The Jolly Art of Handwriting Interpretation

Xmas bells are ringing in the distance. And the end grows nigh. Not because of the new year, mainly because I'm going to attempt The Fudge recipe again. Someone dear wrote and sent it to me three years ago. I attempt it every year but, darn it, I can't read the handwriting for the life of me. It reads differently every time. Here is how it reads tonight. Enjoy. And if this blows up the planet... I'm sorry, Mom.

Recipe: Fudge
From:----------
Makes: 36 lbs

1 large can of eloped musk
3 chops of liqueur

Bring to a boil and croak,
strenthening until beepings honk. Harken.

Add: 1 cube of beetles
Then pan antlers (gently)

1 lb mice choc.  Let burrs broaden niftly.
2 packages of choc. chirps (chicken?)
6 ox marshmallows ala crème
2 tsp of vanilla

Best until explained. Pet sappy deer.
Add walnuts or pecans if so desired. Pour into 10x14 pan

***

Thanks for all the love and support this year from each and every one of you. We all work together to keep the dream, all of our dreams alive. Be well. Most of all, be happy. With a fierce passion. Merry Christmas! And, of course, a happy New Year.

***

Weeping Stones At Yellow Mama

Spin the dials on your radio,
nestle in to that cozy chair,
and read yourself quite possibly
one of the strangest stories you’ll ever read.

Weeping Stones

Life might be warm, but death is cold.
Any sucker can tell you that.
So, dear reader, pull up a chair. Put on a sweater.
Do not pull on the cat’s tail and yes, you may make
yourself another cup of hot cocoa.

Most of all, Enjoy.

Thank you, as always, to Yellow Mama editor, Cindy Rosmus.

Ps. If you like this story, be sure to tune in next Tuesday, to Jim Wisneski’s 12 days of Christmas. My story, Peace On Earth Is At War, ‘ll have enough dead’uns to make your toes curl.

Oh you better watch out... #fridayflash

Oh, You Better Watch Out…

The lights lay in the snow blinking crimson and ice. Beyond the glare of Christmas cheer, a shadow crouches under the porch. My heart pounds. I clench my hands around Kimberly's ankles.

"Santa?" She wraps her cold fingers around my neck, and nuzzles her nose in my hair.

"No, honey, that's not Santa…" I whisper, taking small steps backward toward the candy cane lined sidewalk. Oval green eyes blink. A flash of sharp white convinces me. "Definitely, not Santa…"

Kimberly breathes into my ear,"Then what is it, Mommy?" She lifts her finger and points.

You Better Not Cry….

The snow bites into my slippers making my toes ache. Slowly, slowly, I creep backwards. "It's…a…well, a…um…” I don't have a clue what it is.

Watching me like a prowling cat, it tilts its head sideways allowing me to take in the full profile of a creature face, triangular ears, and sharp blades of teeth. Before an "Oh my…" escapes my lips, my foot slips. I grab for a giant candy cane, but Kimberly is already tumbling from my shoulders. The candy cane falls to the ground, and so do we.

It springs from the shadows.

You Better Not Shout I’m Telling You Why….

I drape myself over her body, a protective blanket. It does nothing to block the shock of the green fuzzy blur that halts before us.

Oscar from sesame street, flies through my mind, but much to my horror and yes, amusement, I see it for what it really is.

Its head pauses above mine. I hear the flare of its nostrils. Its breathes in my hair. The heat of its breath licks my skin. It growls low and harsh, "Naughty or nice…"

I reach behind me, feeling for the candy cane.

It lowers its head and sniffs crying Kimberly.

Finding and wrapping my fingers around the cane, I sling it over my head, a candy cane wielding Christmas Amazon, only to have it caught between the fingers of the Grinch himself.

"Nice…" he spits between clenched teeth. Disappointment consumes his brow. He snaps the cane in half, turns, and flees the icy sidewalk. A fine dust of snow covers his tracks.


I previously posted this as a series of three at Six Sentences last christmas. It's obviously been rewritten & more than six (or 18) sentences now. Thanks for reading.