Coming Soon!

While the garden has been left to the mercy of a wet winter and poor drainage, I was not neglecting my writing…well maybe a little. Except when hubby was working from home, I managed to write some new poems. These will be posted in August. I do hope you enjoy my most recently written pieces.

 

Chrissy

 

Police Embarrassment

‘This is the Police. Come out with your hands in the air!’

Three police cars parked strategically around the front of the gas station. The alarm had been activated and the police were called in. There had been a spate of break-ins and they had finally caught the culprit in the act. Firearms used in the previous two robberies made the police nervous. They guarded themselves behind their cars where the faint smell of body odour and heated engine oil mingled. Neighbours awakened by the early dawn invasion, gathered cautiously outside their homes to observe the commotion.

‘Do you hear me? This is Police Officer Brody. Come out with your hands up!’

The door opened slowly, revealing a small laced-up boot. The officers dropped down behind their vehicles, guns cocked.

‘Please don’t shoot’, a quiet trembling voice responded.

The door opened a little further and an elderly woman hobbled out. She was stooped low and walked with a cane.

‘What the…? Please step out into the open and put down your—cane.’

She dropped the cane and raised her hands as far as her skinny arms would allow.

Officer Brody stepped forward to access the situation. He motioned Police Officer Mandy Walters to carry out a search. Brody steadied the shaken old lady with his powerful hand under her elbow. Officer Walters placed the crooked walking stick back into an arthritic hand. She obviously didn’t want to embarrass the startled petite woman any further by searching her.

With an indignant expression, the woman faced the officer in charge. ‘I think there has been a mistake. You see, I left my keys in the bathroom and when I went back in, I noticed I had grease on my clothes.’ She rubbed at the spot on her weathered skirt.

‘I tried to wash it, but I had to take it off because the skirt wouldn’t reach the faucet. I locked myself in so no one would disturb me. Unfortunately, I think the nice man at the counter must have closed up for the night and didn’t realize I was still there.’

‘Where is your car?’

‘Sir! I don’t own a car. That’s my motorcycle.’ She lifted her cane and pointed with her bent fingers past the police cars and confused police officers. A Harley Davison that sheltered under an ancient oak tree glistened in the morning sunlight.

‘I find this all hard to believe. Tell me how you were in there all night without triggering the alarm?’

‘Well, you see…. I sat on the toilet seat to adjust my tights and I slipped off into the corner. I was stuck and didn’t have the energy to get up until this morning. When I left the bathroom, I was aware that I couldn’t get out so I shook the door. That pesky alarm just kept screaming at me.’

Brody scratched his head, completely mesmerized while she shuffled towards the Harley across the road. She mounted the motorcycle with a little difficulty, but unwavering. She placed an opened-face helmet over her greying, outdated hairstyle.

Using her key, the engine started up with a roar. Poking the cane into a side pouch, she flipped the kickstand up and drove off in one smooth movement. Officer Brody glanced at a smug-faced Walters before replacing his gun into its holster.

‘What are you looking at? You can do the report when we get back.’

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in
Short Fiction by Chrissy at Riverside Peace

Stinky

Thirteen-year-old Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway; arms firmly folded. Defiance kindled her annoyance. Tension grew as she watched her mother fill the dishwasher. ‘I’m not going,’ Sarah declared. ‘Give me one good reason why I should.’

‘It’s only going to be a month. Please Sarah; you know your father needs this cruise to help with his recovery.’

‘But Aunt Carla … stinks.’ She knew it wasn’t a nice thing to say, but it was true. Everyone knew it.

Sarah remembered their visit to her Aunt Carla’s at Christmas. She lived in a sun-bleached clapboard house in an old neighbourhood. With no car, she walked once a week to the store and post office. Her only apparent regular visitor was a nurse every Wednesday. Sarah recalled the embarrassment she felt when they took her smelly aunt to the Christmas service.

Her mother’s voice drew her back to the present. ‘I know how you feel about your Aunt Carla, but she’s close to school. You won’t be with her all day every day. Even church is nearby and you can phone Pastor Jim for transport to youth group.’

Sarah unfolded her arms and opened her mouth to respond, stopping short at the sight of her father staggering in from the yard. His mouth drooped on one side and spittle hung in mid-air about two inches from his bristly chin. She turned and ran to her room, throwing herself onto her bed. Her mother followed.

‘You will go, Sarah. The doctor said it will take time and this cruise will help. He’s fortunate the stroke didn’t affect his walking.’

‘Okay, I’ll go to Aunt Carla’s.’

Sarah ate her breakfast in silence. She ignored her aunt sitting opposite. The kitchen smelled musty and mingled with mothballs, which lingered in the air throughout the house. Neither had spoken much since Sarah had arrived three days earlier. In the evenings, the only sound heard was the tinkling of silverware against old dinner plates while they ate their evening meals. The spacious sunroom, consisting of a large comfortable day bed, a closet and an antique table, was where she would stay … out of Aunt Carla’s way.

‘Would you like something special for tea tonight? I can make hamburgers and chocolate chip cookies, your father’s favourites.’

The packet macaroni and frozen pizzas her aunt had prepared the previous night, invaded Sarah’s already depressing thoughts. ‘That’s okay, whatever you want.’

Aunt Carla rose to her feet and wheezed heavily; her foul breath caused Sarah to cringe. The older woman took her breakfast plate to the sink and stood with her back to her niece.

Sarah felt a pang of unexpected guilt. She finished her breakfast and hurried to collect her things for school. Her aunt was still at the sink when Sarah passed the kitchen on her way out. She heard her aunt sniffle and watched as she removed a tissue from her pocket. Leaving the room noiselessly, Sarah step outside and closed the door.

‘Sarah, what’s ya doin’ at Stinky’s?’ She looked up to see a face disappear back through the window of a passing school bus.

Keeping her eyes downward, Sarah began walking in the direction of school. She quickened her step and almost immediately bumped into someone approaching from the opposite direction. Sarah quickly apologized and knelt to pick up the items the woman had dropped. Sarah lifted her head and realized this woman was a community nurse. ‘Oh, you must be going to see my aunt.’

‘Yes, I’m Jenny and you must be Sarah. Carla’s been so excited about you coming to stay. You know, I overheard that boy. I’m sorry. It must be hard to hear people say such nasty things about your aunt. They just don’t understand that some forms of terminal lung disease cause the body to produce odour from dying cells.’

‘What? Oh…yeah. I better get to school.’

Sarah’s heart pounded and her breathing accelerated, but it had nothing to do with her vigorous walking. She began to cry thinking about the terrible things she had said and thought about her aunt.

Oh God, I’m so selfish. Help me to be a friend to Aunt Carla. Please look after Daddy and make him well.  I think you have a few things to teach me while I’m here. Help me learn…

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in
Younger Teens by Chrissy at Riverside Peace

 

Solar System Challenge

I decided to do this jigsaw while watching Voyager in the late afternoons.

Solar x 1

After connecting the outer border I decided to work on Saturn first.

Solar x 2

The table runner wasn’t making things easy. It was a bit of a trick to remove.

Solar x 3

By Friday, I was impressed with my efforts.

Solar x 4

Monday evening I finished just as Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant.

Solar x 5

I decided to leave the completed puzzle as part of the decor; at least for awhile.

Solar x 6

I slid the puzzle off the clear table protector and placed it on top.

Archived in: Retirement

Don’t Call Me Grumpy

Jessie stared wide-eyed at the freckled face of the checkout operator whose hair was as green as a florescent frog on high beam. She took a deep breath, reloaded her shopping trolley and headed to the back of the store where she plonked down the leaking carton of milk and retrieved a replacement before wandering along aisle after aisle until she felt ready to face another checkout operator.

The older woman wore a badge with the name Heidi printed in bold lettering. She was pleasant and the process went more smoothly than her earlier encounter. ‘How was your shopping experience today?’

‘It went OK,’ Jessie lied. ‘Thank you for asking.’ She tapped her credit card, loaded the grocery bags into the trolley and returned to the basement parking area.

After loading the boot of her SUV, she sat in the driver seat before bursting into tears. ‘I didn’t need that. I didn’t deserve that.’

It wasn’t until a car full of teenagers pulled in beside her that Jessie started the engine and reversed out of the car space. Taking a deep breath, she drove home.

‘Colin?’ Jessie asked that over their evening meal, ‘am I grumpy?’

Her husband of four years looked up; a surprised look on his face. ‘You mean in general or this evening?’

‘Well…either, I suppose.’

‘Not to my knowledge. You seem quieter than usual but I didn’t think you were grumpy. Why do you ask?’

‘Today was a trying day at work and I left late. I still needed to get the groceries on the way home. I must have caught every traffic light red and I had to drive around the car parking station for twenty minutes looking for a parking space. It really didn’t take long to collect the items I needed but I hadn’t realised until I unload the groceries at the checkout that the carton of milk was leaking and dumped a third of it’s contents on the conveyor belt.’

‘That would make me grumpy,’ Colin chuckled.

‘I did groan a little. I asked the cashier if someone could bring another carton and perhaps something to clean up the mess.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Now that’s the part when I almost lost the plot. She said, I quote: “I’m the checkout operator, not your maid and don’t get grumpy with me or I’ll call security”. I found myself just staring at her bright slimy green hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month. I just put everything back into the trolley, including the milk and went back to the dairy section.’

Jessie continued the story while Colin sat opposite and listened quietly. He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘That was just plain rude. You should have reported her.’

‘What good would that do.’ She sighed and a tear ran down her cheek. ‘I won’t be going through her checkout again, that’s for sure. The worst of it is, I think I convinced myself that I must have been grumpy.’

‘I don’t think so Jessie, you shouldn’t either.’

She poked at her food for a few minutes before speaking again. ‘I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the heart. I hear her words in my head over and over.’

‘Well, let’s change them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jessie, you are too sweet a person to be called grumpy. I think you should stand up to those nasty statements.’

‘How? Do I go back and tell her she’s a freckled face, slimy green frog? That’s not me either.’ She paused. ‘That would get security onto me,’ she added with a chuckle.

They both laughed at that.

‘I could tell her, and my head, that I’m not grumpy.’

‘How about: Don’t call me grumpy. I’m not grumpy.’

‘OK. Don’t call me grumpy!’

They smiled at each other before finishing their meal.

© Chrissy Siggee – January 2020

FICTION NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in:
Short Fiction by Chrissy at Riverside Peace

 

Mourning

Sixty days she’d walked alone,
counting memories along the way.
She stumbled every now and then
but knew she couldn’t fall.
Her mind was full of images;
her heart was full of grief.
Too many nights alone,
many days that would not end.

Now she sits on her garden seat,
bought together one summer’s day.
Tears spilling down her cheeks
lost in a world without her Paul.
She knows her life must go on;
her mind still filled with disbelief.
With every breath it hurt,
alone, she cannot comprehend.

One day she’ll fall in love once more,
with a restored heart to give away.
For now, she lives with memories
that she cannot help recall.
His presence’s felt all around;
memories bring fruitless relief.
Worst of all, no doubt about it,
she had lost her very best friend.

Autumn leaves fall to the ground,
like her tears they do portray.
Her face stings with salty wetness—
she wipes them away it with assurance tall.
She’ll face new challenges boldly;
yet still, sorrow will not be brief.
Time will heal and life will go on,
and her mourning heart will mend.

© Chrissy Siggee – 2019

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

Archived in:
Poetry Mix and Photography by Chrissy at Riverside Peace

7 years ago this week….

7 Year Anniversary Achievement
Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!
You registered on WordPress.com 7 years ago.

Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.

7 years ago I registered with WordPress.com, created one post then promptly forgot my password.

Back then I had no idea how to get back in and after a lot of frustration, I gave up. On a whim in 2017, I tried again and bingo!

I decided I needed to work this out. I was a little more techno by then 😉 I looked up a Theme and discovered “On a Whim”, so it’s stuck. Every anniversary I’ve thought about changing it but… every year I decide “On a Whim” is just perfect for me. 🙂