Thursday, November 24, 2016

Guest Post. The Great Turkey Hunt!

My friends and Editors The D's (Diane and Dorene ) came into my life around book 5 of Athena Lee. They are some of the best parts of my life and my wife and I care very much for them. They are not writers per se but have enriched my life and that of dozens of fellow Authors. They wrote this for a bit of fun.

The Great Turkey Hunt.

November 18, 2016

The sun is out; my grocery list is ready, and this means what? It means I must sally forth and find that perfect sized turkey for sister and me. You know the one, not too big because after all, it's just the two of us, not too small or we won't have any leftovers and the best part - soup from scratch. It means that I must exhibit my butt in the air whilst I hang over the freezer and paw through large frozen turkeys mumbling obscenities. Someone will say “Geesh, lady, stop blocking the aisle.” 

Another may remark “Can’t you hang a warning sign over that thing?” In the meantime, my face will turn red from embarrassment, smashed and frozen fingers, and my stomach squashed against the freezer compartment. However, I will prevail because we do love our soup. 

We are fortunate in that our shared daughter, Julie, is now responsible for the ‘Big Dinner’ and all of the accompanying hoopla that goes with the preparation of said meal. We only have to show up, thank goodness.

 November 19, 2016

The great turkey hunt was met with success (hear the crowds roar), but it wasn’t easy.

The old woman girded her loins with her favorite pair of well worn, old white sneakers, baggy butt jeans, red t-shirt, and a warm fuzzy, blue jacket. The old woman was into comfort not style, mind you. She tied her very long gray hair back out of her face with a band since the stuff flew all over blinding her and tangling her glasses. She grabbed her keys, shoved her wallet into the back pocket of her baggy jeans, and finally, remembering her eco-friendly shopping bags, went out the front door. Carefully she made her way down the front steps into the blinding sunshine.

The old woman only keeps on lights where she absolutely had need making the house interior a shady place. She and sister like it that way, and it keeps the cost down a bit. They aren’t cheap; they’re parsimonious. She patted the door to her full sized pick-up and unlocked the door. Grunting, groaning and bitching she pulled herself in. The drive to the store was uneventful, but the old woman noticed there were many more vehicles on the road than usual. “Crap,” she mumbled,” freakin’ holiday shoppers are out.” Thank goodness her favorite country station hasn’t started playing that cursed Chrismas music yet, she thought. Bahumbug. Parking for once wasn’t a challenge, and she zipped the big truck right in near the store front. The old woman grabbed a cart and got her fingers pinched in the damn thing when she worked it loose. Sneering, she shoved her eco-friendly bags down on the bottom rack and toddled off to do her shopping. The vegetables she could shop for blind-folded or least she could until some smart ass marketing genius decided to change the whole damn area around and put in fancy dancy new bins. The old woman hates store changes. She isn’t quite as stupid as the young marketing geniuses think she is and truly resents the additional time it takes to get her veggies.

Bastards. The old woman is deep into her habits and sees any changes in the store as an inconvenience. Slowly pushing her cart because, of course, she got the one with the wiggly pulling wheel she made the turn into the meat aisle. Oh, crap, look at all of the people hanging over the frozen turkeys. Damn, damn, damn it! Her whole bird would be gone; she just knew it. She had to make an attack plan on the fly. Should she appear as a frail, old lady toddling down to the freezer or should she stand straight and charge in like a linebacker taking out the quarterback? Neither seemed appropriate because there were too many children in the lane and they would surely hurt her when she couldn’t dodge them fast enough. “Crap,” she mumbled. Alright, she would approach the freezer, casually, slowly and make sure to check out the area. She by-passed all of the turkeys that were big enough to feed a platoon of starving soldiers. She also by-passed the fancy dan, uber packaged turkeys. She was on the hunt and knew precisely what she wanted. She held her breath, grunted, and leaned over the freezer cabinet. She released her breath and started to look over the turkeys not spotting her bird immediately. Damn it. Slowly, carefully, not picking any up she moved the birds around. Did ya ever see so many Cajun spiced birds before she thought? Heartburn in spades with those she’d bet. The old woman was forced to pick up and move several by now, her back was starting to hurt, and her fingers were cold. There! There it was! THE PERFECT BIRD! Butter-freakin’-ball had a frozen, ready to cook, pre-seasoned, throw it in the oven, and bake it bird, right there! Yehaw, you sum of bitches, she had found it.

 The old woman carefully surrounded the bird with her jacket covered arms. She peeked around to make sure no one was looking at her cold, hard-won prize. She was prepared to rain hell down on any that approached her threatening to take her bird. She was old very mean and ready to defend her prize. The old woman carefully put the booty into her cart, looked around go see if any were brave enough to follow her and left the meat aisle. The rest of her shopping still had to be completed so with sweat running down her flushed face she booked through the remainder of the store. Well, she tried to book, but being half blind and trying to read her grocery list speed was not to be had. Loading up the back of her mighty pickup was a challenge. The bird alone weighed in at twelve pounds, and by now the old woman’s back really was in pain, and she was short of breath. She unlocked her beast, crawled in, and drove home.

When she arrived at home, the old lady backed up the truck. The old woman’s sister; the gray-haired warrior, was there to help unload the groceries. The gray-haired warrior wasn’t allowed to touch the groceries until she saw the golden bird. The gray-haired warrior praised the old woman for fighting through to the end and bringing home THE BIRD.

 November 24, 2016

The old woman and the gray-haired warrior woke up dreading the day. Looking out the kitchen window, the old lady wept at what she saw. It was drizzling with a dark gray overcast sky. “Crap,” she said.” Ye-freakin’-haw it’s Thanksgiving.”

The day the old woman and the gray-haired warrior had promised the daughter they would brave the hoards of holiday drivers and show up for the much appreciated and celebratory meal. “We must not tarry here at home,” she informed the warrior. “We must take the big, white, fear inducing pickup and get our wrinkled butts on the road to the daughter’s house.” “Should I take the short barrelled shotgun or just the flashbangs.” The warrior woman asked. “The shotgun ,” replied the old woman. “Too many LEO’s will be out doing traffic checks, and we don’t want to give them an excuse to look under the truck bed cover .” They looked at each other in understanding and nodded in agreement.
The old woman and the gray-haired warrior shuffled as fast as their decrepit bodies could move to the fearsome pickup and boogied down the road. The two old ladies chortled at all of the torqued off holiday drivers that passed them. They knew in their shriveled old hearts just how angry they were making the hoards by driving just under the speed limit. If they had to be out driving today at least, they could have a few laughs. Well, they did, right up to the point that they couldn’t find the right street to turn on to get to the daughter’s house. The old woman clenched the wheel tighter, drove slower, and totally torqued off more drivers speeding up and down the road. Sweat began to run down her forehead down into the old woman’s long gray hair. “CRAP!” she growled while gnashing her teeth. “ She turned the warrior and said, “I can’t see the damn street sign, can you?” The warrior woman replied, “hell no, I can’t see for crap, slow down some more.” The old woman slowed down more, and the speeding drivers began trying to talk to them using hand signals as they zipped around the formidable white truck. Eventually, frustrated and on the verge of having an epic battle the two old ladies whipped into a convenience store parking lot to use – heavens forbid – a phone to call the daughter to come and guide them to their destination. The old warrior woman said, “should I take a flash bang with me to get their cooperation?” The old woman hung her head and groaned. “No,” she said “just a couple of quarters.”

The daughter arrived in her zippy, shiny, little car to lead them to her home. Being a sane and reasonable person, she took one look at the old women and didn’t say a word. She just smiled and waved, slowly pulling out into traffic. She kept looking through her mirror checking to make sure the big, white, they can crush my car with that thing, pick up truck, was still behind her. Driving slowly ,she led them to her home. After hugs were exchanged the old woman addressed her and said “ what the f*&^k happened to the street sign? There is a crap-ton of apartment buildings, and stores on the other corner now. The friggin’ area doesn’t remotely resemble anything I remember. I may be old and blind.” she groused, “but I’m not stupid.” “I need some coffee before I pass out,” she sighed. The old woman swore, never again would she drive outside of town – jeez , Louise. The old warrior woman agreed. To home, they would stay never to wander again.

The food was plentiful and deliciously prepared. Many burps and much heartburn were heard and felt by all. Becoming reacquainted with one’s spawn and grand-spawn was tiring, but enjoyable. Canines and felines weaved between many large and small feet waiting to see who would fall down first. Games were played by children of all ages, pie eating commenced, and talking over each other was heard. Until, it was time for the old women to leave. Hugs and leftovers were shared, cheeks kissed, hugs given again as the old women escaped to the mighty pickup truck. Grabbing the prodigal son by his collar the old woman dragged him to the vehicle and the three made like a big white bee and buzzed down the drive onto the feared highway. The drive home was uneventful for all were worn out, nerves frayed and strained. The tired party of three arrived home, unlocked the door and all but fell in. The sun is down now, eventide is here, cats and chins are fed, and the computers booted up to see what the online friends chatted about. When you’re an old woman, you develop a colossal case of nosiness.

What. Do. I. See? A snippet – that sneaky, underhanded author person posted a SNIPPET. We missed the posting of the first snippet for Michael Anderle’s next book The Dark Messiah due out Christmas Day 2016. Curse you author person, you will be made to pay for your perfidy! The dirty was done whilst the old women were trapped in transit. For shame, no warning did he give, no preparation was made before this awesome tidbit was published. We will remember.

1 comment:

  1. Love "Cat's Night Out". Definitely worth including in the next book as part of story line or at end as free stand alone short story.