You must be kidding. It’s really rather nauseating, Ben the barista decided, watching the man and woman hold hands as they walked toward the back of the café. Continue reading
“Oh, yes, the evening sounds delightful,” she answers in her proper English, with a slight quiver to her voice. Violet’s small, hazel eyes beam, the thin white hair on her head moving as if in a breeze as she nods her head.
“Dinner might be enough. You’ve just only been feeling better,” I suggest. Violet and I became friends while she attended my writing classes. We’re a strange combination: she is an 80-year-old widow from New Zealand and works in a New Age city bookstore; I’m married, decades younger, and work in the suburbs.
“I read the book, Violet. It’s a sweet romance, but it’s sad too. I’m not sure the movie…” Continue reading
Today, four days past the middle of March, I waken to the dreaded four-letter word.
S N O W.
But I decide to shovel away my disgruntlement of another wintry day and to exercise outside No Matter What. Normally I dislike the cold and the fear of falling on icy roadways, but after three months of this weather, and after meditating my breaths into ACCEPTANCE, I choose to go with the flow. Or in this case, Go with the Snow. Continue reading
Ruth was a strange child. Her parents knew within weeks of her birth that she had neither David’s ginger hair nor Martha’s sassy smile. Instead, Ruth – named after David’s beloved great-grandmother, Ruby Ruth Ambrose – was taciturn and calm.
But all the same, Ruth was the favorite of her dad’s, even though parents aren’t supposed to feel more love for one child over another. Ruth’s older brother Robert was bright, cheerful, and even-tempered. A joy to have around the house.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ruby’s twin sister whispered in her ear. The trails of uncertainty in Trudy’s breath caused Ruby’s heart to thump thump thump.
Finishing the n in her last name “Rubicon” with flair, Ruby dropped the ancient fountain pen onto the solid oak table, which had been passed from generation to generation. She nodded a weak Yes. Continue reading