It’s been 22 years since we broke up and I think about you every day. I live in hope that someone, somewhere in Cavan will bring you back.
I’ll always remember the night Gloria and Tricia got us together. It was love at first sight. Together we were dynamite! We were like Black Magic melting in a dark pool of crema topped Nespresso.
Since yourdisappearance, I’ve been raw. All I have now are my memories and memes on Facebook.
Cavan Cola, you were the best thing that ever happened to me!
In this picture I see a relaxed mother holding her new baby. Dad is sitting a short distance away. Maybe he’s a little nervous; a new baby is a huge responsibility!
I have a recipe for the new parents. I’ve used this basic recipe a few times down through the years, but tailored it to suit different needs and personalities. Oh…mistakes were made when often I used too much of one thing, or not enough of another.
I’d be interested to know how you would tailor this recipe to suit your own family’s needs.
Ingredients:
For the base you will need:
500g of child-raising flowers
One hive of honey
Equal parts of long-life blood, sweat and tears
Warm arms
Adoring eyes
Soft voices
Two big hearts
For the filling you will need:
One bucketload of empathy
Ten bucketloads of encouragement
Ten gallons of positivity
A gazillion gallons of affection
Endless supply of patience
For the topping you will need:
Four good ears
Two pairs of watchful eyes
Stern voices
Big cuddles
On the side: to be used sparingly
Worry
Annoyance
Irritation
Frustration
Method:
Mix together the child-raising flowers, hive of honey, long-life blood, sweat & tears, warm arms, soft voices, and the big hearts.
Keep very warm and raise for 4 to 5 years. Reduce temperature slightly and then fill with empathy, encouragement, positivity, affection, and some patience.
Raise for several more years. When pie begins to sprout hormones (Oh…you will notice), keep cool and spread with a thick layer of topping; good ears, watchful eyes, stern voices and big cuddles. Add lots more patience.
You will need to dip into your side dish from time to time—worry, annoyance, frustration, irritation—but use sparingly because it has to last for a loooooong time.
Continue raising and when you feel your work is done, place a huge blob of pride on top, then sit back and enjoy. Or…begin again!
Would you like to take part in SIPB’s first picture prompt? Please do. It’s good exercise for the brain. Visit here for more details!
Is it becoming obvious that I only have time for short blog posts lately? That may be true, but I also enjoy writing flash fiction and using prompts. It’s a nice break from the intensity of editing 105,000 words.
Charli’s 99 word flash fiction prompt this week is Sweet Potatoes.I’m combining this with a photo prompt that a friend sent me recently. Just something she came across while out for a stroll in the woods. Who knows what story lies behind discarded objects we see on a daily basis? We can only imagine!
Special Occasion
I waited to take his order.
‘What do you recommend?’ he asked.
‘The Sweet Potato Frittata,’ I replied.
And so began the rest of our lives together.
For every special occasion we shared over the years, we’d celebrate with sweet potato. It was our little joke.
Today we met for lunch at our favourite spot in the woods. He brought the coffees and I brought loaded sweet potatoes. ‘What are we celebrating?’ he asked.
‘Look in the bag.’
He lifted the paper bag off the table and took out a white stick.
Charli’s 99 word flash fiction prompt this week is to include stilettos, who will wear them and why. I contemplated telling the story about the night I nearly broke my neck in a pair, but it’s too embarrassing. Some other time maybe! Here’s a wee love story instead.
Cupid
My sister Ann insisted a night out would stop me lamenting over my recent break-up with my boyfriend Joe.
‘Wear your red suede stilettos.’
‘Are they not a bit fancy?’
‘Not for where we’re going,’ she smiled.
I followed Ann to our table in the restaurant—that was already occupied by someone else.
‘What are you doing here?’ I blurted.
‘Meeting my sister,’ he replied.
‘Eh…no you’re not,’ said Ann. She scarpered. I sat opposite him.
‘You’re wearing my favourite shirt.’
‘And you’re wearing those shoes.’ He grinned and I blushed.
Gloria McBreen 