The two boys were laden with presents as they grinned to each other. Great Aunt Margotwas chatting to stallholders while holding her huge basket. ‘It’s a lovely atmosphere when it’s Christmas,’ she said.
‘We can sit down by that useful bench, and we can have a little unprompted picnic. I assume you’re both hungry?’ ‘Always,’ they chortled. ‘We’ve crispy baguette, some creamy butter and some pâté.’ They munched for a bit.
Then Great Aunt Margot said, ‘that’s enough for now. All we need is a smallish tree and we can hoist it back home.’ And that’s what they did.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
our lovely fat Budai he loves to chuckle and grin he throws happiness and joy here’s a gift, petals!
~~~~~
The Dodoitsu is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin and is often about love or humour.
The name, Budai, literally means ‘cloth sack’, and refers to the bag he is usually depicted carrying as he wanders aimlessly. His jolly nature, humorous personality, and eccentric lifestyle distinguish him from most Buddhist masters or figures. He is almost always shown smiling or laughing, hence his nickname in Chinese, the Laughing Buddha. Budai is traditionally depicted as overweight and having a huge stomach (possibly a symbol of abundance or forgiveness) and many stories surrounding Budai involve his love of food and drink – perfect for us too!
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #42 – 9 December 2025 where this week’s host Yvette Calleiro’s invitation is to focus on the word gift/gifting, as a noun or verb and to write a syllabic poem.
They had been singing for ages and loudly too, the songs, the lyrics and the melodies were all off key, but none of them cared, since this was a great outing; they hadn’t been all together for such a long time, more than half a year, but time is a strange idea if some of this lot are immortal.
Mr Cushing was driving, as always, in his purring limousine, and The Old One sat next to him; they had both been living in the south of France – very clement and useful too, since they both love going to the Cannes Festival and hang out with the hoi polloi (not).
Francis was sitting in the middle row, he had been reading the newspapers avidly, almost desperately to find anymore news about those jewels which had been stolen from the Louvre; it was only he who wouldn’t sing, while his wife, Joan, and her best friend Scatty, were clapping their hands on the other side and singing their hearts out.
The two gargoyles sat in the back and looked out in the rear of the car, eager to see a particular police car, since Inspector Clouseau could be just behind them.
The red-headed woman had been moving around in that gorgeous long car, talking to all her lovely friends; she was very keen to see what would occur, and she shouted: ‘we must be almost there at that farm.’
And a moment later she grinned: ‘it’s that it… all those big sheds.’
what a wonderful time it is so much happiness and joy!
all those little businesses are busy since they will be closing soon.
we peer in various shops is there anything else we need?
no, we think we have everything let’s run home now!
~~~~~
Image credit: Deep Doshi@Unsplash
This photo shows a snowbound scene from a street in Quebec, Canada. There are Christmas trees outside almost every home and they are sprinkled with snow. People, warmly dressed are going about their business.
‘We went into a little supermarket, didn’t we?’ ‘We did. Happy memories…’ ‘It was in a foreign place and quaint. You remember?’ ‘Greece?’ ‘Not that time.’ ‘No, you’re right, it was Turkey.’
‘We sat down, since there was a few tables.’ ‘And we drank some very thick and sweet coffee.’
‘Then we had a little look around the shelves…’ ‘… and we bought some postcards and we sat down again and wrote them.’ ‘They even had some stamps.’
‘Then after that we bought a tiny bottle of raki.’ ‘And what else?’ ‘You must remember that?’ ‘Oh, of course – Turkish Delight!’
~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Memoir Word Count: 100
it’s almost Christmas and we will have a fish feast elegant, possibly but don’t miss any lovely juice since we will have some mussels ~~~
Keith Floyd’s Moules Marinière
Ingredients
Fresh mussels, cleaned and de-bearded
Butter
Shallots (or onion)
Garlic, unpeeled and crushed
Fresh parsley
Good white wine
Instructions
Prepare the mussels: Clean them thoroughly, removing any beards or barnacles.
Melt the butter: In a large saucepan, melt a generous amount of butter over high heat.
Sauté aromatics: Add the chopped shallots, crushed garlic, and most of the parsley to the melted butter. Stir for a moment.
Add wine: Pour in the white wine and let it come to a boil.
Cook the mussels: Add the mussels to the pot, cover tightly, and cook over high heat for a few minutes until they open. Shake the pan occasionally.
Discard any mussels that remain closed.
Serve the mussels immediately with their juice and sprinkle with the remaining parsley.
Enjoy: It is customary to serve with crusty bread for dipping in the flavourful sauce.
~~~~~
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #41 – 2 December 2025 where this week, Colleen’s invitation is ‘to write a syllabic poem on the food/or foods that are served according to your December traditions.‘
The red-headed woman had been feeling rather pensive as she continued to listen to the two friendly gargoyles, while she rummaged in her big bag.
‘As you know we had enlisted several clever animals for a while, although sadly they have moved on to another case, we believe,’ – ‘not surprising though, since they are jet-setting animals who solve crimes all around the world,’ as the two of them grinned to each other.
‘You know there are still protests around the Louvre,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘since so many very exquisite jewels had been stolen, and they are still mostly missing, so it’s vital that we stay in touch with Inspector Clouseau, you must know him surely,’ as the two of them looked at her; she affirmed.
‘So what are we going to do now?’ asked the red-headed woman, as she opened her notebook and clicked her retractable pen; while the two gargoyles looked at their phones, and a moment later they both said: ‘ooh, breaking news… look.’
One of the phones pinged, it was Inspector Clouseau who said: ‘it’s a decoy, I’m sure – never mind about those escargots, but those fabulous jewels, they will be hidden in some very strange place – they will reappear, mark my words.’
Another beautiful day, said one. Where shall we go today, said the other.
They potted around the lovely beach.
So warm isn’t it, said one. Well, it’s summer on the Cape, isn’t it, grinned the other.
They potted a bit further, as they looked out.
I know, let’s go right to the end. You mean the Table Mountain? No, even further… the southern tip of the Cape Peninsula. Let’s enjoy the Cape of Good Hope just now.
And off they went!
~~~~~
Image credit: Thibault Moluenko@Unsplash
The image shows two birds standing in the water of the ocean, at a beach. The sky overhead is cloudy and lit golden by the rays of the sun, which are reflected in the water too. There are waves coming in towards the beach.
She’d looked in the bedroom and bathroom. She’d looked in the kitchen and dining room, but no. She was almost positive she had left them in the living room since she’d been reading. She sat down by her coffee table.
She had a thought.
Maybe those glasses had fallen under the couch. She knelt down and poked around, just as her cat appeared. They were at the same level. The cat playfully tapped one paw at her cheek. Suddenly, those glasses dropped from her head.
Aha, clever cat! Those glasses had been there all the time.
~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Anecdote Word Count: 100
luna's on line 