Saturday, December 25, 2010

Tis a Hopeful Season

It was Christmas Eve 1934. Large snowflakes were gently drifting downward to the streets of Manhattan. The stores were closing early, the sidewalks bustling with last minute shoppers. Albert had been a Macy's Santa going on ten years. He and his wife Katherine had truly epitomized "Mr. and Mrs. Klaus", bringing as much year-round joy to all as they possibly could. They owned a small grocery on Amsterdam, and had provided food to those in need since the crash of '29.

Christmas for Albert was different this year. Dear Katherine had unexpectedly passed away in April. Albert had quickly drifted into depression, and took to the 'drink'. His robust laughter as the children sat on his lap masked an enormously deep sadness.

As he exited the side door of Macy's, he retrieved the flask from his pocket, and took a long draw from the narrow opening. The warmth of the whiskey would keep him warm on his long walk home to the lonely apartment above the store on Amsterdam.

He decided to take a different route home, walking north along busy 5th Ave. As he crossed 53rd he could hear the rich sound of the St. Thomas Church organ accompanied by hundreds of voices inside..."Away in a manger..." A small voice told him to "go inside". So, Albert, the once happy, now sad, white bearded fat man rolled through those church doors...perhaps the right doors at the right time.

This is my Christmas Day installment of the prompted, creative writing exercise, Saturday Centus. The prompt is the bold italicized part.

Peace and blessings, with hopes for better days ahead.
Namaste, jeff c...

Jenny Matlock

Saturday, December 18, 2010


As Elven lives go, Amanae's had been quite remarkable. Born to revered and powerful parents (her father of the Dwinghymn House, her mother of Tyrmitore ancestry), she had walked a path of remarkable beauty and wisdom. Simply, Amanae's presence and powers were unsurpassed. There was but one thing left for her to do in life...mate with a human. The child from such a union would possess great knowledge and power and would rise to prominence in her 'House'. This life goal could mean her demise, but after long and careful consideration, she knew it was her destiny.

Amanae walked down Mulberry Street to a brightly lit house on the corner of Elm. Inside the Stewarts were hosting the annual Mulberry St. Christmas costume block party. As Amanae entered through the foyer, all eyes turned, gazing on her radiant beauty. She at once knew that finding a Nieve would be easy. As she entered the living room, she heard the rather snippy Ellen Jones whisper to Ann Lewis, " what was she thinking? OMG! Elves are so 2009." Amanae thought to herself, "Eshui'du, yes 2009, the year before that and the centuries before that. This night was going to be fun."

Elven glossary:
Amanae...beautiful whisper
Dwinghymn...walkers in the forgotten ways
Tyrmitore...mistresses of the moon

Jenny Matlock

Monday, December 13, 2010

From the Red-Shoe Diaries

Time once again for Saturday Centus. I am a bit late in posting, and as usual a bit over my 100 word limit. I am doomed to fail this class! Nonetheless, I forge ahead, seeking forgiveness for my academic shortcomings. The prompt for this week is in bold italics. The remainder is from the caverns of my mind.

It had been a little over a year since I'd last visited Auntie Nell. My work in San Francisco was far too consuming, leaving me little time for the true pleasures of life. Nell and I shared many pleasures;our unique shared fondness for shoes was front and center. While she was affectionately known as the "Imelda Marcos of Manhattan", I was less affectionately known as the chick with too many shoes. Deep down I knew they were just jealous.

Nell's passing had come as a bit of a shock. I would now be left with only the sweet sadness of memories, and countless pairs of shoes we had picked out one pair that never made it back to San exquisite pair of bright red snakeskin, pointed-toe, Jimmy Choo pumps. Where they had gone remained a mystery.

I entered the Greenwich Village Funeral Home and went directly to Nell's viewing room. I requested to see her sweet, loving face one last time. In keeping with her often outrageous approach to life...and death, she had requested to be interred in a custom built, Bergdorf Goodman shoebox-shaped casket. An involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the 'shoebox' and saw the pointy-toed shoes...those bright red Jimmy Choos that would forever be in my memories...but not on my feet.

Jenny Matlock