I’m afraid that the A to Z challenge and NaPoWriMo have taken their toll in that missing out on my usual writes, and ready for a holiday (okay, yes, I am always ready for a holiday). Regardless, I’m trying to get back to my usual writes for this week.
First stop, the friendly crew at Carrot Ranch. This week Charli is asking us to write a flash fiction in which the phrase “beggars can’t be choosers” appears.
After Daddy died, my mom, who was fifty-two at the time and out of the workforce for six children and thirty years, tried to make ends meet. It was a different time when kid friendly meals comprised: “You sit at the table until you’ve finished every pea on your plate.” Tough love, but we were a healthy bunch.
When you’re a kid, you don’t comprehend adults nor why your four brothers, so much older than you, rarely visit or why visits end in bitterness.
You just hear your mother say, “Beggars can’t be choosers” and choke down every mushroom.