WORDS FOR WEDNESDAY

This meme was started by a lady named Delores a long time ago.  Words for Wednesday are now provided by a number of people and has become a moveable feast.

Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write.  Each week we are given a choice of prompts,which can be words, phrases, music or an image.  What we do with them is up to us:  a short story, prose, a song, a poem or treating them with ignore.  We can use some or all of the prompts.

Some of us put our creations on the post and others post on their own blog.  I would really like as many people as possible to join the meme, which includes cheering on other participants (definitely the more the merrier). If you are posting on your own blog, please let me know so that I, and the other participants, can come along and applaud.

This month it's my turn for "Words for Wednesday".  Please do join in the fun!

This week's prompts are, not only early, but are the following...

1. Cliché                                            7.   Direction

2.  Eccentric                                      8.   Sacrifice       

                                                           

3.  Paradise                                        9.   Dispensable

                                                          

4.  Derogative                                   10.  Consequence

                                                      

5.  Capitulate                                    11.   Outlook

 6.  Judgment                                    12.   Principle    

Speaking in derogative tones behind his back at any opportunity they could grab, many in the area ignorantly declared old John Crawford was an eccentric.

John Crawford very well may have been, but I never could see anything wrong in being so. I still don’t.  I surely wouldn’t kick up a fuss if, in my elder years, I was considered to be an “eccentric”.  I’d be very proud of the title, and would happily live up to it every day of the week!

Who were they, the gossip-mongering townsfolk, to pass judgment on John Crawford?  Being too wrapped up in their own misguided self-importance, they never took the time to get to know him; perhaps a look in the nearest mirror would have been a much-needed wake-up call for each and every one of them.

John Crawford, a fair-minded man, upheld a solid, honest principle of living. He wasn’t going to capitulate for anyone, no matter how much he or she scoffed at him in a prejudicial manner. 

Gossip and uninformed, ignorant comments were of no consequence to John.  He felt their description of him, not only humorous, but a tired, over-used cliché.  Like water off a duck’s back, their opinions ran off John’s back, flowing more rapidly than the Amazon River in flood!

John Crawford’s outlook on life...vast, clear and unfiltered...was similar to the outlook from his rambling home, which was situated on a crest amid large acreage overlooking, not only the ocean out front, but mountains and valleys at the rear of the property, as well.   Living there was akin to living in paradise, as far as I was concerned.

I knew more about John Crawford’s life...his present, and his past...than anyone else in the narrow-minded community. 

I knew during the Second World War he had been selflessly prepared to sacrifice his life for his country.  Upon his return from the war, he preferred not to broadcast to all and sundry his time spent on the front lines of the battlefields, where many of his mates had lost their lives; where millions of people had been tossed aside as if they were dispensable pawns.  It was John's personal choice to take that direction...to not talk about the war with every Tom, Dick and Harry.  He’d earned his right not to speak of the grievous, harrowing time.  John had earned the freedom, the privilege, to do what he felt he needed to do, or not do; to say, or not say.  

It was his choice and his, alone, to make. John had earned the liberty to live the rest of his life in peaceful harmony.

In my own life...to me...John Crawford was indispensable.  John was my hero. He was my grandfather.  I knew him almost as well as he knew himself.  I knew and understood him more than anyone else did.  I respected him. I loved him with every ounce of my being. 

I miss the long evenings we shared, sitting side by side out on his verandah, looking out across the ocean.  I miss my grandfather’s wonderful, at times quite wicked, sense of humour. His smile was like a beacon on a hill.  His innate sensitivity was almost tangible.  I miss my grandfather’s story-telling.  

I will never forget the tales he told.  ...nor will I ever forget John Crawford.

                                                                                                                

A fictional tale.....