Wednesday's Words on a Friday

On Wednesdays, Elephant’s Child has been putting up a selection of six (or twelve) words which is called “Words for Wednesday”.

She had taken over this meme from Delores, who is gradually retiring from the blogging world.

This month the meme continues here, at Drifting Through Life

Next month the words will be provided by Jacqueline who writes at Randomosity

Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write.   

Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image.   What we do with those prompts is up to us:  a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or treating them with ignore...

Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog.  I would really like it if as many people as possible joined into this fun meme.   

If you are posting on your own blog - let me know so that I, and other participants, can come along and applaud.

 

I’m hopeless at poetry so I always do a story.

It’s a fun challenge…why not join in?

This week's words are:

1. normally

2. dysfunctional

3. mullioned

4. hurricane

5. fry-cook

6. viewing

and/or

1. whimper

2. projector

3. chef

4. knucklebone

5. bungalow

6. unexposed

Here is my story: 

My Uncle Hugh Rowland clung to life for several weeks, during which his sons and I visited daily and my mother a few times a week. When the day finally came that he drew his last breath, he went peacefully, with my mother, Olivia, holding his hands.

The funeral was a quiet affair, tears were shed, but people generally spoke of the good life he had led, the good he’d done, there was no mention at all of the early dysfunctional years when the family had been torn asunder, anger and accusations on both sides, with Uncle Hugh’s own uncle, Francis, declaring he never wanted to see any of them again. He’d left town the very next day, taking his wife and two children. Hugh had been six years old, his cousin, Edward, seven, almost eight. 

The lawyer was present at the reading of the will, and when the cheques had been presented to the recipients, a small projector and a roll of slides were handed to me. A roll of unexposed film was also given with instructions to get it developed as soon as I could. I invited the family to join me in viewing the slides once the housekeeper had said her goodbyes and left.

The roll of film would have to wait until I had it developed.

 

The first slide showed a small stone bungalow with mullioned windows, the home of Uncle Hugh’s grandparents, his father, Hugh senior and the long-lost brother, Francis. 

The boys could be seen standing on the porch, Francis being a shorter, younger copy of Hugh. 

They’d been good friends growing up, with problems not beginning until Francis’s wife underwent a sudden personality change. Francis refused to see it. 

The rest of the slides were of the boys birthdays, graduations and weddings, then there were pictures of babies as they were born. Francis’s son Edward, Hugh’s son, Hugh junior, Francis’s daughter, Molly. Finally, years after losing hope of more children, my mother Olivia had been born. 

By this time, Francis and his small family had been long gone. 

There’d been no letters, no phone calls; no one knew where they were, until one day, out of the blue, a letter arrived, addressed to Hugh Junior. It had an Alaskan postmark and contained a photo of baby Molly, now grown, in her wedding gown, with her brand new husband, Jake Raven. 

It bore no return address, simply stating Edward Rowland on the back of the envelope.

Molly had been training to be a chef, and met Jake while he was moonlighting as a fry-cook, earning money to pay for his mountain rescue training.

Uncle Hugh had consulted his wife, Elizabeth, and they had decided Hugh should travel to the town where the letter had been postmarked. Perhaps a lead would present itself and his cousins Edward and Molly could be found. He took Molly’s wedding photo with him.

*There's more, but I think this is a good stopping point :)