“You wanna do something fun?” my irascible, twinkly-eyed 10-year-old grandson asks.
Panic ensues on my end. What Neville calls fun is called alarming in my mind. Saying “yes” to him is like opening a can of worms. Worms that scoot out of the can and wiggle their way into the crevices of mischief. Continue reading
“Chocolate squares (unsweetened), check.
Flour, butter, check.
Sugar, eggs, check.
Heavy cream, check.
Bottle of red, check.”
Samantha sighed as she mentally checked off her grocery list. The essentials only. She didn’t have time for non-essentials, like milk or cereal or pasta. She swiped each container with a Lysol wipe as she unloaded her grocery cart at the store, and then swiped the seven items again when unloading the grocery bag once she reached home.
Safe. Continue reading
As my mom’s life slowly unravels – her brain forgetting my name, her thoughts floating in a vast ocean of faded blues – I wish I could thank her for her cakes. Continue reading
I know this, even though few believe me.
We live in different time warps. Continue reading
The day begins with anticipation, which makes me chuckle.
Gone is the time when I looked forward to a young man arriving at the doorstep for a date. Now, I’m anxious for the arrival of a 7-year-old boy and hours of Uno and giggles.
Sure enough, 90 minutes into my grandson’s visit, the score is Madre 540, genius boy 35.
The winner is the one with the lowest score.
This kid is killing me, particularly as he rubs his hands before each new game and says gleefully, “The cards just love me, Madre,” with a shrug and a wink. Continue reading
roughwighting 