TOP FLITE ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

ON THE GREEN ~ Pic ala kailavanfossan

TOP FLITE

By ~ Absolutely*Kate

It used to be Titleist. Then the urge came to pass on the desire for "The Ball Choice of the Tour Professional". He was. He is. Professional and personal in every scorecard stroke of the periphery. No bogeys. All class on the grass, be it rough or well-trimmed.

So that's what she bought him ~ for birthdays, for Christmases, Valentine's Days, and for Father's Day of course, she stayed the course. Pretty easy on the what-to-get purchase list, and a cinch to wrap in the funny parts from Sunday's paper or later in life, in appropo bright zingy wrapping paper with a cheery centered blue bow. She'd add other treats of course, chocolate covered peanuts, a sports or life intriguing book, yet another Pittsburgh Steelers' prized piece of paraphernalia, a framed creation . . . but the box of Top Flites was always and ever a best appreciated need that would get plenty of use, stir immense pride and strivings on long range driving. You could say this gift was par for the course. 

He gave her love and protection, insight through laughter and a life-long attraction towards the innate goodness in all people you come across in the adventure of a day. He took a Dale Carnegie course once during early supervisory Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company days and shared his homework when she eagerly waited up in skyblue PJ's for that night's exciting return. Oh how he loved excelling at learning each new idea, skill or thrill. He shared the seminar session's lessons - the fine art of association-memorization, the reinforcement of positive thought to action, and both of their favourites -- hitting a rolled up newspaper on the table in the morning, shouting out loud, "It's going to be a GREAT DAY!" Amazing how the enthuse of laughter accompanying any reach beyond mere normality . . . makes the desired outcome have all the better chances.

 

Fortune favours the prepared mind, and his always was, cliche-inclusive, working smarter not harder, knowing Lombardi's "It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get up" that counts. He stayed up, never complained nor let loose a negative thought. He encouraged without words, and his words were his noble bond.

He teased and he pleased. He was loved for 57 married and 3 dating years by his devoted Franny and forever onward by she and their thriving jiving five. He listened; he let you think your way through your thinking and then released the ultimate trophy: "Now you got it Kid!" He worked right alongside you before silently disappearing, getting you started in whatever job made something better at where you were at - picking up the front yard's grass-cuttings, stocking and blocking A&P shelves, painting a room, changing a tire, hosing your first prized red camauro, or his oft prized red tomatoes, peppers, cantaloupes and strawberries. He was garden, golf, gridiron, great father, grandfather, guts, gumption and grins. Oh those grins.

Got 'em inside me now.

So many folks ~ the kind he'd really want to have amble over to his back patio in Ohio for a cup of coffee and a poured conversation have reached me, the giver of Top Flites, about the legacy this semi-pro golfer and this all-pro Dad, hero and best friend has planted to grow on within me.

Thank*God they're right.

I'm goin' par for the course now too.

My father, Paul Pilarcik, lived vibrantly through the last day of summer, his season. Now that vibrancy, that spirit of strength lets me and swell-meaning multitudes know what Camus wrote is legacy-reality in Top Flite trajectory: 

   

"I finally knew in the depths of winter

there was within me

an invincible summer."
  

With still fresh tears, my gratitude is going long and going the distance, precious friends and treasured colleagues, in the way Paul would, from that always welcome patio ~ wholeheartedly.
   

Tis Top Flite soaring
  I was taught Life is all about.

I know it to be true ~

I wholeheartedly wish it unto you.

~ Absolutely*Kate, 
Paul's first kid

STAMP OF APPROVAL ~ By Paul's Kid, Absolutely*Kate

BEST PATIO ON EARTH ... KATHLEEN PILARCIK PHOTO

STAMP OF APPROVAL

 
My Dad's Paul Pilarcik. 
 

He taught me football. 
 

He taught me Steelers.
 

All I had to do was sit in the living room

and watch TV with him. 
 

Oh yeah, and I had to be quiet too. 
 

I sure did learn a lot though. 
 

About more than just football too. 
 

THANKS DAD. 

 
Love, 

~ Absolutely your Kate
 

 

"IT'S NOT WHETHER

YOU GET
KNOCKED DOWN.
IT'S WHETHER
YOU GET UP."

~ Coach Lombardi

one of the heroes of my Hero

~ A*K

THE MOUSE, THE BAT AND THE NOTE ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ~ #FlashFiction

Not a game! Not a game!   pic by unloveablesteve

THE MOUSE, THE BAT

AND THE NOTE

By ~

Absolutely*Kate

Russell rustled the lady in bed awake at quarter past 8. The rustle of Russell was loud and she thought her man was back in the house. It was the sound of a rustle he might hustle up.

Alas. The comely lass awoke with the awakening that even with the VICTORY sign painted on mouse traps, a better one is not built until it catches the critter causing the consternation. This was evidently ~ rustle, rustle ~ not the closed case it coulda shoulda been.

The rustling grew louder. A bold varmint it be. The lady out of bed in a deep green coloured tee made it quietly (much more quietly than the muscle of Russell's rustle). She armed herself. You read it coming in the title. A baseball bat conveniently tucked in the corner behind the table where the rolled up towels lingered peacefully. No rustle there. It was coming from the bottom of the stairs. She was headed there.

The Louisville Slugger meant business. Would she use it? If she had to. A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. Defense stops for no squeamishness, no yelps, no fear. She stomped the bat hard on the next to the last stair when her soft footed barefeet silently got her there.

Russell rustled. Big time. He gave up his hidey-hole and she took that hole and the bag that came with it and the ripped piercings' piecings within it and the larger popcorn bag with the hole Russell had rustled himself into and she carried it -- quickly, mind you quickly -- outside. Where to put it? Was she carrying Russell about to rustle again or had he crunched outta lunch? This was Smart Popcorn after all.

She made it to the porch. Well, let's call this lady Kate. It's not to late in our tale of the tailed tail to tell it to you this way. Kate looked to the right and to the left and further down the porch and -- quickly, mind you quickly -- made up her mind. She raised the lid of the kettle grill, (she had to put down her Slugger weapon to do so - but within reach -- Kate needs no popcorn to keep her smarts up) and bagged the bag within. Yes, 'grillin' takes on a whole new dimension now. Russell is either happy in his man of a mouse cave or he's - - - - - -

Yep. He's rustling still. Kate heard him. Kate made coffee and swore at him. Kate swore big time. She scorned him, she did. Not that that did anything. So Kate did what she's never done in her life before. (Kate's life before has had a Dad and numerous brothers and a husband and a son and numerous menfolk to do such a thing. Kate makes fun of sexism but not when it comes to touching a mousetrap.) After moving the unvictorious V-trap gingerly with the Louisville maple swisher, she picked up the death-contraption by the outside edges for the very first time she's ever touched a deathtrap. She placed it up on the pantry shelf where the bag that held the rustle of the Russell had previously been. Change of venue? Kate thought she'd outfox a mouse, she did. Returning to the food-source scene is what every good criminal mouse should do. Kate's a writer. I mention that or did you figure it out for yourself?

    

 

The note that was on the blue placemat on the white hutch in the kitchen found during the coffee making routines of usual great joy bade Kate to "Enjoy the creative wonder of your writing and the pleasure of doing what you love and dream to accomplish." She recognized the scrawl of his charm, or is that the charm of his scrawl? No! Not Russell's, Matthew's.

It's no dream. My accomplishment list includes the reality-desire of killing ... the mouse that's in my house.

Back to creative wonder and wondering if a note should be taken at face value or if it has multi-layers of meaning. Irony that.

   

"SNAP!"

The noise was loud. The noise was sudden. Out of the reverie writing implores, Kate snapped. "Ah, that stupid mouse is rustling again clear across 3 rooms."

"WAIT! Clear across 3 rooms!??? That was no rustle. THAT WAS A SNAP!" A most definite SNAP! Not even a Harry B Sanderford tale of a SNAP that got away was keepin the curiosity of this Kat away.

Well the more curiosity wrestled against grossness, the more Kate had a concern with really ~ should she look? But what if she had to go upstairs - to change clothes or use the bathroom or get to her garret and think or something? What would she do then? She had to be braver than the grossness of the splat of a rat in a deathtrap marked Victory.

So -- still with the constant companion Louisville in her clean clutches, she made it (soft as sandals could foot it) across the old gold carpet of the living room/study, across the Modrian rug design of the dining room/library/gallery, realizing once again how many slash/rooms it takes to make a peaceful home from the 1860's do all the jobs that rooms should do in such a place of peace and inspiration. They just shouldn't have a mouse in 'em. That's not peaceful at all.

She's in the kitchen now. Blue beckons on the white floor. This is such a cheery place. The classic Van Gogh irises framed above the sink make all things seem above any suspicions, any time. Yet, she creeps slower now. Past the hutch and the coffee pot (almost empty). Past the frig with the multi-magnets. Ooh Oh - she's at the corner now. Will she do it? Will Kate be courageous? Will she look Victory's death in the eye -- or at least a peek at a dead tail to end this tale?

She did.

She looked.

But from afar. Kate's not that courageous. Hell, what if Russell the rat rustler was only half dead or ten-percent dead? What would that do her? She'd get bit and there'd be a disease that took her out of commission when she has been trying so valiantly to get back on track ... That just wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Besides, gettin' bit would hurt. Not as much as what the unsaintly Saints did to Brett's bruised places which now match in uniformity his purpled uniform colours but . . .

Kate's procrastinating.
Kate's deliberating.

But Kate had to know. Was he dead? Was she the one who got the dread to go?

She leaned 'round the side of the frig, she did. She saw the trap. The trap had gone snap. There was no cheese. There was no mouse.

Russell the rustler was still the louse of a mouse loose in her house. There was no VICTORY in Derbytowne.

Mighty Katie had struck out.

 E'MAIL EPILOGUE:

Honeypie,
 

The mouse story is terrific.  It is entertaining in all the best ways:  witty, pithy, subtly suspenseful, and simply a pleasure to read.  You should consider putting it on AT THE BIJOU when you return for those readers and  those Friday Flash people you are really enjoying.  Others should have the chance to read it.  You should also consider having it published as a short story in a magazine. 

Love,

Matthew

PS  I'll try to set up a better trap.

FEARLESS FAB-FOURSOME FEATURE TAKES ON TIME! ~ Exclusive AT THE BIJOU!

OH HOW THEY TOOK THE BIJOU CHALLENGE!      - AngleNan pic

*AT THE BIJOU*

most proudly presents

what TIME and TIME again,

stellar authors have created

when a challenge comes out to play!

 A CEREAL-TALE?        - Mr Biebel pic

First there was SNAP, CRACKLE, POP

as Harry B. Sanderford, Zelda Martin and Sugar Wendy Staley poured it out . . .

OH HOW THEY BAITED!        - Dunbone pic

Next came the sharp edge that Jeanette Cheezum, Richard M. Johnson and new AT THE BIJOU author Michael Terence McNerney dropped ~ HOOK, LINE & SINKER.

 

But folks, 

you ain't seen nuttin' yet!

Our FAB-4 are walkin' in the door

to say, "WELCOME TO INTERIM" ~

 

Linda Simoni-Wastila: "Kate ~ Sal, Laurita, Ant, and I are pleased to share WELCOME TO INTERIM, a story in 4 voices, for your swanky space!  Kate, happy as heck you enjoyed our 'timeless' tale. The most difficult part of this group project was figuring out what to write about -- we spent over a week waffling that one out. The theme was 'time'. Sal used his Sicilian charm and he led off with the first paragraph, and we followed suit, playing off the previous pieces. A few iterations between initial drafts, and VOILA! Ant, Sal, and Laurita are lotsa fun to write with ... novel, anyone?  Hope all AT THE BIJOU enjoy! 

 

Sal Buttaci:   "Kate ~ Collaborating with Linda, Laurita, and Anthony was more fun than I can say!  At first I thought, four heads are better than one or too many cooks spoil the broth?  I was pleasantly surprised.  We were able to keep a story going, make use of time and place as props, create suspense, and come to a conclusion. You'll see . . . AT THE BIJOU "

 

Laurita Miller:  "A*K ~ Writing with Linda, Anthony and Sal was so much fun, and so easy. Who’d have thought a four person story could be constructed so smoothly? Theme, method, structure and then BAM – we’re done. I’m thrilled to be a part of this story. These guys make me look good by association. They'll all see . . . AT THE BIJOU!"

 

MORE THAN DAYS OF YOUR LIFE ~ Kate / sarahu pic

Anthony Venutolo?

  He just snapped
his fingers
and winked.

 You got Time?

Time's the tell here ~~~~

THESE ARE NOT YOUR EVERYDAY SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS!

 

C O M I N G  U P  N E X T ~

"WELCOME TO INTERIM"

 

A fearless Fab-Foursome Feature of:

 

Salvatore Buttaci,

Linda Simoni-Wastila,

Laurita Miller

A N D

Anthony Venutolo

BROUGHT TO YOU BY CHALLENGING MINDS

 AND BELIEVING IN BELIEVERS ~  

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown

 *AT THE BIJOU*

YIKES!

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WELCOME TO INTERIM

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