Almost surreal, the rain continued even as the sun peeked out like a shy little girl. Buttoning up my rain coat, I left the safety of my front door and raced toward the car.
“Can’t you see where you’re going?” a tiny voice asked.
Darn, I tripped over something that seemed more stump than human, yet whatever it was had chastised me! Earnestly looking around for the victim of my haste, I felt a tug at the bottom of my jeans. Continue reading
I normally would not tell anyone this story, but you, you I trust with my deepest darkest secrets, so I can finally tell the truth about what I ordered. That’s not even the part that’s embarrassing, at least, not the most embarrassing. 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.
But Ruth. David felt such a connection to his wide-eyed quiet daughter that he wondered if she had a spark of his great-grandma within her. (A New Realm) Continue reading
Ruby took a breath, and with a shaking hand, signed her name to the list.
“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
I’m trying desperately to avoid the knocking.
At first I thought it was the sound of one of “my” hummers knocking on the bedroom window. All summer I’d watched the hummingbirds sprint around our feeder hanging just outside the window, their long thin pointy tongues drawing sweet water out of the teeny tiny hole meant to mimic the center of a flower.
But it’s now December, the hummers have sensibly flown to warmer climes, and I’m here staring out at the window, listening to the knock on glass. But nothing is across from me on the other side of the window but falling snow. Sighing, I cross the room to my antique dresser, the one that belonged to my great-grandmother, who died years before I was born. I stand before the large oval mirror joined at the top of the dresser and framed with mahogany. Yes, there she is. Great-Grandmamma, tapping her fingernail on the other side of the speckled mirror, waiting impatiently.
Continue reading
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