Words for Wednesday

It’s Wednesday!    
And December.  

Which means it is my turn to provide you all with words to challenge your minds.
Write a story, write a poem; the choice is yours. 

Post it here in the comments, or on your own blog, it doesn’t have to be today, but please leave a note in the comments here so we can all find you and read your creation.

Here are the words:



An elderly man with a cane came in to buy a coffee.


The skirl of bagpipes unleashed a flood of memories.


  1. An elderly man with a cane came in to buy a coffee. His sprightly whiskers and twinkling eyes were enchanting. "Peppermint flavour please" he requested cheerily and gave me a brilliant smile. "Have you been good this year Anna?" he asked. I smiled as I poured his coffee but, when I turned around to give it to him, he was gone.

    1. He moved surprisingly fast...maybe it was a magic cane, as opposed to a magic carpet! :)

      I want to know where he went!!! :)

    2. Without his coffee? He will be back.

    3. Sooo fun! My imagination has taken off . . .

  2. And here is my story using the worlds and phrases....

    "THE SKIRL OF BAGPIPES UNLEASHED A FLOOD OF MEMORIES as they always did whenever I heard them. These days I never physically see them being played other than when I watch the annual Edinburgh Military Tattoo, the Anzac Day Parade etc., and other various events infrequently shown on television. I do have an LP of bagpipe music, but rarely play it.

    I’m easily brought to tears when I hear them played. They stir one’s emotions...well, they do mine, anyway. I’m neither embarrassed nor ashamed to admit to my weakness, if, in fact, it is a weakness. With my Scottish/Irish heritage, I suppose it’s part of my IDENTITY.

    I have a tendency, good or bad, to REPEAT myself, so you’ve probably remember reading this story before, that is, if you’re TRACKING my frequent ramblings. If not, we’ll pretend it’s a FREESTANDING story, one you’ve not heard previously.

    When my brother and I were children every Saturday night our Nana took us to watch the pipers play as they marched through Mary Street, the main street of Gympie, the town of our childhood. With our pocket money safely stored in our pockets for easy ACCESSIBILITY for later spending, we’d follow the kilted players, our adrenaline at fever pitch, to their destination, the Memorial Gates, otherwise commonly known as the “Park Gates”.

    Our added bonus upon reaching that point was the fish and chips we bought at Nick’s Café. They were one of our special Saturday night treats. Often a couple of potato scallops accompanied our crisp, golden feasts. Nick’s Café was situated next door to the Memorial Gates.

    In a house across the street from where we lived, Jock, a true blue Scotsman boarded. Jock, with his curly red hair and his kilt swinging to the beat, played the tenor drum in the band. Boy, oh boy! He certainly could twirl the soft-headed mallets. I’ve never seen anyone as proficient as Jock was at the fine art of playing the tenor drums. He worked those mallets at lightning speed.

    Many, many years later when I was in my mid-fifties I returned to Gympie having left the town when I was 20 years of age to discover the wider, wilder world outside.

    One Sunday morning, my day off, I drove to Tin Can Bay to have breakfast by the seashore at a little café/fish and chip shop. It was something I did every now and then as a way of “coming down” after a busy week catering to the needs of the dining-out public. For me it was a peaceful, relaxing escape to sit by the water watching the pelicans and seagulls go about their daily business.

    Lost in my own world, I was brought back to reality when I glanced up.

    AN ELDERLY MAN WITH A CANE CAME IN TO BUY COFFEE. He accidentally bumped my chair as he slowly passed by. I smiled at him. He apologised and that’s when I noticed his accent; a Scottish accent. I then noticed his hair. Although thinned with age and faded in colour the pale remnants of ginger remained as had the curls. His once sky blue eyes had lost their brilliance with the passing of the years, but it was Jock, of that I had no doubt.

    I stood and asked him to share my table, while explaining who I was and our common link.

    Brushing a MOSQUITO from his still-ruddy face, Jock sat, and there we lingered at length sharing our stories, of all that had transpired in our lives in the intervening years from when I was a little girl and he, a young blade."

  3. The skirl of bagpipes unleashed a flood of memories. Memories of the tears I shed each and every time I hear them. Are they calling to the genes of ancestors I never knew, or is it just that the sound jangles my nerve endings? I really don't know, but cannot listen to them without my eyes leaking...

  4. Breaking News!!!
    An unlikely hero.
    'Empty the till. Now!' Lisa's hands were shaking as she obeyed the commands the man in the balaclava was barking. Mr Brown's profits were not worth risking her life over. This early in the day he wouldn't lose much anyway. His float, and a couple of dollars from heart-starter coffees for early workers. She bundled the cash into a bag as quickly as she could. An elderly man with a cane came in to buy a coffee.

    "Piss off grandpa' the balaclava bandit' snarled. And winced as the cane slashed down across his wrist. The gun fell to the counter, and Lisa snatched it up.
    'You keep him covered', she said, 'while I ring the Police. When they arrive, coffee is on me. And Mr Brown. Every morning. You are a hero.'

  5. Great opportunities here. Will put up my take at my post on Friday!

  6. Delores; Santa in disguise? Perhaps the peppermint coffee was for Anna.

    Lee; that is a great story, a lovely memory. I'd forgotten about the soft-headed mallets, my ex the first, played bass drum in the Army band and he twirled those mallets pretty good too.

    Elephant's Child; I sometimes cry when hearing the pipes, they stir the emotions, like Lee said, but I have no Scottish ancestry, so don't know why they 'call' to me.
    I like your second story too, seems canes are useful for more than just walking balance. Maybe I should start carrying one.

    Susan Kane; I'll be over the minute I get home to see your creation.


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