Petey hated parties and she hated that her best friend, Sarah, begged her to attend this one. At 61 years of age, Petey was too old to “do” parties. She’d met enough people in her life, thank you very much, and there were few she liked.
Sarah was one person who Petey admired, but as Petey stood on one foot, and then the other in the back corner of Sarah and Don Tavish’s living room along with a stray red balloon floating above her, she wondered if even Sarah should be crossed off her list. Continue reading
In Section II, Fun Family Drama
No, you may not believe that I – a writer, an author, a consummate reader – rarely (as in hardly ever) read the reviews of my books. How gauche. How extremely weird. Or, you may say, how cowardly.
But when I wrote Flashes of Life (my latest, now a little over a year old) it was nearest and dearest to my writing heart because it’s …. memoir. Fortunately for my readers, it’s flash memoir, which means you can sit outside on the front porch in your rocking chair, and within five sips of your iced tea (or Diet Coke, or lemonade, or beer if it’s almost sunset) you’ll have finished one of my stories in this flash(y) compilation of my life’s anecdotes. Continue reading
I asked for an early appointment, but not too early. I wanted the doctor to be fresh, but not still yawning from his night’s sleep. I wanted the nurse to still be enthusiastic about the patient, not looking at her watch to see how long before lunch, or before she got to escape home, take off her scrubs, and pull on her shorts and t-shirt.
“9:30,” the scheduler suggested, and I grabbed it like a life preserver in the ocean. Everything will be easy because I got the perfect time. Continue reading
Remember how I told you I didn’t want to live with you? I needed my own space, my own home before I made one with you.
I meant it.
But you didn’t believe me. Or, you believed me, but you needed me to make a home with you. To create a space together. Continue reading
I remember the trip to the mountain more than the mountain itself.
Once a year, my brother and I are awakened at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. We stumble in the back seat of the 4-door Pontiac with pillows and blanket and sleep off and on for the next two and a half hours. But I only doze. The excitement of what is ahead is too stimulating for sleep. Continue reading