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Saturday, April 30, 2011

We Are One year Old Today

Happy First Birthday, Saturday Centus! And thanks to Jenny for thinking it up and making it happen. It has accomplished exactly what she wished - brought out the writing skills of all of us who participate. We are a diverse group spanning several generations, but each of us has found a place here, a safe place to be creative, share our truths and (sometimes) vent. Today we celertate our first anniversary.

So, it is only fitting that this week’s prompt is "Although the traditional gift for a first anniversary is paper..."

Here is my gift on this special day.

We Are One Year Old Today

Keyboards hum on Saturdays as Centusians tap out words meant to be posted along with the others on Jenny’s acclaimed world-class blog. Not a competition, no. Jenny’s classroom is a place to stretch and grow, learn from others’ posts, maybe stick out our necks a little. Points of view are amazingly varying, from the most modest post to the most (shall I say)? daring. Lovers of words, we take this meme to heart, give it our all, or sometimes all we’ve got.

Happy Anniversary to Jenny and all Centusians!

"Although the traditional gift for a first anniversary is paper..," Paper we’ve got, I’m throwing in some scissors and a rock!

© cj Schlottman

Friday, April 29, 2011


Each week, Melissa, over at “Making Things Up” hosts a meme entitled "six word fridays." She gives the participants a prompt with which to write a six word sentence, a poem with six-word lines, a poem of six can get the idea. You can read all about it and join in the fun by clicking on the "six word fridays" button on my sidebar. Surprisingly, I am posting on time this week!

This week’s prompt is “last.” Where shall I go with it? I think it fits in nicely with today’s post on “The Red Sweater,” so here’s my contribution.

She sighs as she exhales
tugs in another breath
lets it go haltingly.
Moving slowly away
slipping past us as she
steers toward the other side
a halo rims her head,
scalded and discolored
victim of x-rays aimed
at tumors in her brain.
Brown skin aglow against
ecru colored bedclothes
she seems to sleep soundly
in the grip of coma
protected against pain
taking in her last breaths
dreaming perhaps of her
sixteenth birthday party.

© cj Schlottman

Sunday, April 24, 2011

I'll Have a Blue Easter

I have nothing to add to the comments my fellow Centusians have posted about this week’s prompt. I wish I could say Jenny had laid an egg with this one, but it actually isn’t all that bad. The posts have been hilarious.

Now, my attempt to measure up................

Roses are red, bunnies blue.
This photo a prompt? What shall I do?
His hirsute chest and Playboy pendant
Make him appear somewhat resplendent.
Don’t be fooled by appearances, dear.
This bunny ain’t real, that much is clear.
A figment of Jenny’s sick fancy, he.
Harvey’s long lost brother? Maybe, we’ll see.
His ‘tude is haughty, his neckwear is bawdy.
If you ask me, he’s totally naughty.
No eggs, no basket, not a lily in sight.
I see him when I try to sleep at night.
Scary, hairy, a strange color blue.
I’m out of words. Happy Easter to you!

© cj Schlottman

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Blessings @ Small Stories and Stuff

Six Word Fridays

Each week, Melissa, over at Making Things Up hosts a meme entitled "six word fridays." She gives the participants a prompt with which to write a six word sentence, a poem with six-word lines, a poem of six can get the idea. You can read all about it and join in the fun by clicking on the "six word fridays" button on my sidebar. I am late to the party - again - posting on Saturday

This week’s prompt is “Counting our Blessings.”

Remembering the glint
in Clint’s eye when we touched
glasses of Chardonnay
sparkling yellow, oaky
this wine, we have been told.

Addie, my gift from God
sleeping in the next bed
honeyed hair splayed around
her pillow, a halo
a rainbow, glints of gold
shining in dawn’s soft light.

Parrish at three, feeding
redbirds in our back yard
tossing bread in the air
his tiny hands waving
inviting them to eat,
his hair a golden mass
of curls, so normal he
no hint of what would come.

Paul, my ever stalwart
rock, my only brother
like me, a survivor
of unspeakable loss
in whose hands I would
place my very being
certain he would save me.

My three devoted dogs
who never hold a grudge
give freely of their love
lie by my side, snoring
softly, sleeping soundly
warming me at my core.

Blessings, rememberings
these and so many more
decorate my living
stain it with hues of spring.

© cj Schlottman

Friday, April 22, 2011

Review @ Short Stories and Stuff

Saturday Centus on Friday. Okay. Looks like I am the last part over the fence this week. I admit that I almost chickened out, but I finally, after reading the other posts, screwed up the courage to write a review. I am choosing to review gaelikaa’s “April Showers Bring May Flowers”. Jenny threw us a curve this week by asking us to review a post from last week’s Centus. Click here to learn all about this meme. If you have never done so, please join us.

gaelikaa's post:

Sheila gave her mother perpetual heartburn. She’d walk straight out into the rain without an umbrella after spending a large sum of money on getting her hair styled.

"Oh, I love to walk in the rain," she sang, enjoying the refreshing shower which had put an end to her hairstyle by the time she reached home. Pausing in front of the mirror, she inspect the rain's handiwork.

"Hmm! Much softer and and far less severe!" was her verdict. Mother would nag, but that’d eventually fade into oblivion. Sheila preferred to remember grandma's saying "April showers bring May flowers."

My Review:

Sheila comes to life on the page of this post. In a few words, gaelikaa's little story introduces us to a free spirited young woman and includes a big hint to understanding her relationship with her mother. I felt as though I had been taken into Sheila's head.

I instantly loved her. gaelikaa paints a picture of a young woman as she challenges the limits of authority and rebels in a healthy way. She intuitively knows how far she can push her mother.

gaelikaa's use of concrete images- “She’d walk straight out into the rain without an umbrella after spending a large sum of money on getting her hair styled.” - makes this post very visual.

A+, gaelikaa!

© cj Schlottman

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Flowers @ Small Stories and Stuff

Well, here it is Sunday, so yesterday must have been Saturday Centus. I know you’ll all understand that, yesterday, I worked a 12 hour shift, my third in a row, and that when I reached home, I ate a bag 100 calorie kettle korn, a handful of nuts, brushed my teeth and fell into bed with my 3 best friends. I slept for 15 hours. No, really, I did.

Each week, our Schoolmarm with a Heart, Jenny Matlock, hosts a meme called Saturday Centus. To learn all the rules and get a feel for the entries, please click the Saturday Centus button on my sidebar. You will not be disappointed.

And, please, take a look at Jenny’s blog “ on my tangent...” She is a wonderful writer.

This Saturday’s prompt?

“April showers bring May flowers.” This is my offering for this week. It is in italics.

Arrangements of flowers decorated the house. The date, April 10, 1955, 36 hours since Estelle’s husband died in a car crash.

She and her four children, the youngest two months old, rode to the church in silence. Grandmother smoothed the childrens’ clothes and hair.

At the church, the perfume of the flowers assaulted Estelle’s senses, making her almost swoon, but she was not a woman to swoon. Head high and carrying the baby, she passed the open casket and made the other three look at their dead father.

“April showers bring May flowers?” She would never enjoy flowers again - never.

“(Estelle” was my mother).

© cjschlottman

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

48 Hours Missing

Nearly a week late for Six Word Fridays, here I am at last. Melissa at “Making Things Up” has already posted the word for this week! Last week her prompt was the word “again.” To participate and read the posts, just click on the Six Word Fridays button on my sidebar I have read several of the posts and must say I a little intimidated by the works of the others.

Undaunted, I plunge ahead with my contribution. I will be writing a poem with six syllables per line.

Again, fear and dread come
to throttle me out of
the peace I have found for
just one moment in time.
Again, paralyzed with
fear, I shriek the silent
scream of my much wounded
heart, heavy with the sting
of not knowing, spilling
tears and fears through my core.
Missing, he, my only
son, poisoned by illness
and drugs to keep him sane.
My mind, a toxic land-
fill of past loss, can but
imagine him alone
in danger of himself
at the mercy of those
who would suck the very
marrow from him and leave
him a pathetic pile
of wounds and confusion.
After forty eight hours
again, there is word of
his appearance miles from
home, in hospital. I
remember to breathe and
wonder when this season
of fear will reappear.

© cj Schlottman

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Exit 181 @ Small Stories and Stuff

I do understand that it’s Tuesday. I do understand that if I wait this late to post on Saturday Centus, I will not have as many visitors as those who post early. But I’m here, ready to wade into the pool with all the other Centusians. Each Saturday, Jenny Matlock from “ on my tangent...” assigns us a prompt from which we are to create a small story of 100 words or less, not counting the number of words in the prompt. For all the rules and to see all the entries, click on Saturday Centus on my sidebar.

This week’s prompt?

“Exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead...”

So, here goes.

I have no idea where to start with this prompt. My imagination is in the shop, getting a much needed tune up. The realness if my life has recently run amuck, mowing down my creativity. So typical of me to swing high and low.

Yesterday, I loaded up my dogs and took my car out on the highway, rolled down the windows, opened the sun roof, breathed deeply of the spring air. When I saw the sign “Exit 181, 1/2 miles ahead,” I realized I was 173 miles from home with three hungry dogs and no money for gas.

© cj Schlottman