Donna C. Terrell

I Was Just Thinkin'

Message to Mr. and Mrs. Stuck

This is from Sony. Yeah, that’s right, I’m the TV that lives in this house. What, you didn’t know TVs could talk? Yeah, I talk, and so does the dog, cat and all the other so you thought were inanimate objects around here. We talk amongst ourselves all the time. We get along pretty good. We even have parties, when CD Player is in a good mood. The only one we kinda have a problem with is Litter Box.

What do we talk about? A lot of stuff, but mainly about you two. You’re cool; we like you just fine. But you watch waaay too much much of me, and you can be so ordinary. You’re in a serious rut. So we objects have all been thinking. Maybe if you make small modifications here and there, it can lead to other things!

Let’s start with Fridge. Can we change up the salad dressing? French and Italian is cool, but there are so many different kinds these days! Why not try a vinaigrette, or something with raspberries?

Spice Cabinet says there’s plenty of room for some more stuff. Salt, pepper and seasoned salt is so 1970s. What’s wrong with bringing in some other spices, at least lemon pepper. You always say you don’t like real hot spices. Things don’t have to be hot, but a little kick might be okay. Surely you can tolerate a kick! There’s a whole world, literally, of spices! Try some more. It’ll pump up that cubed steak that’s always in Freezer. Speaking of cubed steak, why does it always have to hang out with white rice? It wants to get to know Dirty Rice and Jasmine Rice, maybe even Wild Rice. You might like it.

Now Bed says you put him to sleep. He’s tired of the same two sets of sheets. He wants color and texture! Same with Walls, they want color too.

Here’s the thing—to be stuck in a routine is mind-numbing. Next thing you know, you’ll be watching me from different ends of Couch. How do I know so much, you may be wondering. I’m a TV. I get all the information, whether I’m actually on or not. Change is good! But speaking of change, don’t mess with my NFL Network and ESPN!

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Message to Mr. and Mrs. Stuck

This is from Sony. Yeah, that’s right, I’m the TV that lives in this house. What, you didn’t know TVs could talk? Yeah, I talk, and so does the dog, cat and all the other so you thought were inanimate objects around here. We talk amongst ourselves all the time. We get along pretty good. We even have parties, when CD Player is in a good mood. The only one we kinda have a problem with is Litter Box.

What do we talk about? A lot of stuff, but mainly about you two. You’re cool; we like you just fine. But you watch waaay too much much of me, and you can be so ordinary. You’re in a serious rut. So we objects have all been thinking. Maybe if you make small modifications here and there, it can lead to other things!

Let’s start with Fridge. Can we change up the salad dressing? French and Italian is cool, but there are so many different kinds these days! Why not try a vinaigrette, or something with raspberries?

Spice Cabinet says there’s plenty of room for some more stuff. Salt, pepper and seasoned salt is so 1970s. What’s wrong with bringing in some other spices, at least lemon pepper. You always say you don’t like real hot spices. Things don’t have to be hot, but a little kick might be okay. Surely you can tolerate a kick! There’s a whole world, literally, of spices! Try some more. It’ll pump up that cubed steak that’s always in Freezer. Speaking of cubed steak, why does it always have to hang out with white rice? It wants to get to know Dirty Rice and Jasmine Rice, maybe even Wild Rice. You might like it.

Now Bed says you put him to sleep. He’s tired of the same two sets of sheets. He wants color and texture! Same with Walls, they want color too.

Here’s the thing—to be stuck in a routine is mind-numbing. Next thing you know, you’ll be watching me from different ends of Couch. How do I know so much, you may be wondering. I’m a TV. I get all the information, whether I’m actually on or not. Change is good! But speaking of change, don’t mess with my NFL Network and ESPN!

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All a Kid Wants to Eat

The Prompt: Write about a favorite childhood meal.

McDonald’s. Plain and simple. I RARELY got McDonald’s when I was a kid. I had to BEG to go to MickyDee’s, so when I did get it, it was a serious treat. My mother, excellent cook that she was, was of the mndset, “You got food in the house.” Then McDonald’s was not this huge Zagat-rated sit-down restaurant. They didn’t even have seats. You walked in, placed and received your order, and promptly left. The big thing for McDonald’s at the time was “change back from your dollar.” We would get our food and go and eat in the car. That was fun then.

McD

Ice cream from the truck. The bells would chime, or whatever annoying ice cream truck music  would be heard, and we kids would scramble to our respective houses to beg for ice cream man money. I would get,”You got ice cream in the freezer.” I didn’t want a grocery store popscicle!! I wanted a big, red, white and blue BOMB POP! Or a orange and white dreamscicle! Now I’m not saying I never got these delicacies, but it was rare. I also learned that if Dad happened to be talking to a friend when the ice cream man came, that was the time to hit him up. He didn’t want to appear cheap in front of his friends.

 

dreamscicle

But the best meal I ever had as a kid was the one I had for my 9th birthday. A chicken breast and rice. Finally, a chicken breast all to myself! When my mother would fry chicken, I would covet Dad’s piece, all big, juicy, white and tender. I always had to eat the drumstick. I didn’t want that anymore. The drumstick was alright when I was 5, but now I was in fourth grade! Surely, it was time to move up in the culinary world. So when she fried that succulent piece of prime chicken just for me, I was elated! I loaded up my rice with butter and sugar. From that day to this, the breast is all I eat. Now I only do boneless and skinless, but my 9th birthday meal, simple as it may be, was delicious and truly a heart’s desire.

 

 

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One Day in the Park

The prompt: A man and woman are walking through a park holding hands. An old woman is sitting on a park bench knitting a red sweater. The man sees this and starts to cry. The twist: Use different points of view.

Now Dudette is thinking: I’ve got to do it today. He’s a good guy and all, but I’m tired of all the brooding, the mood swings. I’m tired of these kind of men, with their secrets and all. So he’s got to go. And what’s the deal with the color red? He acts so weird about it. The other night I had on this smokin’ red dress; it made my skinny frame look like Beyonce’. And all he could do was claim that he didn’t feel well all of a sudden? He had the runs? Puleeze. I don’t even know why I’m holding his hand.

Now Dude is thinking: “That lady on that bench reminds me of Mrs. Rose, the cook back at the frat house. Her food was the bomb!” He noticed she was knitting a red sweater. Instantly his mind was transported back to the day, that inglorious day when he ran for that touchdown and everybody was yelling his name! He heard cheers! He heard chanting! He saw the sea of red sweaters waving jubilantly as he scored in the Cardinal’s endzone! He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Because of his wrong way heroics, his beloved Warriors lost 16 to 17.

Now Old Lady is thinking: I didn’t know it would take me so long to get these orders out! But I’m going to finish what I start! Everybody says I’m nuts for starting this new business, but why not? Just because I’m 79 doesn’t mean I don’t still have goals and dreams for my life. PetSweats, colorful handmade sweaters for dogs, will rule the pet apparel world!

Now the yarn is thinking: I wish she’d finish whatever I’m going to be because this tickles!

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3 Cats and a Dog: The Losses of My Life

My father is the best man I know. He’s the greatest father, and I can write pages and pages of testament to Dad. But there are 3 witnesses against him:

Tammy, Spooky, and Candy.

Tammy was my first kitten, and with her began my love affair with cats. She was a cute little black and white kitty, and the way the black on her face framed her eyes made her look like a little bandit. Tammy and her playful antics would have me, Mommy and Dad cracking up.

Now I don’t know exactly what happened that caused Dad to decide to get rid of Tammy. After all, that was decades ago. I thought it was because my mother was allergic. Dad once said years ago that it was because I wasn’t taking care of the kitten. C’mon I was EIGHT!!!! What did I know about pet care? But all I do know is Dad and I took cute little Tammy to a GROCERY STORE several miles away and LEFT HER THERE! I was so upset. Dad’s thinking was someone would feed her. Well, I hope that was the case. I’d like to think that Tammy lived out her life, fat and content, as the grocery store cat who kept the mice away and was rewarded with delicacies from the seafood department.

Then there was Spooky, an all black kitten with white tips on all four paws. Spooky lasted around the household long enough to grow into an adult cat. Spooky fell out of favor the day she had the runs and pooped all over the couch. Dad didn’t play poop. The black cat was brown when he got done with her, and then was banished to the backyard. He told me to find someone to take her because Spooky would not be allowed back in. So I started going house to house, asking if anyone wanted a cat. Luckily, kind Mrs. Dunbar took Spooky in. She said that I could visit the cat anytime, and I did. Spooky even had a litter of kittens!

Candy was a toy fox terrier that Dad got from a coworker. He brought her home unexpectantly one day. What a surprise! It was fun to have a dog. I would take Candy all over the neighborhood. She would follow me to the bus stop and wait with me. I would be outside at my best friend’s house, and someone would say “Donna, here comes your dog!” Candy knew where to go to find me. Candy was a white dog with black and brown spots, and a big black spot on her side. I wondered why the previous owners didn’t name her Spot.

One night, something strange was going on outside. Candy would not stop barking. I got out of bed and looked out the window, and I saw someone run through the yard. Terrified, I ran down the hall and woke up Dad and the stepmother. Then we heard someone at our back door! My father grabbed his gun and ran downstairs. The stepmother called the police. These people were trying to get in! Turns out the intruders had the wrong house, because they kept demanding to see “Rudy.” Guess my father’s gun scared them off, and they were gone. Who knows what Rudy did to them.

But what they did to Candy was cruel. They cut her, right on her big black spot. When I finally got up that morning, that’s what I discovered. Poor Candy! When I got home from school later, I didn’t see Candy. I asked Dad where was she. Instead of taking Candy to the vet, he took her TO THE POUND! I was so hurt and angry! Candy just SAVED OUR LIVES from the Rudy crooks, and this is how you repay her?!

A couple of years after that, we had intruders of the vermin sort. Mice had got into the house. Dad and the stepmother decided we needed a cat. I was happy when placed with the charge of finding one. Turns out the small drug and grocery store down the block had a litter of kittens, and I got one of those.  Kittycat was white with black and brown spots and a big black spot on her side! She was Candy reincarnate! How ironic that I got her from a grocery store!

Dad really liked Kittycat. He used to loved how she would wait in the window for him to get home every morning. If it turns out she wasn’t in the window, Dad would ask, “Where’s the cat?” Kittycat would come running. When the stepmother nutted up and decided that Kittycat was tearing the house up and couldn’t come back inside until she got declawed, Dad actually paid for this. They say that when cats get declawed, their behavior changes. That must be true, because Kittycat had always hated going outside. After she got declawed, she started hanging out every night. She always came back.

By then I was on my first professional job, and I know Kittycat was home when I went to work one morning. But Dad called me at work later, saying he hadn’t seen her the whole day. He looked all over for her, even in the washing machine. Now I really don’t know what happened to Kittycat, but I have always blamed the stepmother for her mysterious disappearance. Dad is in the clear on this.

Hug your pets, people. Hug your pets.

 

 

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