#AtoZChallenge Reflections 2021

 

In 2011, I took a gamble and participated in my first AtoZChallenge with a Hawaiian theme. Because I missed the 2020 challenge, my plunge into 2021 was the 10th challenge for me. I signed up on the last day of the Theme Reveal deadline, having made my decision that morning to participate. Instead of moving forward with plans to post blog interviews of other authors' research projects, I decided to first post 26 articles about "novel" topics I had researched over the years for various reasons. Writing the first drafts was an enjoyable task. Reliving these research events by way of the AtoZChallenge made the month of April a fun way for me to reconnect with society after strict lockdown.

Even though my best laid plans included visiting every blog site listed on the official sign-up sheet, I only made it through #155 plus other blog sites I found through comments left on sites I visited. I will sign up for the "Road Trip".

Participating in The Scavenger Hunt was sort of hit and miss for me. I always forgot to look for the words while reading posts and often had to retrace my steps to find a word on the list. I did find 20 of the 26 letters, missing only cobweb, hat, leaves, scissors, velvet, and yellow. Why I couldn't find "hat" is beyond me! My list is included below.

One of my blog posts was entitled "Etymology and Envy" with photos of a worn dictionary and thesaurus. I mention this in reply to the question of whether I consulted a dictionary for my word choices. Although I did use Google to find my X-word "xylocarp".

Thank you to the AtoZ team members for the tremendous amount of work that goes into planning and executing such a wide spread and popular project. The sign-up sheet was easily accessible and simple to use. I consulted it daily to visit additional participants. Unfortunately, I was not able to visit everyone but plan to participate in the Road Trip.

*****

AtoZChallenge2021 Scavenger Hunt

I chose to join the Scavenger Hunt challenge and was pleased to see that one of my blog posts fit right in – Whale Migration! The best part of the rules was that the word didn’t have to be in the title. I located 20 of the 26 letters. Here are the blog sites I found with the chosen letters:

A is for — Apple 🍏  A - Z 2021: The Apple doesn't fall far from the Tree (thethreegerbers.blogspot.com)

B is for — Bear 🧸J-Dubs Grin and Bear It – As Always, More to Come (wordpress.com)

 

·                     C is for — Cobweb 🕸

 

D is for — Dragon 🐲 The Other Side blog: #AtoZChallenge2021: D is for Dragon, Purple (timsbrannan.com)

E is for — Evil 👿 Black and White: E is for Eden (nydamprintsblackandwhite.blogspot.com) (In Eden grows every kind of tree that is pleasant to sight and good for food, as well as the infamous Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.)

F is for — Flowers 💐 A Joyful Chaos: D ~ Daffodil Selfie (As I lowered my phone into the flowers . . .)

G is for — Game 🎲 Blogging from A to Z April Challenge (a-to-zchallenge.com) (some of my favorite online games that revolve around travel:)

 

            H is for — Hat 👒

 

I is for — Island 🏝  I is for Island – Anne Higa

J is for — Jewelry 💍 Chapters From My Life (X is for)  It can be a book, a jewelry,

K is for — Key 🔑 Blogging from A to Z April Challenge (2021) Alphabet "k"- and the word is "kEYWORD" | Slogans, Catch lines and Tag lines (slogansmith.blogspot.com)  Today’s letter is “K” and the word is “Key Word”

 

·                     L is for — Leaves 🍂

·                      

M is for — Men 👬 George Dixon | Tarmangani (wordpress.com) (with the 135 pound black powder spar torpedo mounted to the sub, Lt. George Dixon ordered his men to load up.)

N is for — Nuts 🥜 #A to Z Challenge 04-09-21 Indigenous Foods | Words On A Page (inkonapage.com) The nuts are the size of a cantaloupe

O is for — Orange 🍊  Kairn of Glen Feirnaugh. “Grandpapa tell us a story.” The… | by John G Swift | Apr, 2021 | A Writer Darkly     (Blazing bright orange hair shone in the sun like her head was afire.)

P is for — Pen 🖊 Doesn't Speak Klingon: Mabel #AtoZChallenge M Mabel smirked at that and picked up a pen.

Q is for — Questions ❓ 1.) MOLLY'S CANOPY | Growing family trees one leaf at a time  Q is for Questioning everything; 2.) Questions to ask your Characters #AtoZChallenge2021 ~ Jemima Pett

when it rains it pours! Q is for Questions…. – Just another Christian woman… (auntyamo.com) 3. Question | Beth Lapin's A to Z Blog 2021 (wordpress.com) Ask questions of others.

 

R is for — Rainbow  1.) Rainbow (imagery77.blogspot.com) The blog’s name says it all!

2.) Blog of Author J Lenni Dorner: #atozchallenge R is for Ronel, Rainbow Colors, Rook, Room 42  “Rainbow Colors” is from Usborne’s ‘Hello, Baby!’ series.

 

·                     S is for — Scissors ✂

·                      

T is for — Tiger 🐯 1.) Jingle Jangle Jungle: Totally Awesome 80's - E #AtoZChallenge 1982 - Eye Of The Tiger – Survivor; 2.)  My Ordinary Moments: Q is for Quaffing beer at a Quaint bar #AtoZChallenge (artismoments.blogspot.com) “. . . we had decided to go to Tiger Hill

U is for — Uniform 💂 Blog of Author J Lenni Dorner: #atozchallenge U is for Uniquely, Unicorns, Ugly, Understanding, Unspeakable “Unicorns in Uniform” is part of a Phonics Readers series!

 

·                     V is for — Velvet 🧶

W is for — Whale 🐳 Gail M Baugniet - Author : Whale Migration Between Alaska and Hawaii #AtoZChallenge2021 (gail-baugniet.blogspot.com)

·                      

X is for — X-ray 🦴1.) Fondlers Anonymous: X is not for Xpectations But It'll Have to Do (fondles.blogspot.com) no clever X word here. I could have done something about X-rated... or X-rays..(maybe a stretch, but I’ll take what I can find!); 2.) X is for X-rays – Anne Higa

 

·                     Y is for — Yellow  💛

 

Z is for — Zipper 🤐 1.) Chapters From My Life Find your X-factor, be Xtraordinar - XYZ is also a code for zipper down 2.) Z = Zipper / Fermeture éclair 🤐 #AtoZchallenge 2021[Quilt] (quiltingpatch.blogspot.com)

*****

Mahalo and Aloha,

Gail

    

Yeoman's Daughter

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale.

Yeoman’s Daughter

Genre: Historical Romance

(386 words)

Katerina stared toward the aging castle looming over the Bohemian countryside. Its crumbling structure served as a backdrop to her life. Memories surfaced of her father’s return from the war, alive but crippled for life. Whether limbs or part of their minds were lost, most men who survived were left to struggle with farm life.

*

Her father, a yeoman, could no longer make simple decisions such as when to till the fields or how to plant and sow. He roamed the fields when left unattended. If he wandered into town, the feed mill owner escorted him home after shop closing. Sometimes the local priest walked him home and stayed for supper.

Katerina’s mother was a daughter of the yeoman who originally owned the farm. She had gradually stopped contending with the uncertainties of life and taken to her bed. If she spotted the priest strolling down the lane with her husband in tow, she barred her bedroom door.

“Evening Miss Kate,” Father Tam would say, doffing an imaginary hat. “Your father and I have been for a walk. We could both use a shot of brandy and a bowl of soup. If that is not too much bother.”

Katerina dutifully poured the brandy and heated the soup. Her poor father went along with Father Tam’s charade, never appearing to doubt that the priest spoke the absolute truth. Following the sparse meal, Katerina settled her father in a chair near the wood stove, wrapping a blanket tight around his legs.

Then she and Father Tam would step outside. With the abandoned castle at their back, they discussed her father’s condition, pointedly ignoring that her mother might be suffering with a different problem.

*

Katerina walked out to the lawn swing, adjusting her skirts to sit. As her gaze wandered up to the castle, a touch of melancholy filled her. The affair, as secret as it was forbidden, had lasted a year. She still blushed to think of how they inhaled the essence of each other’s souls and dreamed the intimacies of one another’s ambitions.

They never tarnished their love by consummating the relationship. When the parish choirmaster had recommended a transfer to a congregation in Prague for Father Tam, Katerina was devastated. But the week after the priest vacated their town, her mother left her bed.

*****

Unusual Vision at Court

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale.

By Anonymous - http://digital.wlb-stuttgart.de/purl/bsz380291940, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25677164

Unusual Vision at Court

Genre: Historical Gossip

(370 words)

The violinists’ notes blended flawlessly into the myriad concert arrangements. Beethoven was well-represented. But Bach’s Brandenburg concerto medley stole our hearts. One of our ancestors, Dorothea, had been a musician at court during the reign of King Frederick William IV. Had she played violin for him, or entertained his wife, Elizabeth of Bavaria and her entourage?

At intermission, Vondra sprang from her seat as though possessed. “I experienced the strangest fantasy during that final violin solo, emerging into a mid-19^th century castle of Ludwig, the fairy tale king. Dorothea was strolling the halls.”

Without prompting, she described the unusual vision.

Everyone seemed to know Dorothea, gowned in pale blue taffeta that matched her eyes. Several other female musicians surrounded her. One asked about a woman Dorothea encountered in the hallway. Why was the woman weeping? Dorothea said the poor woman revealed that her engagement was off. Her cruel father had insisted he could never accept such behavior in a future son-in-law, regardless of his title or financial status.

The weeping woman showed Dorothea a note from her former betrothed, placing blame away from her. But, she said, her heart already belonged to another.

Dorothea was pummeled with questions. Was the woman royalty? How close to the throne was she? Then a gasp silenced everyone. Was it she?

“Of course - Sophie,” came one remark, countered by, “You mean, Elsa.” Snickering accompanied the comments. But no one dared speak Ludwig’s name.

Not long after the doomed engagement, Dorothea immigrated to America with her family. Duchess Sophie Charlotte married and raised a family. But she later fell in love with her doctor, a married man, leading to more heartbreak. The court declared her “morally insane” and sent her to a sanitorium for treatment of “sexual perversions.”

Sophie was cured of her moral insanity within several months. Following her release from the sanitorium, she joined a religious group. A fire broke out in the residence and she died, burned beyond recognition.

The band had reassembled, their music making further conversation impossible. Vondra’s vision would fade along with any details left untold. Had our ancestor truly encountered the duchess? Or was Vondra’s vision induced by a violin solo rendition of a Richard Wagner tune?

*****

Maniwaki Wild Rice Harvest

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale.

Maniwaki Wild Rice Harvest

Genre: Mystical Fantasy

(388 words)

      An unexpected event on this autumn day forever won Alsoomse’s admiration of the mystical being, Padnini. Her duty for the rice harvest was to help paddle a canoe along the St. Lawrence River. Maniwaki tribesmen harvested the wild rice by bending the stalks with two sticks held between nimble fingers. With a quick flick of their wrist, the grains fell into the canoe’s hull. A guide steered while Alsoomse propelled them forward.

As the sun rose higher, Alsoomse’s arms grew weak. The river’s flow thundered in her ears. She swooned and fell into the chilled waters, her thoughts fading as she sank deeper.

Alsoomse slowly envisioned Padnini, the trickster who dwelled within the forest. Some in his group of magical beings performed dangerous acts such as kidnapping children. But Padnini’s pranks were harmless. Why had he chosen the day Alsoomse participated in a centuries-long ritual of harvesting wild rice to play tricks with her life?

Her eyelids fluttered as warm breath filled her lungs. She recognized her father and asked, “Have I died?”

“You are saved to do great things, Alsoomse,” he said. “But you are yet too young to participate in this tradition. Our decision to include you was ill-conceived.”

While recovering, Alsoomse received special attention. All accepted blame for allowing her participation in the harvest without realizing the possible consequences. Yet none considered her too young to participate. Her father had uttered those words only to appease the evil powers.

The more dangerous of the magical beings believed that they alone had a right to earth’s bounty. As revenge for the tribe’s tradition of harvesting wild rice during the equinox, they had attempted to end a helpless girl’s life.

“Father,” Alsoomse said one morning, “When I fell into the river, was I invisible?”

“Yes,” he said. “Never before have the angry ones made a human invisible. We could not save you.”

“Then why am I alive?”

“That mischievous Padnini saw your plight,” her mother said, “and made you visible over the protestations of the evil ones. We know not what he has in store for you.”

The teacher welcomed Alsoomse back to school. Life returned to normal. And on her way home the first day of winter, Alsoomse slipped and fell on a patch of ice she would have sworn was not there a moment before.

*****

Just Listen - Prison Secrets - Part 2 of 2

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by
novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

By Jebulon - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0,

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10480913

JUST LISTEN

(PRISON SECRETS Part 2 of 2)

Genre: Religious Peace

(386 words)

“Ah, the dangers of possessing what others desire,” the elderly man said. “Everyone knows of a certain king, far in debt to powerful knights. Undermining their longstanding role as good Samaritans, the king attempts to imprison or kill all of the pope’s Templars.”

Stifling a groan, I prepared to hear yet another theory about lost fortunes of ancient knights.

“Below this lighthouse lay tunnels, connected to towers meant to guard what knights valued most: not golden chalices or splinters of crucifixion wood; nor chests overflowing with coins. Hidden beneath those towers . . .

Screeching tires followed by a thud startled us. Only the elderly man remained peaceful, in yoga pose. The car rested against a rickety barricade, its bumper revealing a history of collisions. The driver introduced herself as the storyteller’s daughter. She assisted her father to his feet then escorted him to the battered vehicle. He paused to offer a final comment.

“By treading this soil now, you leave footprints, guaranteeing an everlasting connection to your ancestors.”

“Well, um, merci for your time, monsieur.” I said, still feeling no connection to ancestors.

Back in the heart of Rue St Jean du Pérot, we located a restaurant with sidewalk seating. After taking our order for ice cream with fresh strawberries, the waiter asked what we were celebrating. I detailed our tour of ancestral lands. My sisters described our encounter with the elderly historian who had rambled on about tunnels under brick towers.

“Did he mention the underground carvings?” the waiter asked.

“He started to,” I said, “But his daughter disrupted the conversation.”

“Smashing into the barricade?” The waiter laughed. “That has become quite the tourist—

A slamming car door distracted him. The elderly man and his daughter walked slowly to our table. “He insists on finishing his story,” she said.

He spoke softly, abruptly returning to the vehicle while we pondered his words.

“Beneath the towers, on nature’s underground rock walls, are carved prayers. Each knight of old, ancestors to all, recited these in request of treasures such as kindness to others and peace of mind for all. The constant heartbeat of earth’s inner core transmits these messages daily to all living beings. Those receptive to this gift benefit most its priceless rewards.” He had paused before adding, “Listen. With all your senses, just listen.”

*****

Infamous - Prison Secrets - Part 1 of 2

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by
novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

INFAMOUS - PRISON SECRETS

Part 1 of 2 (the only non-standalone tale)

Genre: Religious War

(363 words)

In the seaport city of LaRochelle, no amount of bicycling could conjure up connections to ancestors from the 17^th century.

“What did you expect, Gahlen?” one sister asked in frustration. “A star ship to whisk you back to 1660?”

“Oui, Gahlen,” rose a deep voice from behind us. “What have you envisioned as representation of your ancestors? Possibly, this lighthouse will hold meaning for you, assuming you have a knight lurking in your background as most people do.”

Stunned by the gentleman’s comments, I mumbled, “Pardon, vous m'avez eu?”

“Oui. I address you, or another named Gahlen.”

“Are you suggesting LaRochelle still has something to offer those seeking ancestral ties?”

“I suggest the soil of this land holds many secrets,” came his cryptic response. “Residents during the 17^th century were a proud people, caught up in religious wars, though resistant to change. But through long suffering and agony, the resistance collapsed and LaRochelle with it.”

“How does that offer a sense of connection to ancestors?”

“Maybe you ask too much of simple peasants, working to feed sick and dying families while rulers of kingdoms fought over the right to decide which religion would allow them into the kingdom of heaven.”

The man appeared out of place, certainly not a tour guide. “Why are you here?” I asked.

“Pour quoi suis-je ici? I am here because this tower is here.” As he spoke, he pointed toward the bay encompassing the Port of LaRochelle.

The rounded structure with its towering steeple appeared to lack purpose, at least in the context of this unusual conversation. If there was a context. I had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that maybe the gentleman was mad.

“Ah,” he said, “you think I know not of what I speak. You may well be correct. I am the keeper of that once-infamous prison of condemned priests and other wrongdoers. The graffiti they carved into the walls would cause you young folk sleepless nights.”

The gentleman gestured for us to sit.

“Allow me to share with you a story about hidden treasure that you could not have imagined. My name is Paulus Villiers, a descendant of the keeper of much powerful knowledge.”

Part 2 of 2 tomorrow:

JUST LISTEN

(PRISON SECRETS Part 2)

*****

Funeral Linen Weaving #AtoZChallenge

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The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

fictional character Gahlen, who first appears in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

By Image: http://collections.lacma.org/sites/default/files/remote_images/piction/ma-31735509-O3.jpgGallery: http://collections.lacma.org/node/225648 archive copy at the Wayback Machine (archived on 22 January 2019), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27319929

Funeral Linen Weaving

Genre: Murder Mystery

(393 words)

Joshua often wove funeral handkerchiefs. The linens collected tears shed for the deceased. Dried petals of funeral bouquets were then wrapped inside as a keepsake.

For a particular funeral, Joshua received an order of ten such linen squares. While the order was not unusual, thoughts of the deceased sent shudders through Joshua’s body.

Seven years earlier, neighbors had announced the birth of their son, Hasya, named for the joy he brought into their lives. Shortly after Hasya’s seventh birthday, a cry went up in the village. The boy had disappeared from the public playground. Frantic, his mother alerted authorities. People searched the entire area but the boy was not located. Several heartbreaking weeks later, the child’s body was discovered deep in the woods.

For that funeral, Joshua received a special request of one hundred handkerchiefs. But the order of ten linen squares led to his uncharacteristic state of mind.

After the funeral of Hasya, the village remained vigilant until the kidnapper was apprehended. A woman living near the playground had taken the boy. She had suffered her share of past sorrows, her greatest an inability to become pregnant. After her husband deserted her, she hid from society.

The woman locked Hasya in a back shed. The child refused food, languished, and died. Panicked, she dragged the body far into the woods.

While awaiting trial, she was repeatedly abused by prison guards and found herself with child. The judge took this into consideration but upheld the life imprisonment sentence. Once incarcerated, the woman refused food, as had her young captive. She and the baby died during childbirth.

Joshua spent the day weaving funeral linen. He resented each turn of the loom. Into the ten handkerchiefs flowed bitter feelings for this woman who had stolen Hasya’s life.

Few people attended her wake. Four of the ten linens Joshua unleashed such venom upon were distributed. Three were discarded on the mortuary lawn. Only one captured sorrowful tears. Several dried rose petals were wrapped inside of that handkerchief.

The cloth lay in a dresser drawer for years, an unsuspecting culprit. The man who had once been married to the murderess experienced ongoing bad luck. Finally, in a drunken stupor, he fell during a rain storm and drowned in an inch of water.

No one claimed the body or requested that Joshua weave funeral linens for the man.

*****

Elderly Fare at Cork Market #AtoZChallenge

###

The 26 eclectic short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

fictional character Gahlen, who first appears in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

By Dylan - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,

 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65950422

Elderly Fare at Cork Market

Genre: Humor

(389 words)

Once we settled into Devlon’s taxicab, he drove along the bank of the River Lee, pointing out the Butter Museum. “They give an interesting history of Ireland’s success in the butter trade and how they stored butter in bogs.”

Turning the corner, he said, “Taking the St. Patrick’s Street Bridge to the English Market for a scheduled fare. See St. Finn Barre’s Cathedral looming?”

At the market, Devlon pulled up to an elderly woman. She dragged a wire cart overflowing with fresh vegetables. Devlon whispered, “She won’t allow me to assist with the cart or open the door for her.”

While she unlatched the back door and struggled with her possessions, Devlon kept talking.

“Cork’s English Market has been a landmark since they laid the foundation stone in September of 1786. They offer the best local food.”

“Everything from olives to eels,” the elderly woman said, hauling the cart into the back seat and forcing my sisters to scrunch together.

“Headed home, Mamó?” Devlon asked.

Ah, I thought, his grandmother. All of Ireland must be related.

“Where else would I be headed with a cartful of groceries, Devlon? Of course, home.”

“We just drove past the Butter Museum,” he said, unfazed. “These folks are visiting from America, checking out their ancestral roots.”

“Is that so?” she said. “What name would you be upholding?”

Devlon translated: “Which of your ancestors left Ireland for America?”

“The Keogh family. They sailed from Cork to Quebec. That’s in Canada. Later, they migrated to Wisconsin.”

“I know where Quebec is,” she snapped. “Wisconsin most likely is a state in your country.”

“Gramma,” Devlon said, pointing to me, “this is Gahlen. Seated next to you are Rianne and Vondra. May they call you Gramma?”

“Devlon,” she said, “what is my name?”

Devlon squirmed. “Sorry, Gramma, I never knew your name.”

“Exactly. And if you don’t know my name, why should these strangers?” She sighed, then said, “Yes, call me Gramma. Do you know what I once found buried in the bog behind our farm? A finger bone. Oh, the stories I could tell about ritual sacrifices.”

“Gramma,” Devlon said, his voice a bit shaky now. “Are you sure you want to tell such stories to a bunch of strangers?”

“Strangers?” she asked. “They are practically family, calling me Gramma. How much closer can we get?”

*****