Your writing prompt this week is
SHADE
We had a hot summer this year in the UK, so finding shade came as a relief. I remember loving to draw when I was a young girl and choosing the difference shades of colour. We often talk about light and shade in terms of contrast. It can also mean slightly. For example, ‘Don’t you think that dog is a shade on the small side?’ Or to change. For example, in the morning the sky shaded from murky grey to pale pink.
It has other meanings, too. What does the prompt word mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt CLUB.
A delusion of being watched
Her face was all bruised, also blotched
Her blond hair may be slightly botched
Looked untouched by the night’s debauch
Is he coming for his revenge?
For what had happened to avenge?
Relish the story of the beasts
Full to the brim with surprised feasts
Splintered and flash peeling with yeasts
Entertained by night club artistes
Complete with blank and question mark
Perhaps a boon to disembark
So the lurking of a shadow
Is the story coming to throw?
The background and events to know?
Some tragic a long time ago?
What happened next we never know
In this night of stillness and low
Unique Exclusivity
When you can’t get to the putting green of your favorite club… you make due and use your own yard! Someone else’ s clubs were used to set several golf balls out of the practice players’ reach. We can only imagine that a neighbor several homes north of us, had been practicing in their own yard. Two summers ago squirrels planted several golf balls in our backyard. Some of the golf balls might have made it across the creek. In the early mornings one of my self appointed tasks is to fill the birdfeeders and to make sure our gully between our property and the south neighbor remains flow free. And that was when I discovered several different brands of those specially dimpled balls.
Our lawn is not professionally maintained like a golf course. We have bare patches and had a gopher attempting to burrow a hole access from the creek. There are roots of trees and several little bare patches. Mostly where the squirrels have dug to bury the horse chestnuts to retrieve when winter arrives. Those pesky squirrels also buried a few golf balls. The first one I spied – it was so deep that I thought it was a mushroom! A small white cap showing – but on closer inspection… and a little prying I released the ball. So the running joke became; “Honey – I found another mushroom!” The total tally was about a dozen. After I washed them I could see that some were chewed a little bit more than others. I only found two this year… so far. They are all in the plastic jar … if I find any more, they too will join that exclusive ‘club’ of inedible “Mushrooms”.
(+ Bashō style haiku)
hunting scene
fungi; morels, buttons?
buried golf balls
Redemption
Love torn asunder
serrated edges draw blood
but the heart beats on
striking like a billy club
redemption in copper red
I used to think
a club would do,
but love does more
and blesses, too.
At an official Christmas Party in 1977, I felt uncomfortable and surplus to requirements as my then husband didn’t introduce me to anyone, so I stuck my hand out to the group of people he was talking to and introduced myself, not knowing they were his direct line manager and company bosses.
Shortly after, he was elected to be on the committee of his firm’s Sports and Social Club, and as his wife, I was expected to attend whatever events he’d arranged, or had a hand in arranging, whether they were of interest to me or not.
The first event I remember was a skittles evening, though I much preferred ten pin bowling, something he hated and I’d given up when we got married.
I volunteered to reset the pins whilst Husband literally threw himself down the alley, letting go of the ball before he landed on his face. Don’t ask me where he got the idea that that was the style of the game, but there you go. Everyone else just rolled the ball and hoped to hit a pin or two.
The BBQs were fun though and no-one went down with food poisoning, though I did avoid any chicken. Burgers and bangers were OK, but BBQ chicken and I rarely saw eye to eye, more porcelain to buttocks.
Two posh dos had me overdressed on one, too casual on the other, and excruciatingly embarrassed on both. I didn’t go to a third as we’d separated by then.
There was a venue here in town years ago, called the Cotton Club. It was a building right out in the middle of a cotton field, and people would come from all around to dance country dances and listen to live music being played up on stage. I read where it opened in the 1930s, but when we went it was the 60s. My husband’s parents always went on a weekend night, and sometimes we’d go with them. This was before we were married and also underage to get into a club, unless we were with our parents, or other adult. I think that this place didn’t sell alcohol at the time, but people were allowed to BYOB bring your own bottle of liquor and beer.
I remember one time later, after we got married, we went to this club, and we were still underage. So my sister in law and I went and hid in the ladies bathroom, because the club was being raided by the TABC (Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commision) looking for rule breakers. Which we were. They didn’t come into the bathroom, and she and I were laughing so hard at the whole deal. Finally we got the all clear and went back out to dance some more.
This is where we heard lots of country bands playing in their early days. One band that was always there was the Maines Brothers Band. We were friends with their whole family. One of the brothers was the father of Natalie Maines (later of the Dixie Chicks). We knew them all, and my mother in law and father in law were best friends with them for years. They played great music. Lots of very famous music artists played there over the years.
Anyway, that’s my club story.
Growing Past The Playing Cards All Day Phase
Gemma looked at the cards in her hands as she played bid whist with her friends in the Bridge Club on Fifth Street. There were few events in her life more satisfying than “running a Boston” on her opponents. She lived for each time she and her partner won every hand. She would jump up and dance, saying, “in your face” a few times, while laughing and enjoying life. She wondered how life could get any better.
But, the day came when her mother said, “You have 60 days to find a job and move out. I am taking the keys to the house on the sixtieth day, whether you have a place to stay or not. You can’t just play cards and drink beer with friends in clubs or their homes for the rest of your life! You are 21 years old, and it’s time to work and learn responsibility.”
Gemma paid no attention to her mother and continued to attend the card games wherever they were played. She didn’t count the days or even attempt to find a job, believing that her mother would never disinherit her from her childhood home. Her mother was tripping because Gemma failed to wash the dishes before leaving that day. So, on the sixtieth day, Gemma washed the dishes and went to her friend Carol’s apartment, where cards and beer were the order of the day.
On returning home after midnight, her key didn’t fit in the door lock. She tried every angle, and still no luck. She called her mother. When her mother answered, Gemma asked her to come and open the door. Imagine Gemma’s surprise when her mother reminded her that yesterday was the sixtieth day. She told Gemma, “When you find a place to stay, let me know where to send your clothes and things.”
Gemma started crying and promised that she would look for a place, but her mother, as hard as it was for her, stayed firm in her refusal. She knew that if she didn’t stay resolute, she would enable Gemma to remain irresponsible. Gemma responded with words so harsh that they cut into her mother’s heart and soul like a serrated knife. But with tears running down her face and prayers to God for her daughter’s safety on her lips, she hung up the phone.
Gemma called Carol and told her of her predicament, and Carol agreed that Gemma could stay for a month, but then she had to leave. Over the next four weeks, Gemma found a job, which allowed her to rent a basement apartment from a neighbor. After missing so many days playing cards, Gemma came to relish the feeling of taking care of herself and having her own money. She learned that there comes a time when we must put away childish things and become self-supporting adults. She had been so angry with her mother that she hadn’t spoken to her for the whole month. She’d wondered if her mother had stopped loving her, locking her out and all.
But she came to realize that it was a mother’s love that caused her mother to make such a scary declaration. She called her mother and thanked her, stating, “It was the best thing you could ever do for me!” Her mother said, “Yes, but it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I haven’t slept a full night. So, thank you for understanding that it was love that guided me, and I am so proud of you!” They both cried and promised to meet for lunch on the weekend.
The Hole
As I set my drink back on the bar, a whooshing sound fills my ears. I’m pulled inward, as if into a hole inside my head. My hand clutches the glass, but the cold is gone.
I scan the club, frantic. Faces smear under the strobe, shadows blurring across the dancefloor. Where is Maddie?
The lights flare too bright, the whole scene becomes a pulse. I scream out her name, but the bass swallows me whole. I cannot even hear the sound of my own voice.
My vision narrows, everything’s closing in. As if at the end of a tunnel- I see him. The bald guy. The one I told to fuck off earlier.
He’s leaning against the wall. Waiting. Watching. Our eyes meet for a singular beat.
His mouth curves into a smirk.
Everything slips away.
Stone Age Romance
I miss the good old days when all it took was a club and a cave.
(For the pic that goes with this, click here)
Rall:
it’s still a boys club
they are the majority
in charge of the world
not doing a good job guys
best leave it to the women
Louis N. Carreras:
Clubby
“I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.” – Groucho Marx
Seeing this prompt brought back a lot of memories. You see, I was attending a rather snobby Ivy League institution of wayward rich kids as a graduate student. Eventually, the inevitable happened, I fell for a young lady who was a leaf from a branch of a tree of a well-to-do family. To cut to the chase, ace, her male relatives rapidly informed me that I was “not clubable”, would not fit in with their coterie, wouldn’t pass muster, and should scram.
This was not something you say to a former, but not reformed, Coffeehouse singer and veteran of the lower reaches of New York City’s Greenwich Village and many other disepitomable bistros across broad swaths of the USA. I did what any folk singer would do; I immortalized it in song. Not only did I immortalize it in song, but I played it at any place where there was a well-attended party or an audience available. Pretty soon, it was notorious, as were the people I wrote it about.
Now I just happen to retain the original of this bit of potent doggerel. I promise I won’t inflict the entire thing on you, but if I may, here is the High Society Rag:
Well, I met myself the prettiest gal, lord I had ever seen, and she took me to meet her folks in the country club scene. Well, they liked me at the very first sight and they loved the way that I sang, but they took violent exception to the class from which I came.
Refrain I
I wasn’t White, Liberal and Middle Class sspelled W-A-S-P , White Liberal and Middle Class Spelled W-A-S-P. My club affiliations were not the best. I wasn’t in the Rittenhouse, but if that was not enough for the upper crust, I wasn’t even middle class.
Verse:
Well, I tried to join High Society, but every way that I turned, somebody had staked out an angle that guaranteed that I couldn’t join. Well, there ain’t any prejudice, it’s a free country, can’t you see. But if you’re not in the Social Register, buddy, don’t bother me!
Then back to the refrain and so on for several very explicit verses.
It was not long after this that I discovered the Groucho Marx quote about clubs, and adopted its take on things as my own.
Clubbable
My friends came back after school today.
Things get a bit noisy when we play.
Barry and Shane can get carried away.
(“I wish,” sometimes my mum will say.)
And Jean can be cheeky, but that’s just Jean.
We were hungry, and Mum had made cakes for tea.
But, by the time Dad came home, plates were all clean.
Dad said I was clubbable. What did he mean?
Join The Club
There once was a crafty young grub,
Who longed to join a food club,
He baked a pie quite devine,
Added a splash of fine wine,
When they said ‘Yes’, he completely teared-up!
I was a huge fan of Tony Blackburn, and would listen to his Radio1 show every morning in the car on the way to school.
Tony was opening a boutique in Uxbridge and my friend and I queued up to get his autograph. I hadn’t brought any paper so he signed my hand. I remember him saying ‘ Your hands are shaking!’ Of course, I didn’t wash that hand for days. And I was in love!
I joined the Tony Blackburn fan club (remember those?), and through that found a penfriend. We are still writing to each other over fifty years later. Not so long ago, she contacted him on his radio show telling him our story. and he gave us a mention on air.
We’re not quite the longest pen-pal friendship going, but I will always remember if it hadn’t been for Tony, we wouldn’t have found each other.
club
i’ve always wanted
to be part of a group—
a belonging,
maybe a club.
it sure feels good
to be accepted,
to be remembered
for who we are
and what we can give
to something greater.
sure, it’s noble.
sure, it’s wonderful.
but age—
age taught me
i can be
my own club.
Just a few minutes before I saw Esther Chilton’s writing prompt “club” I received my annual invoice for our family membership in the Leonberger Club of America. What a great reminder to pay my bill and create a post about the Leonberger Club of America. We haven’t had a Leonberger since the summer of 2020 when our Leonberger Bronco, or Le Bronco von der Löwenhöhle passed away. However, we’ve kept our membership because I love their LeoLetter magazine, I know some people, I have this blog, and I wrote a book about our Leonberger and the Leonberger breed after the passing of Bronco (see the side bar on the right or click here for more information).
The Leonberger Club of America
I can add that the Leonberger Club of America, LCA for short, is the official national parent club for the Leonberger breed in the United States (and Canada). It was founded in 1985. Its mission is to preserve and promote the health, temperament, and original type of the Leonberger through education, events, performance programs, and social engagement. The American Kennel Club (AKC) recognizes the LCA as the official Leonberger breed club in the United States.
The Leonberger Club of America make sure that the Leonberger dogs are protected. You are about as likely to find a Leonberger at Petland/Puppy-Mill as you are finding an Elephant for sale there. You typically buy/get a Leonberger dog from an LCA certified Leonberger breeder or from the Leonberger Rescue Pals, and if you don’t that might be a problem. Leonberger breeders interview prospective Leonberger owners and make sure they are a good fit. If you are found to have mistreated a dog in the past, turned one into a shelter, or sold one on an auction, you cannot buy a Leonberger. The breeders are also required to take back the dog if it does not work out. To see the transcript from our Leonberger interview, click here.
And for more from Thomas’s post and some great photos, please click here
The Happiness Club
She was the most jovial member of our Happiness Club regularly taking part in all the activities energetically. Rati had many feathers in her cap from holding a top executive post in an MNC to being a devoted mother to a daughter. She was a kind soul too helping out the weak and the downtrodden readily.
Rati was the first to speak up when Chandra, another member of the Club, was found to have been continuously tortured for dowry. Chandra’s parents belonged to the lower income group and could not sustain the constant pressure of dowry demand (for huge sums of money) from her in-laws. Chandra was well educated but a homemaker. Rati encouraged her to lodge a police complaint, provided her legal assistance and finally supported her financially and emotionally through a nasty divorce. She even found a job for Chandra in a local school after the divorce so that she could be financially independent and live life with confidence and dignity.
We looked up to Rati for her courageous stand and wise advice in times of exigencies.
***
It came as a shock when Rati made headlines.
She had not been coming to the Club for quite some time. There was no prior intimation from her. She was not even answering calls. We thought she might be indisposed or could have gone out of station on a sudden trekking trip which she often did.
However, the reason for her absence became clear when one fine morning we read the news in the papers – “a top executive of an MNC found badly manhandled at her posh residence. Her husband, who had lost his job recently because of suspected embezzlement, had beaten her black and blue to let out his frustration.”
The police were called by her teenage daughter who arrested the husband on charges of domestic violence. Rati was immediately hospitalized. When we visited the hospital she refused to see us.
Rati’s story did not end here. She recuperated from physical and mental damage, walked out of her marriage with her daughter, resigned from the MNC where she used to work and opened an NGO to support women from all strata of society who suffered in a bad marriage.
A year later she rejoined the Happiness Club to continue doing what she did best – set an example for other women who due to various reasons did not come forward to fight for their birth right – the right to a respectful and happy life.
***
This story is based on a front page report read many years back about a female top executive of an MNC who quietly suffered repeated domestic abuse in fear of social disgrace. Rati is a fictitious character to boost the morale of all such silent sufferers who keep on living lives of inhuman physical, mental and emotional torture and indignities due to lack of support and encouragement from friends, family and society.
My love for music and performing began as a young girl, singing in our church choir and later, joining my school’s glee club and drama club.
One of my best friends wanted me to join Girl Scouts with her; she wasn’t in the other clubs with me and we didn’t get to spend as much time together as we used to. When I talked to my mother about joining Girl Scouts, she warned me that I might be taking on too much, but because I wanted to be with my friend, I promised I’d be able to handle everything. Mom, ever the pragmatic parent, gave her ok but reminded me that she didn’t raise me to be a quitter: “Don’t even think about dropping Scouts half-way through or you’ll regret it.”
No big surprise, I hated being a Girl Scout; I just wasn’t “Scout material” and I was ready to quit after two weeks. I actually tried to get myself thrown out but I think they were on to me! When I told my mother I wanted to quit Girl Scouts, she shocked me with her response:
“OK, but if you quit Scouts, you’re going to have to quit all your other clubs, too. You can’t go through life flitting from one commitment to another.”
I was shocked! I couldn’t believe what my mother was saying and that she would dangle my other clubs over my head! No matter how much I begged, she wouldn’t budge. I was stuck and realized I had no choice but to stay with the Scouts. Begrudgingly, I gave in; I couldn’t risk losing choir, glee club and drama club.
I didn’t enjoy my year with the Girl Scouts at all but that didn’t matter to my mother. What mattered was teaching me to be responsible and aware of the commitments and promises I made.
Would my mother actually have followed through on her threat? I don’t know but I wasn’t willing to call her bluff.
***
Esther Chilton 
Leave a reply to Shady – Writing Wrinkles, and Random Ramblings Cancel reply