Tag Archives: marriage

All In One Night

My first new flash fiction on a vintage photograph using an antique typewriter in months. If you like it, you can order Capturing a Moment, a collection of similar works or order an original by visiting my Etsy.

 

A Vaudevillian Moment

As far back as I can remember my grandmother reminisced about her days on stage back in the Vaudeville era.  Her and my grandfather were well known, in New York at least, as performers of music, dance, and probably even more so, comedy.

Grandfather, before he died, swore he’d made up Groucho’s famous “Outside of a book, a dog is a man’s best friend.  Inside a dog it’s too dark to read,” line back then on the stage.  It’s true, Groucho did attend one of their performances with his brothers, but regardless, there’s no way to prove that claim.

When I was little I would spend summers at my grandparents’ home in suburban New York, a small property that working the stage had paid for.  Mother considered it an extended visit, a vacation.  I loved it.  Dad, eternally disliked by my grandmother for pulling my mom out of the spotlight and marrying her, hated every moment.  Using work as an excuse, he would drive up from Philadelphia, our hometown, on weekends.

As I got older, after grandfather died, our visits were really all my grandmother looked forward to.  She would have my room all done up with a frilly pink bedspread (something I pretended to love even after I’d outgrown it) and would serve all of my favorite meals.  She would cater to anything I wanted as if I were her own daughter.  Actually, even mom didn’t have it as good as I did in that old house.

And every summer, like clockwork, she would pull out her old prop umbrella, worn out and missing the knob, and we would do one of the skits she loved so much with me playing the straight man.  She’d put on a funny hat and dress and jump right in.

“There are so many ways to understand what a lady is saying just by how she carries her umbrella!  Like if she holds it like this-”

And I would break in, “It means it’s raining?”

“No, no,” she would correct.  “It means she’s married!  And if she holds it like this-”

“She’s single?” I would ask, giggling.

“No!  It means she’s married and her husband is coming.”

“So you run?”

“Of course not.  Then you nod, like so.”

“So apologize?”

“No, stupid!  It means you want to meet her around the corner!”

“But she’s married!”

“Exactly, so you have to wait for the signal from her.”

“Which is?”

My grandmother would then flirtatiously lift her dress a bit to show some leg, usually with dirty work pants and boots underneath since she was always gardening.  This would have me doubled over in laughter by this point, keeping me from finishing the skit.

She would always chuckle along with me, then sit down in the nearest chair and remember the good old days, working the Vaudeville circuits with my grandfather.

Ticka Ticka

“Ticka ticka two minutes,” her phone suddenly called out. She froze and looked at it as if it just bit her. She reached for it as it said it again. “Ticka ticka two minutes!” Her hand pulled away, then she shook it off. It is, after all, only her phone. She picked it up to find a calendar event going off.

She clicked it to get more information. It was set to go off at exactly this moment, but she hadn’t programmed it. She scrolled through, trying to remember why she would set it at this time. She gave up and put it down. Suddenly the bathroom door opened and her husband was standing there.

“Almost ready?”

“Yup,” she said.

“You know how I hate missing the previews.”

“I know, dear,” she said with a wink.

“Well, we have to leave in a minute to get there in time.”

“Then stop slowing me down!”

He shut the door and the phone erupted yet again. “Ticka Ticka one minute.”

The sound of her husband giggling came from the other side of the door.

Artwork by the lovely Nadia Lavard. Click the image for her Tumblr.

Lover’s Cliff

Typography on vintage photographs using an antique typewriter.

A Night for Making Out

His Baby Boy

This is part of my ongoing project of flash fiction typed onto vintage photographs using an antique typewriter. If you’d like to see more keep looking here or visit my Etsy.

Win an Original Print!

So after These Moments had such a lovely giveaway with one of my original pieces, I had such a blast creating one for the winner that I’ve decided to have my own contest! Read about Esra’s winning image here.

What do you have to do? It’s so easy! All you have to do is comment on this post. Tell me why you should be the winner, or just say hi!

Here’s the image the last winner, Esra, got:

She told me she liked the beach, the city and listed a lot of her other passions, so I created one just for her! Want to get in on the fun? Comment below. And please, check out my upcoming book, Capturing a Moment, which collects many similar images. Not this one though, this one is JUST for Esra!

Capturing a Moment collects around fifty of Dennis Finocchiaro’s original pieces. Dennis is the author of The Z Word, a collection of flash fiction set during a zombie apocalypse. His collection of flash fiction that takes place in coffee shops, Confessions of a Coffee Shop Junkie, which came in third in The Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton 2010 fiction writing contest, is also available on Amazon.

Capturing a Moment is available via his Etsy site. It comes signed, with a one-of-a-kind post-it flash fiction piece signed and a post card depicting two of the images. For a little bit more you can purchase the VIP version, which also comes with the original print of your choice.

Road Trip

Road Trip, a new flash fiction on vintage photograph project!

William and Mary

William and Mary exited the church with her parents after saying goodbye to Father Peters.

“Mary,” William said. “How about a walk in the park?”

“That would be lovely,” she said, showing him a rather large smile.

“Have a nice day,” he said to her parents as the held each other and smiled. Her father winked at William, and her mother’s eyes became a bit glassy as she waved, too choked up to say anything else.

They turned the corner toward the park and Mary looked up at her boyfriend. “Can you believe it’s been a year since we met? A whole year.” She put her arm through his and pulled him closer as they passed the five and dime, which was closed.

“Too bad everything is closed, we could have picked up something and had a picnic,” she said to him.  He looked at her and smiled.

They continued to the park entrance, which was eerily empty today. Mary stopped. “That’s odd.”

“What is, dear?”

“Where is everyone? Mister Simpson is always feeding the ducks at the pond at this time of day. And this is a park, usually there are children playing! No jumprope, no kites, nothing. Nobody is here.”

He smiled. “It is rather peculiar, isn’t it?” He turned and looked at the Johnsons’ home, noticing the curtains move just the tiniest bit. He knew it was a small town and word traveled fast; it wasn’t the least bit surprising that Mrs. Johnson would take a peek as they passed.

“My, the trees look beautiful, don’t they? Look at all the red and orange. I love Fall,” she said to him as they promenaded through the park. He nodded.

Deep in thought, William hadn’t noticed that his pace quickened and he’d left Mary a few steps behind. He realized it and stopped, waiting for her to catch up. “Did you forget me?” She asked him.

“No, no I guess I was in another world,” he responded.

“Are you nervous about something? You seem to have a small case of the jitters.”

He smiled and took her hand as they walked past the trees, some of which were already bare. He pulled Mary from the path onto the grass toward a hill and the sound of crunching leaves under their feet echoed through the empty park.

“William M. Masters, what’s gotten into you?”

He smiled and led her through a small grove of bright orange and red trees that still had their leaves and there was a red and white checkered blanket with a picnic basket waiting.

“Oh, look at this! Someone has left a perfectly good lunch here,” he said with a sly smile. She squeezed his hand as he brought her over and helped her onto the blanket.

“Why thank you!”

“You’re welcome, darling. Why don’t you go through the basket and see what we’ve got for lunch?”

She got up and walked over to the basket, opened the lid and on top of some chicken, potato salad and fruit she found a small, black box. She picked it up and when she turned to William he was down on one knee.

“Mary, will you marry me and make me the luckiest man in all of Greensville?”

She smiled with a glow and said yes.

1620 Sycamore

“The bed and breakfast should be right around this bend,” Adam said to his new bride, Bertha as he turned the wheel of the car.

“I can’t believe it! I will be waking up with you tomorrow. It’s like a dream.” Bertha was glowing, and he couldn’t believe that just a few short hours ago they’d tied the knot. His friends always bet he would never take that final leap, and yet he was the first of the group to do so.

He knew he would be the second he’d met Bertha. He fell for her on the spot.

Adam smiled at the beautiful brunette as he pulled up to a 1900s farmhouse-turned-bed and breakfast. The siding was painted a pale blue and the woodwork around the porch was a light pink, just as his co-worker described it.

As Adam pulled to a stop his car skidded a bit on the gravel, sending up a small cloud of dust and alerting the owner to their arrival. “Here we are, 1620 Sycamore!” he said. The owner came out onto the wraparound porch and waved to them. As he did so his wire-framed glasses began to fall down his nose a bit and he had to catch them with his hand and push them back into place.

“You must be the Burnses, eh?” he asked them from the porch as they got out of the car.

Bertha giggled. “You’re the first one to call us that!” Adam came around and opened the trunk.

“And you must be Mister Oliver, the owner?”

“Yessir, that’s me!” He fixed his suspenders and let them slap against his oversized stomach as Adam reached into the back seat and pulled out his hat. He placed it onto his head and approached Mister Oliver, hand outstretched.

“Mighty fine place you have here, sir! Lovely. Just perfect for our honeymoon.” The older man smiled and winked at him.

“Haven’t had newlyweds here in a while! Mother and I will enjoy seeing young love again. Here to see the falls?”

“Yes, and possibly a bit of Canada, too.”

“Good for you, son.” Bertha was still waiting by the car and the old man nodded to her. Adam turned, went to the back door of the car and pulled out her small dark blue cardigan.

“It’s a bit chilly, hun, maybe you should put this on.” He started wrapping the sweater around Bertha, who saw the camera in the back seat.

“Oh! Adam, let’s get a photograph. Can we? It will be our first honeymoon shot.”

Adam pulled the camera out and looked hopefully to Mister Oliver, who smiled.

“Let me take that for you, son!” he said as he waddled down the four steps off the porch. As Adam showed him how the camera worked, Bertha carefully placed her purse and sweater onto the porch. Then she fixed her pleated skirt to make sure there were no wrinkles, rechecked the buttons of her blouse, and fixed her sleeves. Adam ran to her and leaned in.

“Hold on!” Bertha said. “You can’t wear a hat in this!” she said, removing it from her husband’s head, placing it onto her belongings on the porch, and then fussing over his hair. Once she got every strand into place, she smiled.

“Ready for this, Mister Burns?”

He smiled at his new wife. “Of course, Mrs. Burns.” And, of course, she giggled a little.