Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Story telling

For this week’s challenge, let’s celebrate and use the online tools we have and create a multimedia post: it can be a story, a photo essay, a poem, an experimental and sensory piece, and anything else. The one requirement is to include at least three elements

Pond in Feldbrunnen

Everything was wrong from the beginning. Mr. Matlock decided that the foundation for his new project, high rise appartment blocks for the working population, would be built here. Exactly, over the swamp. It was not exactly a swamp: land that no-one wanted, because of its habit to attract water which stayed and festered on the grass base. It was a paradise for frogs, dragon flies, worms and even slugs. Their days were counted when the excavators and dredgers arrived. They also had to use pumps to dry the land completely, but undaunted they carried on. It rained from time to time and so they began at the beginning. There was a toad migration, but this was no problem. They found new pastures in the local park. There were many parents objecting to their children bringing home their new pets. The children at the school had a new game, toad racing.

To continue, work had to be done. The next small problem was when they discovered the skeletal remains.


The locals were a little worried to say the least. First a swamp complete with toads and now a skeleton, a beheaded skeleton to say the least. The problem was given to the police who passed it on to the archeologists, where they discovered that the bones were at least one hundred years old. The remains were afterwards exhibited in the local museum.

Work continued.

Building work, Feldbrunnen

Bring me, fetch me, give me a hammer
Don’t just stand there, what did you stammer?
Slave away, all day if we must
Just keep on moving, or your bones will rust
What did you say, you want a drink
We have programmes to complete
So think, think, think
After work we have time to sit down and relax
So just keep on moving and please no wisecracks
This house must be built before winter arrives
So act like men and not old wives
Where is the drill, now start to bore
You lazy bunch, I want more, more, more
We are here to labour and work, work, work
So use your muscles and don’t be a jerk
The whistle is blowing, it is now time to go
Tomorrow be here for another work show

Helicopter over Feldbrunnen

It was becoming a problematic building scheme. Fist of all drain the swamp, then wait for a few months until the monument preservation society was switched in when the skeletons were found, as well as a police investigation. Evenutally a helicopter had to be employed when the building started to sink into the soft underlying damp ground and concrete had to be dumped along the supports to stop this.


When the buildings were finished the families moved into the new appartments. There were large windows and in the evening they could watch the crows gather in the sky around the trees bordering the houses calling in loud cackles, as if they were bewitched . The people did not stay long and moved out after a few months. It seems there was a strange damp smell rising through the walls and floorboards. Some of the people even saw misty figures passing through walls and screams were often heard, especially at midnight. It was when a glass vase was pushed from a table, as if by an unseen hand, or a fried egg was suddently thrown onto a wall for no reason, that the inhabitants ran from their new appartments, never to return.

The new estate is now empty, no families could be found to move in, although the appartments would cost very little.

A year later the new estate was demolished and today only a green swamp can be seen – and sometimes people say there are bones floating on the surface.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Story Telling

Multimedia Pingbacks

  1. Chicago Police archives: Incident report for Brown, Leroy | DCMontreal: Blowing the Whistle on Society
  2. In Defense Of Love | The Seeker’s Dungeon
  3. To the Land Where ‘WiFi’ is still ‘Sci-Fi’ | ART BLOG
  4. A memory I never had: a poem about poems | Never Stationary
  5. Save Me | Broken Light: A Photography Collective
  6. When Christmas is Cold Inside | Three Days at Sea
  7. Don’t Stop Your Shopping! | Mary J Melange
  8. Barking Insults My Intelligence | Bumblepuppies
  9. Global Village | A mom’s blog
  10. proxima saída mércores 11 de decembro | Pontevedra en bicicleta
  11. The smile of Columbus | adabrowka
  12. Chefs Do That | Perceptive Pot Clueless Kettle
  13. My Tree Looks Drunk | suzie81’s Blog
  14. The Night Falls In Aruba | polymathically
  15. 10 Things I Hate Part 24 | Fish Of Gold
  16. How To Be Happier 7 Days A Week | The Library Lady and Rosie Bear
  17. Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Storytelling | imagination
  18. holiday mood swings | Musings of a Random Mind
  19. Word Clouds | Start My Quest
  20. Weekly writing challenge: Multimedia story telling | La chica de la burbuja
  21. Big Bang Theory | Wiley’s Wisdom
  22. Please don’t make me boycott you, Home Depot | that cynking feeling
  23. Abandoned Wives. | lizzyloveslipstick
  24. Why Do We Fall? | Lead us from the Unreal to the Real
  26. Weekly Writing Challenge: Multi Media | Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist)
  27. Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Storytelling | UP! With Jesus
  28. Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Storytelling | Flickr Comments
  29. My First Snow Storm | explore. dream. discover.
  30. Goodbyes… | Hope* the happy hugger
  31. Wolf White | Zakc Head
  32. Absence of Desire | Finale to an Entrance
  34. Exams end, Happiness begins « My Cup of Tea
  35. When The Sun Sets | ginnysblogspace
  36. A Few Coppers | Firasz Photography
  37. Goshen Ghosts | onesoup
  38. Let Yourself Out and Just Be… | An Upturned Soul

Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward

You can start at the end, and then lead us straight back to a traditionally ordered sequence of events (it worked for Citizen Kane). Or you can give us the full Memento treatment and take us backward one step at a time to the very origin of your story. Whatever works: just hook your readers with a powerful conclusion (that comes first!), and then captivate them with the story of how it came to pass.

This story was based on a discovery where I live. The Skull


I was preparing to go to bed. There was a storm outside. I awoke to a clap of thunder and lightning and there he was, sitting on my bed, sort of semi transparent.

“Who-who-who are you?”

“Me? I suppose a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“You know the one they dug up today outside where they are building that house.”

I remembered, there was quite a performance. Whilst digging the foundations they had uncovered a severed skull, the rest of the bones were scattered around. The newspaper men were there, the town archeologists, and it was discovered that many years ago the beheading block was in our village for the local criminals and villains.

“You are the skull they found?”

“Yes, that’s right Miss, at last. I had been waiting a few hundred years for a bit of freedom and stretching my legs. The place looks different to when I knew it: all these strange houses. To my time it was a hill with a chopping block at the top surrounded by fields, cows and the like. I had better be going, have a few hundred years to catch up with, although it is nice and cosy here.”

I became curious. “I would offer you something to drink and eat, but I suppose ghosts do not eat or drink. Before you go, tell me what happened.”

“You really want to know, well nothing special, but this is what happened” and he commenced.

“Yes, that’s me although I wasn’t dressed in my best at the time. When you are beheaded you have to wear what they give you. I was a good looker in my time and the ladies knew it. Unfortunately that was my downfall and one of the reasons for my early demise.

I was caught red handed I suppose you could say, but it was a little embarrassing, for Lady Von Kappeler and for me. Of course my hands were not red, they were the colour of my skin, but so was the rest of me and the Lady? There was no mistake, she certainly looked like a lady wearing what she brought into the world. Lord Von Kappeler, her husband, was supposed to be in town with his colleagues, probably doing the same as I was, but not with someone’s wife, just visiting the local ladies. I had paid Maggie to keep him occupied all night, so that her ladyship and I could have fun together, but Maggie was greedy and wanted more money for her services to his Lordship. They had a little argument, his lordship decided why pay for it when it is all free at home and was off.

Now if it was like today when you all have these iPhones and mobile things, Maggie would have warned me that he was on his way, but in the eighteenth century when the Lord had a horse, there was no escaping. So me and her ladyship were having fun, my ears were only open to her squeels of delight and pleasure and not to the sound of hooves on the cobblestones in the courtyard. I didn’t even have a chance to cover my private bits, the door opened and there he stood, the husband, the Lord.

There was a little argument, her ladyship telling him that I had forced her to do what she was doing. Now that was a joke. She could never get enough, but what is the word of a highwayman and thief against that of a lady, so I had no chance.

“I should challenge you to a duel” said his Lordship “to rescue my honour”.

I laughed. “When they know that you were spending the evening with Maggie at the local brothel I think your honour might be questionable” was my answer while I wrapped the sheet around myself – it was cold in that castle bedroom I can tell you.

“Guards, seize this intruder” he shouted and I had no chance with six of his men grabbing me. They pulled me down to the cellar. He was a crafty bloke that Lord. He even had some of his gold and silver deposited in my abode, which was a wooden hut at the edge of the forest. My place was searched from the town guards and they found it all. What was I to say. Of course I denied it all, but even Maggie held evidence against me at the trial. Yes the Lord had paid her and Maggie did everything for money.

Lady Von Kappeler gave me the rest, telling how I had climbed through the bedroom window and forced myself upon her. She had no chance, she said, with tears in her eyes (did I smell onions). I escaped a duel with the Lord which was a good thing as he was one of the best gunmen in the town and he would have certainly killed me with the first shot. I was condemned to a beheading. Now I was a pretty fellow really and I treasured my head above all. Unfortunately the law did not find this was the case and so it was up the hill on the beheading block and there I was since, until they dug me up.”

With that he took a bow and walked through the wall. I never saw him again. I wondered, shall I call the newspaper, but I somehow think they would not believe my story.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward, The Skull

Some Backward Pingbacks

  1. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward – The Funeral | SERENDIPITY
  2. Weekly Writing Challenge; Backward | terry1954
  3. Galactic Dreams…..(weekly prompt wp) | Daily Observations
  4. Love & Hope Through the Darkness | Broken Light: A Photography Collective
  5. Weekly writing challenge: Backwards, The last conversation | Life of a Fallen Angel
  6. move lungs beating heart | The Seminary of Praying Mantis
  7. There Was No Escape From His Father’s Words | The Seeker’s Dungeon
  8. Oh the horror! | mostlytrueramblings
  9. Shattered | To Write With a Broken Pencil is Pointless
  10. International Phone At A London Post Office | Jaye’s Brain
  11. Cataclysm (part one) | Master Of Disaster
  12. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | imaginations
  13. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Dead Again | mattsden101
  14. How I Became a Library Delinquent | NobsLyfe
  15. Weekly Photo Challenge: Backward | MKG- Memories-Keepsakes-Gifts
  16. New shores | André from Holland
  18. It’s been 323 days. | thanks for letting me autograph your cat
  19. staying grounded | Musings of a Random Mind
  20. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward: Heart’s Desire | MythRider
  21. A Departure | Goodbye Whoopee Pie
  22. Forty Fifty | A Modest Affair
  23. Backwards: Surprise Me | Musical Chairs
  24. How I dramatised this mobile photo for Instagram | We Live In A Flat
  25. Don’t Press That Button | rarasaur
  26. Pretender una sociedad sana con una base corrompida | El Panfleto
  27. Child of the Shadows | Legends of Lorata
  28. Backward Twisting Kahani | મન ની વાત
  29. But I’ll never let you go | beautify inside and out
  30. i didn’t mean to | wannabepoet
  31. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | ღ UrbanDrella ღ
  32. A Short Story: The Porcelain Bear | I Hope You’re Taking Notes
  33. Where it began, I can’t begin to knowin’ . . . | Hippie Cahier
  34. Trippin’ In Graceland | Good2begone
  35. Inapoi | Photos on the wall
  36. Pressed Freshly For Ben | An Upturned Soul
  37. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Stevie’s Words
  38. Weekly Writing Challenge: Writing Backward – Old Man | Raivenne-lations
  39. Into the Guard Rail, short story | Reinvention of Mama
  40. Too little, too late | My OCD Diaries
  41. Delivered to your door… | Vampire Maman
  42. Red shoeprints (DP challenge) | Tim’s Talk
  43. “I Guess You Could Call It A Blighted Ovum”- The Story Of My Miscarriage | momasteblog
  44. A Chance Meeting | Winding Road
  45. Crustaceans Backwards | The Silver Leaf Journal
  46. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Four Parts of the One
  47. Cataclysm (part two) | Master Of Disaster
  48. Dear King of Hearts: | 67steffen
  49. Green…Black…Frank | Mary J Melange
  50. Here Comes The Rooster | This Is My Corn
  51. Waiting for and Ending | A Girl Divided
  52. (go down, build up) | y
  53. WWC: Remember, you only have one left! | Simple Heart Girl
  54. How NOT to Cook Chicken Broth | Little Bliss Book
  55. Vonn Vs. The Trombone! (Weekly Photo Challenge: An Unusual POV) (Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward) | The San Francisco Scene–Seen!
  56. An Impasse | Hey, Miss Adventures!
  57. Hastily Proceeding and The Idiots Stone | A’A IN PARADISE
  58. that man | why tiara
  59. Highly Impractical and Completely Unanticipated | melanielynngriffin
  60. Exposed | Welshalterego
  61. We didn’t get arrested in Thailand. | My BF turned me into a lesbian…in Japan
  62. S is for Sardonic (aka the Nudist Rock Band Story) | Anecdote Love
  63. I am Shattered Pottery | Lily Mugford
  64. One More Class: Why A Teacher Always Goes Back To A Classroom | ~xoxo, msL
  65. Backward | The Day After
  66. Little Growing Pains | The Lover I Never Had
  67. Dance | Little Talks
  68. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | A Blog’s Life
  69. 691 Words Plus A Sentence. | as long as i’m singing
  70. Cataclysm (part three) | Master Of Disaster
  71. Sideways/Backwards | Cold Coffee Curse
  72. Zigzag Routes.. | Journey Called Life …
  73. Liathara – The Lord, His Army and the Dragon | Jake Kuyser
  74. Turbulence | Silent Soliloquy
  75. In the Absence of Time | The Writingwolf: Words and Wonders
  76. Processing the life | Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward
  77. Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Words We Women Write

Weekly Writing Challenge: I remember

Set a countdown timer for 10 minutes, choose one of the writing prompts below, and just start writing. Your worst memory.

Grandad and me in brownie uniform

Me on the right in brownies uniform, grandad on the left in his favourite armchair

I cannot remember when exactly, but most probable around 1962 when I was 14 years old. It was a normal night as always, although I know my grandfather had not been so well throughout the day. He was born 1875, lived his life in our house, his wife dying in 1946, my birth year.

He had a good rough life, according to the ways of the working class population at the time. Was a gifted artist, wood carver, and in the building trade as a carpenter throughout his working years. I remember my mother telling me he would work in a local public house but would rarely come home after work, being the best beer customer they had. We had a wonderful collection of china beer mugs at home in commemoration.

He learnt his swearing watching the men gambling on the street corner as a boy. One of the reasons why the teacher sent him home from school. Swearing at the teacher was not correct, even at the end of the 19th century.

He seemed indestructible. Smoked like a chimney, swore like a trooper and was just grandad, sitting in his armchair out in the yard in summer in the sun even when it was hidden by thick clouds of industrial smoke. He joined us watching the television on Saturday evening, blocking any clear view of the screen through thick qualms of cigarette smoke. He rolled his own cigarettes of course with Rizla papers and tobacco.

Now granddad was not so well at the age of 87. I went to bed that evening and my mum and dad were with granddad downstairs in his bedroom. I could hear the raised voices as mum became excited. Her sister, aunt Lil, was called for. She lived in a house just opposite ours in the same street. Aunt Lil, mum and dad looking after granddad counting each breath and watching each eye movement. They sensed what would happen. Voices were loud and excited

“Dad, dad are you ok? We will call the emergency doctor. Why not, you are not well.”

and so I heard the voices all night. My sleep was little, practically none. I felt what was happening in that bedroom downstairs, the urgency of raised voices, concern, worry climbed through the floorboards to my room. For once I was neglected, on my own. My mother had other problems. The doctor was called for, but he did not come as quickly as needed. We were just a simple family in a crowded East End of London, not anything special and probably the idea was to have a look in the morning.

Aunt Lil shouted again “Dad”

My mother “I think he has gone.”

I stole a look at the clock. Around six in the morning, daylight was breaking. No-one in our house closed their eyes during the night. My parents and Aunt Lil who had called her husband Uncle Arthur in the meanwhile watching after granddad. He passed away peacefully. His time had come, but our house was full of sadness tumult during that night. For me it was a night I have never forgotten.

Weekly Challenge: I remember

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Best Medicine

 This week, write about whatever topic you’d like, but go for laughs.

Swiss Alps seen from Feldbrunnen

I grew up in a concrete jungle. There were no big risks to take, just do not speak to strange men (said my mum) and be careful when crossing the road. Armed with these wise sayings for my future life I took further steps out of the security of London’s East End where Jack the Ripper slashed a few women in the nineteenth century and it was even dangerous to board a red double-decker bus, because it might start moving. Actually it did once; unfortunately it was in my teenager years where you dress with the latest fashion, meaning I was wearing one of those very tight short skirts. Usually you just gave a clever hop onto the bus and succeeded in landing gracefully with both feet on the platform. This was one of the exceptions, one foot on the bus and the other sort of hanging in the air. It was one of the first times I was happy to be caught in a London traffic jam. It gave me the chance to ensure that my hanging foot met the other and I survived. Naturally I did not tell mum about this escapade. She would have worried unnecessarily.

Eventually as life takes its path, I left the concrete and dangers of the big city and emigrated to Switzerland. It was another big city, Zürich, but the only dangers I encountered in Zürich was not speaking the language very well, and being misunderstood.

I left Zürich for the Swiss countryside, I married Mr. Swiss and four children later we were one big happy family. It seems that Swiss people sort of grow up physically able and agile and know no dangers. Everything is possible, climbing a mountain, swimming a river and wandering over stick and stone. You name it, it is a country of survivors and they can do it. Mr. Swiss, being a 100% Swiss, was sure that this applied all over the world, even to his British born wife, whose only training had been to board English busses and know the ins and outs of the London Underground system (subway for friends living on the other side of the pond).

So life went on in Switzerland and we became a typical Swiss family, so thought Mr. Swiss and the kids. Like all typical families, we decided to take a vacation once a year. The vacation was in Switzerland as we did not have the funds to travel further. The first couple of years were fine, we went to the Italian part of Switzerland, almost semi tropical, days of sunbathing and swimming and eating spaghetti and sipping vino.

This seemed to be monotonous for the Swiss half of the family so we he decided further holidays would be spent in the Swiss mountains, mainly Bernese Overland. I did not mind as I knew the sun shone up in higher places, quite intense, and my suntan would be certain. A deeper brown than ever, so I thought. To obtain this sun tan you had to go on a walking holiday. Usually we booked a chalet near the alps. There were yellow signposts everywhere mostly pointing upwards, showing this was a foot path. We departed in the morning, dressed in shorts, t-shirts (I always wore a t-shirt with spaghetti type straps – to get a nice even tan) and solid leather Swiss walking shoes with nice think socks. Of course, this was new to me. We English people always seem to preserve a sign of fashion and looking good at the worse time, but this was Switzerland. Mr. Swiss told me you need these shoes and everyone wears them in the mountains. In the mountains? I thought we were going for a walk and not a survival course. However, not wanting to look silly (which I was convinced I did) I said no more.We had a rucksack packed with food and drink, what could possibly go wrong.

Unfortunately I was not one of those Amazon type mountain ladies that grew up in Switzerland. I was under the impression that any fool could walk. I should have got suspicious when the word “mountains” was mentioned.

We began to walk/hike/tramp/crawl/climb. Everything went up. It was when the nice friendly yellow signposts change to red and white I got a little doubtful.

“Why are those signs different?” I asked Mr. Swiss

“They are mountain paths, not walking paths” was the answer.

After an hour walking on these mountain paths, my legs aching and having to stop now and again whilst my sons and Mr. Swiss only stopped for a useful tree, I had doubts.

“We can take a break and have something to eat” said Mr. Swiss

I was thankful, grateful, and so we sat. I was tempted to ask where, but I was told there are enough stones lying around. After half an hour sitting on a stone I decided I would have to stand up to relieve the pain and cramp in my most honourable tender part.

“Look at the view” said my offspring. How lovely that they treasured the wonders of nature. I looked at the view, felt a little unsure with so much distance between me and the flat lands (actually there are no flat lands in the Bernese Overland) and photos were taken. I took no photos, I was still thinking about going back where I came from, but all things that go up must go down luckily. How they go down is something entirely different.

I discovered something. Although I was able to walk upwards, walking down was a problem. Going up you can always grip something with your super profiled Swiss walking boots, but going down it seems you just let yourself go. My sons and Mr. Swiss were quite good at that, but Mrs. London town bus hopper was not. I was sure I would fall, trip, break a leg or something worse. Visions of mountain rescue teams fixing me on a rope and hauling me into a helicopter came to my mind. We English are, however, inventors. We always find a way to safety and I did. Luckily the mountain slope where we were beginning the decent was isolated. There were no other mountaineers to watch as Mrs. Angloswiss sat on the most tender part of her non-Amazon body and sort of slid carefully down the slope, now and again stopping to regain her breath and even ensure that the lower flatter land was coming closer.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we returned to the normal flatter territory and to celebrate we visited a restaurant for a drink (a rest and a gathering of my senses and wits). Oh how lovely to spend a holiday in the Swiss mountains, the envy of all. Little did I know that this was just our first holiday in the Swiss mountains. Swiss family Sherpa decided it was the beginning of the best holidays we ever had. I now know all the slopes. Eiger, Jungfrau, Engstligen Alp, Adelboden, Grindelwald, you name it, I have been there and am alive to write about it. The main thing was I was nice and brown when I returned home to tell everyone about it.

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Best Medicine

Weekly Writing Challenge: Love in the 21st Century

For this challenge, we want you to write about 21st-century love.

I don’t usually do love stories, not my thing, but I had an idea for this one. I do not write about my own personal life in that connection. I just do not find it belongs in Internet for everyone to read. So here is my effort for this week.

Full moon in Feldbrunnen

E-mail group for night owls – online e-mail exchange

Moonman: Hello moongirl.  Your thoughts and ideas are wonderful. I am sure we are soul mates.

Moongirl: I was thinking on the same lines. It seems we are both night people. I work on the night shift at the hospital and you work at the zoo looking after the nocturnal creatures.

Moonman: Yes, for us the night turns into day. There are some things in life that have to be done during the night hours. The animals that sleep in the day have their longings in the night hours.

Moongirl: Do you have longings in the night hours?

Moonman: Oh yes, and you?

Moongirl: Now it is getting personal, but I now know you long enough to confess. My night feelings are very intensive.

Moonman: How intensive?

Moongirl: They vary. At full moon my feelings are completely out of control.

Moonman: How much out of control?

Moongirl: You have to see it and feel it, and on an online chat talk, you do not get the deep feeling.

Moonman: I long to meet you personally, but I am not sure that a full moon night would be the best time for me although I never work at the zoo by full moon, it would be too complicated.

Moongirl: Don’t disappoint me. Be honest, tell me why.

Moonman: I get feelings, sort of a little out of control at full moon. I change a little.

Moongirl: So do I, I leave a deep impression on the people I meet at full moon.

Moonman: I am sure you leave a wonderful impression. Do you mean sensual, with feelings that leave their mark.

Moongirl: Oh yes, definitely, but tell me about the little changes you have?

Moonman: I don’t know. It is difficult. I can hear much better. I hear a mouse walk over a grass stalk, I see better. I see the bats as they fly through the tree branches. They even speak to me.

Moongirl: Tell me, you are really getting my feelings up. I am also not able to work at full moon. I get longings, special longings. Does your body change, develop things out of control.

Moonman: Oh baby, you are really on my track. Yes I admit it, but not all appreciate the changes.

Moongirl: Tell me about them.

Moonman: Err well, yes, my ears get a little more pointed. My teeth also and I get just a little bit hairy to be honest.

Moongirl: You sound like a werewolf.

Moonman: And now you don’t want to know me anymore. So let’s just forget it.  I just ….

Moongirl: Stop. Nobody’s  perfect. Let me tell you the department I work in at the hospital, then you might understand why I also do the night shift. I work in the blood bank.

Moonman: Tell me more.

Moongirl: I never work on a full moon night, it gets complicated for me as well. I need that night for myself to get out and about meet people and get to know them closer.

Moonman: I think I know what you mean. Tell me do your teeth grow a little longer on those full moon nights. You do not have to answer that one if it is embarrassing.

Moongirl: you see we are soul mates. I think you know what I am.

Moonman: Sounds like a female vampire to me, but just joking of course.

Moongirl: I don’t joke about things like that. It goes too deep. Moonman I must meet you, my feelings for you are so intense after this exchange. Yes I admit it, I am a vampire.

Moonman: Ok, we meet on the next full moon night at the local park. We will have a ball I am sure. Just follow the howling and I will be there.

Moongirl: No problem moonman, I will fly to you. I love you Moonman with all my blood, teeth and vampire allure.

Moonman: I am longing to smell your breath and give you a complete lickover. I can be myself with you Moongirl, I am sure. I have at last found the love of my life. My lonely days are now over.

Moongirl: Just wait for me in the park. Oh the fun we will have together.

Weekly Challenge: Love in the 21st Century

Weekly Writing Challenge: Clicking Through the Pages – Mother spider

Weekly Writing Challenge: Clicking Through the Pages

All photos were taken in my garden. The last photos were from last year, as the eggs have not yet hatched. I spotted the spider with her egg sack this week. I wish her success with her brood this year. Heavy storms are predicted for this evening, so I hope her fragile nest survives.

Three pages in the life of a female Nursery Web Spider

Nursery Web Spider Nest

What do we have here? Looks like a spider’s web. Is someone at home? If I get on my knees and gently lift the leaf I can see two long legs, obviously two of eight, belonging to mama spider. If I lift the leaf I could even take a photo of mama spider sitting on a large round white sack which contains her children. Not just one or two, but hundreds.

Some time ago she was sitting around wondering what happens next. Suddenly a food parcel, containing a nice large fat fly, was pushed over to her. She raised her many eyes, focussed, and saw the stately figure of a male spider. He pushed the food parcel and little closer with one of his many legs, and sent a message to say, “have a bite, that is my bride present and how would it be with us?” Perhaps the male spider just wanted to say “don’t eat me, but eat my nuptial present”.

Now what lady spider could resist such an invitation. The moment she had been waiting for had arrived. Showered with food parcels, she decided to take a chance and what happened afterwards is a private matter between Mr. and Mrs. Spider.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Mind the Gap

Smartphones: blessing or curse?

Electicity pylons along the River Aare

One day my son paid us a visit.

“Look dad, I have got a new phone.” Of course, my son would not say “look mum” in this case, as mum was still happy with her hand-me-down mobile phone, the third in a row of hand-me-downs from dad.

“I thought you had an iPhone” answered dad.

“No, not any more, I did not like the typing pad. I now have an Android.”

Listening to this conversation I had to look at my son carefully. No, he did not resemble ET. He had an Android telephone. My son continued.

“Hey dad, have you seen this app, it’s free?”

I was now completely lost. They were speaking a foreign language which I had not yet learnt. They have apps and androids. Their telephones did not ring any more, or play a simple tune, they spoke, they vibrated, they hummed and buzzed. They were alive.

I was on a learning curve at the time, although I did not dare to intervene in this hyper-technical conversation between two communication experts. I decided to wait for a quiet moment with dad or son to ask my silly questions.

In the meanwhile I spared a few thoughts for the senior members of the human society. How do they find their way in this new system? I do not think they do, unless they have telecommunication experts in the family, as I do. Mr. Swiss is quite good at explaining, he knows just how it all works. Unfortunately he is more interested in showing me what he knows than how it all works. He explains it all with the mobile in his hand at a distance (I am not allowed to touch it) and this all in our house language of Swiss German. I suppose it is called distance learning.

Now and again I travel into town by our local train. On the return journey from the main station, I might have to wait, so I take a seat. The seat is often shared with members of the younger generation, teenagers taking the train home after school. In my younger years we would have a conversation talking about newest fashions or music. This is a thing of the past. A few of these younger commuters are sort of swaying to the music they hear through the ear plug attached to their cell phone. Those not listening are looking at their smartphone. Some are flicking over pages from Internet showing a selection of newest fashion models, perhaps they have logged into their Facebook side, or perhaps they are talking with a colleague per telephone, of course with live visual communication.

One day, my hand-me-down normal average mobile telephone was broken. It was not working. “No problem” said Mr. Swiss and the worse happened, he had bought a new iPhone of the newer generation and gave me is older iPhone.

“Ah” I said.

“You can have it, it is quite easy to operate. Look”. I did not dare to interrupt and after about half an hour he found I now knew how it worked. To be quite honest, I found it quite a good idea. I saw myself waiting for the train and doing what the others did. I now belonged; I was no longer an outsider. I could play with my touch screen, even surf and write messages. Of course, I had to learn all this.

It was then that I received an e-mail from the Swiss Telecommunications congratulating me on my new phone (they already knew?) and telling me that I would have to pay more for this super modern new service. I could discuss with them online, or pay a visit to their local shop. Mr. Swiss told me it would cost more, although he had the minimum. He was not the surfer type with the phone. He actually used it to call people and receive calls.

The next day armed with my new hand-me-down super-duper iPhone (type 3) I paid a visit to the office in town. After a conversation with the young man I decided why be satisfied with a hand-me-down type 3, when for an all-inclusive price I could have it all. Free local telephone calls, free surfing and tons of apps – no problem. I now belonged, I was in the smartphone telecommunications network. Naturally a type 3 iPhone was no longer what I wanted, so I organised the type 4. A type 5 is now available, but I do not like the shape, so at the moment I remain with type 4.

I returned home and Mr. Swiss asked how it went.

“You can have your hand-me-down type 3, I now have a type 4.”

There were a few moments of speechlessness and then the technical questions began. Of course my capacity for loading photos was not so much as Mr. Swiss I did not even think of asking at the shop, but no problem. I have all my photos in Flickr. Flickr have an app, just upload it onto the phone. I do not take so many photos with my phone, as I always take my camera when I go anywhere.

Last week-end my son visited again with another new Android phone. Each time I see him he has a new phone. Now I could join in the conversation, although I actually started the conversation.

“What is the difference between the Android and the iPhone” was my super intelligent question. Before Mr. Swiss could begin to answer, my son filled me in on the details. It is a matter of using iTunes/Apple. My son uses Google on his Android. It seems I could import all my contacts from Facebook into an Android: with Apple that it not possible. I have approximately 900 contacts in Facebook and only really know only about 10% personally. I decided this would not be an advantage. After further discussion, I remain with my iPhone 4.

So, have you noticed? I can now discuss like all the in people that have a smartphone. In the meanwhile I have got myself a mini iPad. I have become an iPerson. I even now play online games on my iPhone while waiting for the local train. I belong.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Mind the Gap