A Bit of Bricolage

    As you may recall, bricolage means you make something out of nearly nothing at all. We’re writers; we can do that! Even so, it’s great practice. So here is a list of nearly nothings. Do select one and write about it.

    ~That speck in the corner of your eye.

    ~A bit of gravel trapped in the tread of your tire.

    ~It’s autumn. One leaf lies by itself on your patio.

    ~Dryer lint.

    ~A tear in the leather seat of a Harley Davidson motorcycle

    44 Responses

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    29. It is so cold. I was so nice and warm, and now I’m really cold. Just a few minutes ago everything around me was tumbling and rumbling, and now I’m tumbling and rumbling. Wait, now I feel like I’m floating. Am I falling or am I floating? I’m floating.

      1. Roscoe,
        Welcome. I think you’re new here? If so, that’s great.
        I’m torn between this being a leaf in a tree, next to all the other leaves, happy and warm, then whisked off by the wind — OR — dryer lint? or gravel in the tire?

    30. “Mom. Mom! Come quick. I can’t see!”

      The familiar noise of a heavy chair pushing back from the table told the child that mom was coming.

      “What is wrong?”

      Mom paused slightly between words. The quick walk from the kitchen table took her breath away.

      “My eyes. They’re stuck. I can’t open them!”

      “You’re fine. It’s just the Sandman,” mom said. “The Sandman came overnight. He put sand in your eyes. You need to wipe the sand away. I’ll get a facecloth.”

      The Sandman? The child fingered her eyelids. The lashes were knotted together—sealed with a crusty liner.

      Who is this… this—Sandman?

      The child heard water running. It always took forever for the water to get hot.

      “Here,” mom said. “Put this on your eyes.”

      The tepid cloth felt soft against the child’s face.

      After a second, mom blotted and wiped the child’s eyes. The child resisted the urge to pull her head away. Mom didn’t mean to hurt her.

      “There. Sand’s all gone,” mom said. “Open your eyes. You’re fine.”

      “Now, get up. You’re late. Get dressed for school.”

      Mom settled back to her perch at the kitchen table.

      And the child stared at her eyes in the mirror.

      The sandman. The sandman. The sandman.

      The Sandman is who comes when you cry yourself to sleep, she decided.

      1. A very nice exchange between a little girl and her mom. You left me wondering though why the little girl cried herself to sleep. I bet she heard about poor Sunflower and the big truck. 🙂

      2. Christine,
        So homey, so comforting, so normal–until that last heart-tugging line. Big sigh for child.

    31. The Story of Beulah Stemp

      Beulah Stemp had just finished work on the second shift at the local Harley-Davidson plant where she held the position of “Senior Seat Durability Testor,” largely, and no pun intended, because of her ability to test the entire seat. After a grueling 8 hours of trying to create tears and other unsightly deformities in Harley’s premium leather seats, she was ready to head home and give her prodigious posterior a rest.

      The highway was dark and the rain was blowing sideways but, somehow, Beulah and her Subaru managed to make it home to her single-wide at Muffler Manor Estates, a well-regulated mobile home park just across the embankment ditch from I920. As she unlocked the front door, her pitty, “Sunflower,” bolted out the door, over a rusted and badly mangled section of chain-link fence, and onto the interstate. Unfortunately, it was the dark of the moon and a screaming Kenworth snapped up the poor dog in one diesel-powered gulp. Into the turbocharger the little guy went, and a second or two later, out through the chrome-plated exhaust stacks in a reddish haze.

      Of course, Beulah ran out after the dog and began searching up and down the northbound lanes of I920. Twenty minutes later, still searching for the dog in the driving rain, Beulah herself was struck and killed by a passing truck. Now that may seem ironic, but the true irony of the situation was that it was the very same truck. It turns out that, after hitting Sunflower, the trucker stopped at the Lion’s Den adult store at the next exit, which, unbeknownst to him at the time, happened to be limited access. After completing his shopping at their video counter, he had to double back to the previous exit to get back on the interstate. That’s how he came to run over Beulah.

      Now, that was 20 years ago, and since that time, truckers have reported seeing a ghostly image along the interstate during the night of the new moon (often in the month of June). Many believe that it’s the ghost of Beulah, looking for bits of Sunflower (obviously small enough to pass through a running diesel engine) along the northbound lanes of I920. Ultimately, the Lion’s Den at the next exit had to close, as no trucker was ever brave enough to stop there again. In 2019, by order of the legislature, the section of I920 next to Muffler Manor Estates was renamed “The Beulah Stemp Memorial Highway.” Appropriately, in 2022, this section of the road was widened to 6 lanes. No signs of Sunflower were ever found.

      1. An urban legend guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat.

        Thanks for the laughs, @garytreible. 🤣😂

      2. Themes of repetitive work once more! Perhaps bricolage brings that out as we ponder a bit of nothing and try to make it into something. Also, gotta love the damn unhelpful exit layout. Life as we know it! Happy that dear Beulah got a highway named after her. A cultural honor.

    32. There is something about menial tasks. The sameness. The routine. It is the satisfaction of completion of a task even though it hardly changes, at least that is what I keep telling myself. Sh**, who am I kidding? I’m just getting through the weeds as fast as possible to play in the open water.
      And here it goes again. that stupid little ‘nails on a chalkboard’ song politely notifying me it’s time to fold.
      I dump the laundry on the couch ready to fold and clean the lint trap. Big surprise, dust, fluff, of course dog hair, and what’s this? Someone left a tissue in their jeans pocket.
      Life can hold no more.

      1. Can I ever relate to the ‘nails on chalkboard’ song, @Summergoose!

        Dishwasher does the same, annoying victory ditty every time it does it’s job. Imagine if I did that?

        And the tissues! Hilarious.

        You’ve certainly got me seeing what you’re writing.

      2. Hahaha. “that stupid little ‘nails on a chalkboard’ song politely notifying me it’s time to fold.” Funny how universal some things are. We have an LG washer/dryer set. We call that little song “The Korean National Anthem.”

        “Honey… the dryer’s won gold again.”

        Glass Falf Full Thought of the Day – Tissue is generally one of the least gross things you find in the lint trap.

      3. This sure hits a nerve. I feel that having to check pockets should be against the law. How did that task get delegated to the laundry doer!?