Yeah, it snowed again. But on the predicted day, so Accuweather got it right. And tonight, overnight, it should get down to… 1 to 5°F (-12 to -15°C). And that’s not counting wind chill, which, according to my ears (and my skin earlier; briefly ⛄), is intense. Feels like: -25. 🙂 And it’s still technically Fall.
Thank God for artificial heating, right? Well, the electric heaters in the house never seem to be enough on cold days like these. I’ve been wearing a “knit” acrylic hat in the house since around Thanksgiving.
On Friday, we are looking at below zero temperatures. And after that, more snow. It’s serious enough that one group facilitator decided to postpone a bowling event.
“The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn.” —David Russell
Yeah, okay, so that quote doesn’t quite apply here, lol. I’m not known for burning bridges, literal or otherwise. I don’t forget people. My memory may not be 100%, but I still remember faces, even if the names escape me. Every once and a while a regret may pop up in my head over broken connections and bad impressions… but those things are a part of life.
On the literal side of things, a new bridge was recently built to replace an old one and make way for new power lines, here in Nowhere, Maine. (Buxton, to be precise.) It was the Bar Mills Bridge, built in 1936, that had to go. The green bridge, which closed July 11, is still being dismantled…
Large trucks (above a certain weight) were not permitted to use the old bridge, for obvious reasons. (Eighty years old.)
The new one was completed in November— a contract of 120 days.
On the metaphorical side, I have a real problem at building my own bridges. An Aspie who fell out of love with life, connecting with people has always been hard. But I must build. No man is an island. We must grow to live. At least professionally, we need relationships. Of course, there’s always some pain in the process, some kind of labor. And when a bridge fails, it can take part(s) of you down with it… But we need to exercise the right muscles; we need to try to repair and move on. Sometimes we can manage without a bridge somewhere, but every so often we must rebuild.
All of us come and go in our own time, and none of us are the same. What was sweet is bound to turn sour, so we must accept facts and learn to move on— forgive when it is time. Easier said than done sometimes. But if we can, in fact, never forget someone who no longer needs us… then why try to hold on if we’ll always remember?
Soon after crossing that new literal bridge over Saco River, and for the first time, my mother spotted some sheep. Or, at least they appear to be sheep…
She pulled over. It was quite sudden, but there was no traffic. And so I took the opportunity; I crossed the road, and approached the fence. And they, the sheep, were excited. They may have expected food (from strangers), considering they rose to see me. Needless to say, there was no intellectual conversation to be had. I said “hello,” and one of them immediately pooed. They all gradually turned their heads away. …Again, I’m not known for connecting very well with others. Noticing the dropping of “malted milk balls,” I said “okay,” and moved on to the other side of the barn. …And I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to never eat Whoppers® again.
On the other side of the barn, I got some baas. Click here for a video.
I could go into the metaphors of being a “sheep” and “don’t be like a sheep to the slaughter,” and stuff like that, but… nah. (Or na’ah’ah…) We’re all on our way to some place, and it’s not really my place to tell you, dear reader, what to think. I can, however, ask you to be honest with yourself, in good reason and good health.
Well, I got a lot of backlog of reading and writing to tend to. Until next time…
Welcome to yet more Friday Fiction! Hosted by Rochelle of Addicted to Purple, people from all over the world try at writing a three-part short story for a picture prompt by week’s end. And also make it no more than a hundred words total. This week’s image is from Dee, over at 40again’s Blog.
Click here to see what others have written for the prompt, or add your own.
Okay. Let me formally apologize for not being here much at this point, save the Fictioneers writes. But I’ve still got stuff in store, processing photos for more exposure of Summer… rather large images given my decreasing intolerance for JPEG loss. But until I get all that up, here’s Bill and Ed’s ordinary adventure… Enjoy.
Welcome to Friday Fictioneers! Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, people from all over the world try their respective hands at writing a three-part short story for a picture prompt by week’s end. A seriously short, at that—no more than a hundred words. This week’s prompt photo is from Jean L. Hays.
Well, I got in early this time. So, assuming no one else already had the idea that quickly flashed into my mind upon seeing the photo, here’s my silly take… Enjoy.
Ugh, getting tired so easily these days… I cannot, for the life of me, tolerate certain things anymore. Well, of course much the same could be said for anyone, aging… But it’s not a normal part of aging to be so…“out of it” like this.
…Life can be such an upward battle. Oh, well.
Part of the change is good, though. Any change has to have a good side, right? Bear with me. Continue reading Tired→
First thing first, Happy Easter, everyone! 🙂
Today celebrates of the resurrection of Christ, and…over time, hard-boiled eggs, the Easter Bunny and candy, somehow. But since it is no longer Sunday in Europe, I might as well just move on… Continue reading Resurrecting #badblogtips→
Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt photo is by David Stewart of The Green-Walled Tower.
Always short on ideas, I began this silly story using a second prompt—the first line. Initially, because I was watching listening to Mad Men, specifically “Time Zones”, I wrote Don Draper into the story. But since I don’t want to get sued, I cut him out. Enjoy.
Copyright — David Stewart
That’s a strange way to say hello.
Before we spoke, Ralph kissed me on the cheeks. I suppressed my urge to punch him in the face. I knew it was customary for him to kiss friends and relatives; he was European; his name was pronounced “Rafe.” And he came all this way. We’d met online, and now in person to play in a brass band.
Halfway into the second song, smoke billowed into the gazebo. No one saw any flames, but we promptly vacated. Except Ralph. Turns out, I had overlooked Ralph’s online profile. His “hobbies and interests” included: arson.
Participation is welcome to all. The goal is to write a story, beginning-middle-end, in 100 words or less. You are also encouraged to “think outside of the box.”
Click here to view the inLinkz for what others have written for the prompt, or add one.
Visit Addicted to Purple for Rochelle’s own stories and her Friday Fictioneers page for more details. You can follow her blog for the prompt each Wednesday.
Okay, so I have to answer to Notifications. I still feel like I die a little with them, but I have to suck it up. It just sucks that blogging is only as social as much as people put out, the way people have to tell you what they want or Do Not Disturb. And if I’m not clear or don’t know what I actually want, I’m screwed. I’m always screwed.
When you realize you made a blunder, and all you can do is work, knowing the blunder will eventually hit you.
Ever since Why Bother, I’ve been thinking about how great Xanga must have been, with vibrant communities, or at least people eager to understand each other. It predated Facebook (launched 2004) and WordPress (2003). But…platforms die.
Google+ may be dead, but I’d rather not be… wait- what?
*bursts out laughing* 😀 Ice Cream Sandwich! Oh—I swear, it’s the first time I heard the code name…
Sigh. …But yeah,change is hard. When you’ve invested yourself into something you’ve worked hard for. When you lose a part of your youth moving forward. When something or someone dies. But ultimately, change is hard when you don’t know how to effectively change. Especially when you don’t have any support.
@NidaPeabadly I don’t drink. But I guess you could call it “hard,” realizing how empty my life is… 😦
In my experience, the only thing effective action in moving forward is to work at your passion, and to trust your gut on making choices, find true friends & loves…and leave Facebook as soon as you freaking can if you want to keep your sanity. …Then again, I may be insane.