My Muse (Almost Iowa)

Greg from Almost Iowa took up my challenge to write about his muse. The post took an unexpected turn… very funny. Here goes:

***

My muse arrived late.

Our appointment was for 7:00 a.m. sharp but she didn’t stagger in until well after noon and then she flopped on the couch and moaned, “I need chocolate chip ice cream.”

That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

Three weeks ago, I banished a pail of chocolate chip ice cream to the freezer in the garage. Admittedly, it was a cruel thing to do to something that I loved so much but it was not really me who did it, rather it was my diet.

Now the bucket was calling my name and apparently its plaintive cries had captured my muse.

“Absolutely not,” I told her, “I am sticking to my diet.”

She wailed and shook uncontrollably.

“It is only ice cream,” I told her.

“Noooo,” she cried, “it is not.  You are siding with HIM.”

“Him?”

“Yes, Discipline. He was my muse,” her lipped quivered as she tried to continue, “but we broke up.”

“A muse needs a muse?”

She struggled to speak through her tears.

“Tell me more,” I told her, “because I am writing about you.”

(Head over and see what happened: My Muse)

Sunday Blog Share: Steel Venom

I thought maybe I’d start sharing why I picked a certain piece for the Sunday Blog Share. In this case, Almost Iowa gave me a hysterical reminder of the crazy, dangerous things I did as a kid.  Prepare to laugh (or cringe).

Comments are closed here, so click through and enjoy.

Steel Venom

by Almost Iowa

Every summer my wife tries to get me on an amusement park ride called Steel Venom.

She loves the contraption – about as much as I hate it.

Last summer was no exception and one afternoon we found ourselves bickering in the shadow of a half roller-coaster half catapult.

“You’re chicken,” she taunted.

“Not at all,” I said.

Overhead, the ride flexed and moaned as a trolley corkscrewed its way up a high tower. When it reached the top, it paused for one heart-thumping moment to dangle its riders above a flock of confused birds – then it plunged into a wild spiral that ended only inches from the ground.

The riders flashed by us, howling in terror. A few wore faces whiter than death and I thought for a moment that I recognized an old friend among them.

Without the slightest hesitation or remorse, the trolley fired up a companion tower then repeated the process over and over – until everyone, rider and observer alike, was nauseous.

“Don’t look like much fun to me,” I observed.

“Chicken,” she repeated.

Believe me, Steel Venom did not frighten me. I’ve dodged bullets, survived a car wreck and endured an audit by the IRS and not one of those things even quickened my pulse – because nothing, absolutely nothing will ever come close to the ride I took on a Radio Flyer wagon when I was six years old.

***

At first, I simply put things into my wagon and towed them around the yard. But I soon discovered it was more fun to hop in the wagon and roll down our backyard hill…

(Continue Reading: Steel Venom)