OLWG# 358- Curb Appeal

Written for OLWG# 358

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When Loretta and I bought the 1894 Queen Anne, on Mermaid Avenue, in Jemez, it needed a lot of work. The steeply pitched roofs needed to be redone, and the high turret on the Southeast corner of the front needed tons of clapboard replaced, but the front yard looked good and the lot was large. It had five bedrooms, a dining room, two kitchens, and a formal parlour. I converted the basement for brewing my own beers and when I wasn’t working on the house, making babies with Loretta, or taking care of the garden; I made beers. I mostly made Porters or Stouts, because they are my favourites, but Loretta enjoyed a good Saison so I did those too.

The kids are gone now. Linda’s a Traveling Nurse living in Kansas, but she’s in discussions about a new job in Idaho. Joe and his husband, Arthur, are still in Alaska working for the fisheries. Scotty left for Myanmar with a private security firm in ’21. Got a letter from him a few months ago – he might have met a girl. Says her name is Marlar. Says she’s a survivor, and I don’t really know what that means. Should I be worried?

All of the work on the house has been done at least once, and it is almost time to begin again. Now that Loretta’s gone, I probably won’t bother. I’ll leave that to the next owner, but the front yard still looks good.

#####

This week’s prompts were:

1. but the front yard looks good
2. that’s one of my favourites
3. mermaid avenue

OLWG# 357- Great Uncle Ned’s Theatre

Written for OLWG# 357

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My family moved to New Mexico shortly after the territory became a state in 1912 and set up as hill farmers outside Santa Fe. It mostly was subsistence living in those days. It was not an easy life, but the land was generous, life was good. Leastwise, my Grandpa always told me that. The farm isn’t ours any more. It wound up being absorbed by a big corporate ranch, and is now just a part of Rancho del Ancianas.

My people moved to town. Some of them became shopkeepers. Some went into government; Santa Fe is the state capital. Others became hoteliers, saloon keepers, rapscallions, and petty criminals. Town people, for the most part, not country folk.

In 1915, my great uncle Ned built and opened the first theatre in the pueblo. A large adobe building that he named after himself, Sublette Theatre. Uncle Ned’s theatre was grand; the only real competition in the state was The Lyric in Lincoln County. Shows at both places consisted primarily as variety shows. Separate, unrelated acts grouped on a single playbill. The likes of popular and classical musicians, singers, dancers, comedians, trained animals, magicians, ventriloquists, strongmen, female and male impersonators, acrobats, clowns, jugglers, one-act plays or scenes from plays, athletes, lecturing celebrities, minstrels, and films. Throughout the duration of Uncle Ned owning and operating The Sublette Theatre, the most popular shows were the scandalous shows. Shows that featured dirty jokes and provocative women dancing on stage. Such shows always brought out protests from the Christian Temperance and Morality Movements.

Uncle Ned welcomed the demonstrations and protests; he saw them as free publicity, and he made a lot of money.

He sold the theatre in 1945 to a man who was, frankly, in over his head – who didn’t know how to run it. That was when the old place began its decline. The city owns it now. They keep the building in good condition, but don’t really know what to do with it.

About ten years ago, the city of Santa Fe advertised a free poetry reading at the theatre. I gathered some of my best work and headed down, expecting an open mike experience. At the front door, I was handed a book by Thomas Chatterton, and asked to sit by the stage. The theatre filled quite rapidly, and I was getting excited.

When Mayor Vance Camaron walked onto the stage, the house lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. The mayor spread his arms wide, “Welcome to the first annual Santa Fe Poetry Reading. Without further ado, I believe it is time to begin.” 

I was a little confused until I heard the soft rustle of pages turning. At that moment, I realised that, although this was technically a poetry reading, it was not quite what I had envisioned. Everyone was sitting in their seats reading the books they had been issued at the door. 

Chatterton was a joy, although the language was a bit dated. He had passed in 1770 at the age of seventeen.

The first annual Santa Fe Poetry Reading, turned out to also be the last.

#####

This week’s prompts were:

1. listen to the pages turning
2. at the Sublette Theatre in Santa Fe
3. Hill Farmers

OLWG# 356- Assessors of Maat

Written for OLWG# 356

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The forty-two Assessors of Maat sent lightning to tear the night sky that flowed above the river.

This was done to frighten the farmers, and the merchants who lived along its banks, and to fill all their hearts with sadness

It didn’t work

Perhaps, the stars were not aligned properly

Maybe, Bernice had neglected to secure the storeroom of Mangas Coloradas, the wealthiest trader along the river

Bernice was a sealer, a responsible position within the bureaucracy

As there were no locks, or keys; seals were used to safeguard the property of the wealthy

Bernice was one of the most important sealers in the country, but perhaps Mangas Coloradas had been robbed, and anything the Assessors might have done would not have been noticed on account of the robbery

The farmers continued their festivities

The merchants barely noticed, they continued to drink

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This week’s prompts were:

1. fill your heart with sadness
2. lightning rent the night sky
3. tell me what laughter means

OLWG# 355- Drift Pins

Written for OLWG# 355

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It had been twenty-five years since Ruby’s fiancée, Asher, told her he had landed a new job at the shipyard. She took him out to dinner at the Oso Grill to celebrate. Asher liked the Green Chili Chicken Enchiladas. They came with mounds of jack cheese, guacamole, and sour cream.

Ruby, for her part, could live on the appetizers. “Tonight,” she announced, “I’m having the Jalapeno bacon-wrapped Shrimp and the fried Green Chili Strips. They had a fine selection of wines that she liked, and Asher always enjoyed a dark, robust beer. Oso carried “State Pen Porter” from Santa Fe Brewing Co.

Ruby got all dolled up. Asher put on a clean shirt with a collar, shaved and slicked his hair down, which, if truth be told, is about as dressed up as he ever got, but now, with a new job at the shipyard, he had boats to build. Submarines, to be exact.

Turns out that the job wasn’t quite what had been advertised. As promised, Asher took a position in the ship fitter’s shop but was assigned to work with the Drift Pin Quality Assurance Team. He knew, up-front, that it would probably be years before he would get to do any welding, but the experience was what counted, and it would look good on his résumé.

Asher grew old at the shipyard, and in twenty-five years, he worked his way up to Drift Pin Quality Assurance Shop Superintendent and never did get to do any welding. He got a gold watch when he retired. He and Ruby moved to Titusville, Florida. It was closer to their daughter, Anne and her wife in Kissimmee. It was also closer to Davy, in Alafaya. The whole retirement thing came as a shock to Ruby. She had not prepared to be spending so much time with Asher. They are working through it, though. They have signed up for pottery classes together at the Senior Centre.

#####

This week’s prompts were:

1. not really something to hang on the wall
2. boats to build
3. he’s grown old

Zozo 29.02.24- Writing With Words We Don’t Know

Written yesterday, Thursday, in 20 minutes, with the Carrizozo group.

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Me and Martha was talking about cars last night while she was fixin’ dinner. She opened the conversation by saying, “I really like them fancy new Antialiasing cars she said. You know like the one Beth and her no-good husband, Denny, bought. I wouldn’t want it in silver though, I think it’d be better in green.” She dumped a can of corn into the saucepan.

“Are they real ‘spensive?” I asked.

“They sure are,” she answered. “Beth told me they paid more than $75,000 for theirs and they bought it used!”

“Damnit, Martha, that’s incomeimpossible. If we gonna get a new vehicle we need to think about a truck, or sumpthin’ like a truck that’s incompossible. I ain’t like that kinchy, Denny. I weren’t born with no silver spoon. I don’t got no fancy job.”

I glanced out the kitchen window to see a silver Antialias parking at the curb, blocking our driveway, in front of our house. “Speak of the devils,” I said, “there’s them scamblers now.” I glanced at the clock on the back of the stove, “just in time for dinner. You better water down that soup, add some more tomato’s, or sumptin, and be stingy with the meat when you dish up bowls for them.

I frowned
got up from my chair,
hobbled to the front door and opened it.
I waved to Denny and Beth,
“Evening folks,” I said,
“We’s just fixin’ to sit down to dinner. Come on in, It’s only soup, but we got plenty.”
“Think you might be able to back up your car so it’s not blocking the drive?
The cops have been swarming the neighbourhood and clamping down on parking violations.”

##

The prompts were single words that only one of us knew the meaning of:

1. incompossible (Karla’s word)
2. antialiasing (Steve’s word)
3. kinchy (Jean’s word)
4. scambler (my word)