing those who drive slow.

Detouring onto an old country road,
Turned quickly--leaving alive a huge toad.
I smell the stuff which makes grass grow
And perfume elsewhere in the breeze-blow.

Flowers there and here, ahhh--sweeter flavor
Midst odors of dry, wet, decay and tilled earth
I know God's world is ummmm, not a dearth
But a place where this Peep can still savor

Music, Poetry, Paint and Prose
Sleep, awake, and siesta-doze
Sobriety, God, peace--the dove,
Beauty, serenity, life and LOVE.

I'm sure that by now you well may see
Seventeen lines above--that Joyful Peep...
That happiest of Peeps was--is...ME!

--steveroni