January 16, 2018 – Writer’s Class exercise

The 10 word challenge out of 12.

The following words: 

Crayon, Whisk, Chocolate, Kitchen, Hammock, Wallet, Flashlight, Veteran’s Day, Agatha the octogenarian, Aunt, Twitter, and Uggs.

Others in the writing class chose these words on a paper sent around on  a rotating basis.

 THIS IS FICTION:

I was in the kitchen admiring my handiwork of the chocolate cookie crumb piecrust when my husband called,

“Get your trash together; I am going on a dump run.”

I called back,

“You’ll have to do it yourself.  I am at the critical stage. I can’t stop.” 

I was just starting to whisk one third of the whipped cream mixture into the just-now-cooled melted chocolate.

Instantly, he hoovered behind me.

“What?”  he asked.

“I can’t stop now or it will be ruined,” I answered.

Now that the cooled chocolate was well incorporated, I folded the rest of the stiff whipped cream into this mixture until no chocolate streaks existed.  Finally, I gently spooned it into the waiting pie shell.

“Who’s that for?”  he asked and then instantly answered he own question.

“Oh, I’d forgotten, Agatha the Octogenarian, is coming today.”

I replied,

“When you take the trash to the dump, be sure to swing by the cemetery and make sure there is a flag on Uncle Wilbur’s grave.  We don’t want a fiasco like we had last Veteran’s Day.” 

“And, if there isn’t, what am I supposed to do steal one from another grave?”

“NO! I bought extra flags. They are in the front hall closet; take one with you.” 

“Good thinking,”  he answered and went away to do his Saturday chores while I did mine.



Later, when the guest bedroom was prepared, the house cleaned to white-glove-inspection standards, and the chocolate silk pie safely chilling in the refrigerator, I drove out to the rest home to pick up my Aunt for her weekend stay.  Aunt Agatha was more of an ‘Auntie Mame’ to me as she often took me in when my parents were in the midst of their many trial separations. Her eccentric life delighted and fascinated me.

True to form, Aunt Agatha was into learning Haiku this season.  She was waiting in the vestibule and the purple and gold oriental garments that swathed her little frame made her look like a miniature Samurai warrior sans headgear and sword.

When I greeted her, she ceremoniously bowed at the waist and presented me with an oversized rolled parchment done up with an elaborate cord.

“Open it my dear,”  she cooed.

I slowly unrolled the parchment, and behold a black crayon Haiku.

“How nice,” I said enthusiastically.

“It took me only five days to write it!” she exclaimed proudly.

I re-rolled it and said,

“I’ll treasure it.”

Delighted at my words she took my arm warmly.  We strolled out to my car, and I carefully tucked her in.



About midafternoon, my husband thought it would be fun to give Aunt Agatha a twirl in his new hanging hammock chair, which was secured to the porch ceiling with oversized eyebolts.

“What fun,” she squealed as she spun around.  I was glad she still had her sense of adventure.

Suddenly, my husband asked,

“Have you seen my wallet?”

Aunt Agatha interjected,

“Oh, I saw some nice ones at the drugstore the other day on my outing with Estelle.”

We both looked at her in surprise.  She continued,

“You remember Estelle, my housekeeper?”

“That’s not the problem Auntie, he doesn’t need a new wallet, he has LOST his wallet,” I explained.

“Oh, I see,” She answered then continued.  “I was quite good in my day, just like Christie – my name sake. . . .”

Auntie drifted off recounting a charming memory of a capper where she found a lost article and my husband and I only smiled at each other and politely listened to her ramblings.



We thought nothing of her super sleuthing antidotes until later that night when we heard a huge CRASH and a feeble voice cry out,

“OH MY!”

Rushing to where the sound came from, we found Aunt Agatha spread eagle on her back on the floor near an overturned chair waving a flashlight in one hand and clutching the missing wallet in her other hand.

“Are you hurt?” I asked as I helped her sit up.

“I’m okay,” she smiled at me warmly.

Reaching to help her up my husband said,

“You found my wallet, where was it?”

“Let me think . . . .” she paused,

“It was either the CVS or Rite Aid . . . the one with the red and blue awning on Main Street. I hope you like it.”