The Writings On The Wall

Microfiction Monday - On Tuesday

2010-03-02T12:52:00.000Z

O.k. its Tuesday... I missed the deadline....but I'm gonna play anyway.....

Tell a story about the picture in 140 characters or less. Hosted at Stony River by Susan.

Brown cow had spent the morning gorging on sweet spring grass.

Her paler sister was keeping well upwind of her.

Procrastination

2010-02-23T11:56:00.002Z

The moment has come and I know I cannot delay the inevitable any longer.

Days have turned into months and now I am faced with a seemingly insurmountable task. I sit immobilised, a sinking feeling in my heart.

Common sense tells me I am being foolish, yet I will do anything but what I am bid to do.

Make a cup of tea, answer an email, must pay the phone bill... a million and one anythings but this...

He threw down the gauntlet last night. Caught me off gaurd as I chilled out in front of the t.v., immersed in the latest soap - chewing gum for the brain.

"I am going to look you in the eye and ask you one thing." His tone was solemn.

My heart thumped in my chest.

"When are you going to do the filing?"

Microfiction Monday

2010-02-22T13:34:00.001Z

Susan at Stony River hosts Microfiction Monday. Tell a story about the selected picture in 140 characters or less. Heres my offering:

He loved Zsa Zsa with all his heart.
He'd even worn this ridiculous tie for her.
But the hat? What was he to do with his ears?

Bert's Brave Ascent - a poem by JK

2010-02-16T22:55:00.011Z

This time he had to do it without the aid of his broomstick

As we made our way to Westport,
For a weekend full of fun,
Croagh Patrick rose to greet us,
Like the rays of the morning sun.

This Holy mountain grabs you,
In a special kind of grip,
It’s hard to put it into words,
Like some awe-inspiring trip.

Now Bert was up for most things,
But he vowed to skip the Reek,
It’s not my scene at all guys,
Sure it would play havoc with my feet.

But D was having none of that,
She was on a special mission,
If he didn’t toe the family line,
He’d be banished to Hell’s Kitchen.

The slaggin’ just kept flowing,
And the mud-slinging got fierce thick,
And like all good dirt thrown hard and fast,
Some was surely bound to stick.

Now Bert was proud and steady,
Never one to give an inch,
But up against this stubborn bunch,
His poor resolve began to flinch.

He thumped his fist down on the bar,
Five locals jumped with fright,
I’ll climbed that blasted beast midday,
If ye will all stay bloody quiet.

A cheer went up around the bar,
As the word spread far and near,
Another virgin for a brave ascent,
Or would it end in tears.

We headed off to the Holy shrine,
On the eve of Valentine’s Day,
His designer runners did not inspire,
By Jesus was he going to pay.

Now Bert had gold dust in his eyes,
As he gazed up at the mist,
Sure if Patrick did it years ago,
It had to be a bit of piss.

But the Clane man was no snake charmer,
And the owner of some dodgy knees,
With ten pints still in his system,
Below a full Irish and two hot teas.

It was not the wisest prepping,
For such a sacred assault,
But as he bounded past the statue,
It was too late to call a halt.

He took off like the clappers,
Ignoring the warning signs,
You’ve got to treat Croker with respect,
Like a woman in her prime.

The climb was slow and painful,
He was even passed by toddlers,
Halfway up he cried enough,
Saying it was all a load of cobblers.

But egged on by his sister Kate,
Who said don’t be such a pussy,
You’ll end up like Dustin Hoffman,
In that comedy classic Tootsie.

He slipped and skidded up the Reek,
It was like watching Bambi on ice,
Celtic saints turned in their graves,
For his language was far from nice.

With huffs and puffs he reached the top,
Despite the flips and blips,
One young buck was heard to say,
He was like a tomato with stuck-on lips.

But the views alone are worth it,
And Clew Bay never looked so fine,
He pointed to his protruding toes,
Resembling wooden pegs on old clotheslines.

Did he feel spiritually uplifted?
By one of the West’s great joys,
Bert said he felt more elevated,
On a bar stool in Matt Molloys.

Knowing Your Limits

2010-02-16T21:27:00.004Z

It was by and large my idea. On the way to Westport for Valentines weekend I suggested to Bert that we climb Croagh Patrick on the Saturday.

"Off you pop", he replied whilst simultaneously driving, eating chocolate and taking the cap off a bottle of seven up.

I was not to be deterred.

"We should do it together," I persisted. "I packed my walking boots".

"Good for you", he replied.

The next day I was reminded of this conversation as I sat on a rock, about one quarter way up the mountain, totally out of breath and with the horrible realisation that I was way, way unfitter than I thought. The reluctant climber who had shown no inkling of an interest in climbing Croagh Patrick had disappeared up the reek like a mountain goat. His sister Catherine, who walks regularly and is a very fit person had also gone on ahead as had her husband Johnny, who we had christened the Reek Veteran as this was about his eight climb.

As for me, the reek virgin, I knew from a very early stage I was not going to make it anyway near the top.

I felt embarrassed by my lack of fitness, and also that I was holding everyone else up so I told them to go on ahead. The mountain goat (sorry I mean husband) did give a token display of solidarity and protested that he couldn't leave me on my own and would come back down with me. I insisted he carry on, I would be fine, I'd catch my breath and meet them back at the car park.

So I sat in the early Spring sunshine and allowed my breathing to come back to normal. The quiet stillness of the mountain enveloped me, broken occassionally by snatches of conversations as walkers passed me either on the way up or down the mountain. Above me I could see the trail of people like ants ascending the rock face where the grass and rocky incline gave way to shingle and shale. Below me the bay glissened in the midday sun and the fields stretched to my left and right like an emerald patchwork quilt.

I was disappointed that I wasn't in fit enough shape to try for the summit. Part of me was saying, go on push yourself and then I realised I would just be killing myself just so I could say I reached the top. There would be no enjoyment in it. As it was I was thoroughly enjoying sitting in the sunshine, on a beautiful day, enjoying a magnificent view.

Sometimes its more about enjoying the journey than reaching the destination.