THE SOUL is shaped by words, images, & experiences.

THIS BLOG is about those things that have left their impression on me. I'd love for you to comment on what affects you.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Little Bits of Fiction 2

The following stories were written for storypraxis, a literary experiment which involves writing for 10 minutes, or so, on daily word prompts.

by Lydia Trecroce (1/25/11)

Like Pavlovian puppies they anticipated its arrival, observing the signs of its coming. Taking their cue from a rolling-down sun, children prodded balls and bicycles homeward. Mothers set dinners on tables, while the sky tucked around their roofs, vivid as an Indian blanket. Clocks and Fathers wound down. Because of what would come, children obeyed and ate their green beans.

It began as a tinkling, a fairy awakening in the distance. The heart of every boy and girl trilled, yet some found the bell’s appeal confounding their decisions. Too soon for the adults, the delicate song grew in length, strength, nearness. Fathers could not empty their pockets quickly enough. Small bare feet hit the floor running.

Out to the street the kids dashed. They formed jagged lines. They licked ready lips. One by one, the children—who’d endured much to receive this privilege—offered up orders and quarters at the marvelous ice temple on wheels.

dancing in my head
by Lydia Trecroce (1/8/11)

Carlson Patrick received many things in the state penitentiary, and his scarred body testified of this. But the last item he received was different. As he entered the courtyard of the prison, he noticed, for the first time, the gritty dust tamped hard by the heavy tread of the hopeless. That’s us, he thought, was me. But not anymore. Carlson surveyed the unyielding walls surrounding him. His gaze rose above the electrified wire to the bright winter sky. Above his head, white-robed clouds floated pure and free. A multitude of positive emotions coursed through Carlson at once, and he almost short-circuited. The buzz Carlson felt was infinitely greater than anything he’d experienced getting laid or high. A glance at the toughs in the yard checked his impulse to break out in a jig. Carlson spied his pals Rufus, Doc and The Kid crouching in the shadow of the building from where he’d emerged. Cigarette break by cigarette break, they ticked off the days of their life sentences. Carlson used to do this too, until late last night. Kneeling by his bunk in the dark, he’d opened his heart to the Supreme Judge. Today, he would tell his buddies how he’d been pardoned.

by Lydia Trecroce (1/12/11)

Ms. Reynolds pointed to a tan puddle on the floor of the office kitchenette. “Deke, would you get this please? Thanks.” The woman lifted her high-heeled foot and, like a dog with a wet paw, she shook it daintily. Then she stepped over the spilled coffee and shot through the doorway, crumbling the janitor’s reply in her wake.

“No problem, ma’am.” Deke knotted the neck of his trash bag and went for his mop. He was accustomed to people ignoring his words. All his life, he’d been the one to heed the words of others. In his youth, naturally he’d obeyed the commands of his parents and his teachers. After that and up to the present, he served an entire corporation of individuals, most of whom, now, were decades younger than himself.

Empty trashcans, clean toilets, mop and polish floors—Deke labored without a word of complaint. Often, people took advantage of him, diverting him from an assigned chore to cater to their personal needs. Adjust lamps, fetch supplies, procure insect repellent (?)—no one, including the janitor, seemed to know the boundary that separated servitude from slavery. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Deacon Jones knew in his heart he was a king.


As soon as Deke stepped through the doorway of his home, Queen Edna quit chopping vegetables and embraced him. Deke believed no ermine robe could feel finer on his aching body than his wife’s plump arms. “Hi Daddy!” shrieked Princess Lily running to the fridge. After pouring a tall goblet of his favorite lemon ambrosia, the little girl set the drink into the king’s chapped hands, anointing them with many tiny kisses. Prince Deacon Jr. brought the royal slippers. The boy gladdened his father’s heart with reports of his scholarly triumphs. In the sweet half hour before the feast, Deke settled into his La-Z-Boy throne and meditated on the abundance of his riches.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Taking a Break

Hi there! First, let me apologize for my sudden and lengthy disappearance from this blog. I'm so sorry. I should have posted sooner. After a highly eventful summer (and way too much to write about), I decided to give this blog a rest and concentrate on finishing up some projects. I'm still working on those projects, and I don't know when I'll be back. If you're a new visitor, please feel free to wander around, check out back posts (scroll down to the bottom of the page) and enjoy the photos.

I'm glad you stopped by. All the best to you!

photo: Yangshuo, China 2009 by A. Tsirozidis

Friday, March 20, 2009

To Love, Honor and Transport

Most neighborhoods in Greece are cluttered with a variety of shops, so it's possible to get what you need on foot. This is how my mother-in-law shopped until an inflamed nerve in her thigh grounded her. Like a good husband, my father-in-law saw that his wife's problem was his problem too. He needed to drive her around. But how? Heavy traffic and almost non-existent parking dissuaded him from using his car. He solved the dilemma by treating himself to a new toy. The funny-looking "roofed scooter" in the above photo belongs to my 79-year-old father-in-law.

Before they were married, Peter's dad courted his mom on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with a sidecar. So, Peter loves the irony of the scooter. He sees the history of his parents' wheels as having come full circle (no pun intended).

I asked my mother-in-law how she liked her new mode of transportation. Her reply: "I'd much rather ride in the car."


Quips passed on to me:

Troubles in marriage often start when a man gets so busy earning his salt that he forgets his sugar.

Too many couples marry for better or for worse, but not for good

When a man marries a woman, they become one - but the trouble starts when they try to decide which one

If a man has enough "horse sense" to treat h is wife like a thoroughbred, she will never be an old nag

Judging from the specimens they pick for husbands, It's no wonder that brides often blush

On anniversaries the wise husband always forgets the past - but never the present

A foolish husband remarks to his wife: "Honey, you stick to the washing, ironing, cooking, and scrubbing. No wife of mine is going to work."

The bonds of matrimony are a good investment only when the interest is kept up

Whether a man winds up with a nest egg or a goose egg depends a lot on the kind of chick he marries.

Many girls like to marry a military man - he can cook, sew, make beds, is in good health...and he's already used to taking orders.

Grandpa and his wife were discussing their 40th wedding anniversary when she said: "shall I kill a chicken for tonight?" "Gnaw," said Grandpa, "Why blame a bird for something that happened 40 years ago

the wife has the last word in any argument. anything the man says after that starts a new argument.

A husband should always maintain a close, friendly relationship with his mother and father in law; they are the only ones who can keep his wife in her proper place.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Over the Hill and Gliding Home

Some benefits of being 50+:

1. A. You finally understand everyone is flawed and you can't change anyone but yourself.
B. You find it much easier to love and accept each individual, including yourself.

2. A. You have a heightened sense that time is running out.
B. You no longer sweat the little things.

3. A. You realize there isn't one problem that doesn't have a solution.
B. You've become more optimistic, more patient.

4. A.You don't take yourself half as seriously as you once did.
B. Laughter comes more easily.

5. A. Most of the major brush strokes you will lay on the canvas of your life have dried.
B. You're freer to linger over the finer details.

photo: Cyclist on Mt. Hymmetus by L. Trecroce

Sunday, March 15, 2009

We have a winner!

The result of the drawing for last month's featured book giveaway is in. I asked my husband to do the honors, so he stuck his hand into the baseball cap and drew out a slip of paper with one of the contestants' names written on it. I'm pleased to announce the winner of Amy Deardon's thrilling action-adventure novel, A Lever Long Enough, is Vicki Pappas. Congratulations, Vicki!

A Lever Long Enough is available through Amazon, here.
Autographed copies of the book are available at the publisher's website, here.

Friday, March 13, 2009

A Friend in a High Place

"He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the LORD." -Proverbs 16:32,33

Let me tell you about my lot and how the Lord neatly disposed of it. Remember the trouble I had, a few months ago, when I went to renew my residence permit? Remember how I grumbled because there seemed to be no way out of paying a hefty, hugely unfair fine? (I'm too ashamed to link you back to that post.) Yesterday, I picked up my new residence card and I ended up paying NOTHING. Not a cent! I don't know how the Lord worked things out, but He did. The town hall clerk, the one who'd previously shown no sympathy, handed me my card, smiled sweetly, and told me that was it. I couldn't believe my ears! But then, what's not to believe? With God, all things are possible.

This was one of the many lessons God has taught me about trusting in Him with all of my heart. Maybe one of these days, I'll wise up.

"Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." Proverbs 3:5,6

photo: Cypress on Mt. Hymettus by L. Trecroce