D-L's Free Write
When Cathie's parents told her they were moving to Boston, she was upset. She was more upset when she saw the townhouse they'd bought, a handman's nightmare, and she was the most upset when she learned she was to go to an all-girls' Catholic School wearing a stupid plaid, pleated skirt.
Six months passed. The workmen had finished renovating the five-story house.
She was making new friends.
Her parents loved their new posts: her mother as a Feminist Studies Professor at Simmons College, her Father as a Political Science Professor at Northeastern. They could all walk to their schools.
This weekend the three of them planned to tackle the carton-packed attic, their first chance to do so.
The first box was filled with letters from Jennie, who'd moved to Chicago for work in 1909. "I've a book here," her Mother said.
Her father was thrilled with the tools he found.
There were cartons of dishes, clothes, Christmas decorations and lots of religious stuff.
Moving a cabinet, her father retrieved a ball made of aluminum foil scraps. Her father measured it with the yardstick that he'd found. "It's at least two feet wide."
"Can I have it? Cathie asked.
"May I..." her mother corrected..."and yes you may."
Cathie gave the ball a place of honor on her bookshelf in her newly decorated bedroom
Her mother guessed the family who lived there during WWII saved aluminum for the war effort. Cathie decided it was a magic ball.
She asked the ball if she would do well on a spelling test. She aced it. It reassured her she would be invited to Annemarie's birthday party, She was. And so it went.
Maybe moving to a new place wasn't so bad if it came with a magic ball.
Julia's Free Write
Ah life.
She had grown up with all sorts of ways to conserve food. Nothing was wasted in her mother’s household!
Friday nights were particularly memorable as they were soup nights. Now don’t go imaging a chef’s intricately flavored and treated gourmet soup; finally mixed with a dollop of cream. No, these were every-vegetable-left-over-throughout-the-week soups. Thrown in a pot and reheated. To this day she only enjoys very smooth, one, ok maybe two, vegetable soups with cream on the top.
Back then Tupperware parties had just come into their prime. Saran wrap was unknown, never mind Ziploc bags or other methods of preservation.
But time – and progress some would say – one had access to even more petroleum-based products. Now the pendulum swings yet again.
But I digress. With time also came the revival of natural methods for various things, insect control for one.
Now if I could only remember what aluminum foil was for – and figure out why she displayed – on a pedestal no less – a ball
Rick's Free write
Mortimer had been wandering around the perimeter of Area 51 all afternoon, hoping for some sign of the alien life that the USG had been covering up for years. As the sun began to set, he noticed a flash of light coming from the rocky hills to the East. He went to investigate.
As he walked toward the rocks, he saw the flash of light again, intermittently. Almost as if someone was signalling him. But if it was a code he couldn’t decipher it. And he knew all the ‘codes’ that had been intercepted over the years from signals sent from the far reaches of outer space.
Even though the early evening air was starting to cool, Morty began sweating as he got closer to the source of the light. His steps slowed. He took out his radiation detector.
The light led him to a crevice between the rocks, which led to a small cave opening.
“Anyone t-t-there?” Morty called out tremulously. The only response was the echo of his voice.
He switched on his flashlight and shone it around the cave, which was large enough to hold a political rally.
The torch flashed on something in the center of the cavern.
Edging closer, Morty could see it was a large silver ball.
Closer still, he thought it was made of tin foil.
The ball sat on a pedestal. With a small sign. “Make your own hat. Protect yourself from invaders.” It was signed “Your Friends from the Next Galaxy.”
Morty ran out of the cave, slid through the crevice, and dashed all the way back to his trailer home.
When he returned a month later, he was unable to find the crevice, the cave, or the tin foil ball. “No one will believe me. I should have taken a picture.”
Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry top stories . He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.
Visit D-L.'s website https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504
Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends. Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/
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