I beg Murial for her mysterious cookie recipe. I asked her five years ago, four years ago, three, two and now. Now, I ask her again as I take a small bite of this delicious, delectable cookie.
I feel light, airy, almost otherworldly, which makes no sense. It’s only a cookie.
“Hold on to your hat, Stephen,” Harriet warns. “You’re about to discover how little you know.” https://roughwighting.net/2024/07/19/a-humdinger-of-a-ghost-story/
In an irritated, and yes, arrogant tone, Stephen responds, “I know you’ve created drama where there is none. My mom, your supposed best friend, was extremely successful. She was a famous literary novelist. I think you rode on her coattails and now that mom is dead, you want to ride some more. You want to write her books, make money, and gain success on the back of her death!” Continue reading
Why I turned on the TV at 9:30 this morning I don’t know. I never watch daytime shows, but the rain is coming down in a Biblical way. The sound of it beating on top of my roof and against the windows makes me lonely. And not a little frightened. Continue reading
My grandmother, Nanny, died when I was 5, but I loved her with all my young heart. Even as a kindergartener, I could tell she was a gentle, kind, sweet, loving soul.
Since she died, I’ve talked to her in my head every so often, but she’s never visited me in my dreams. So, imagine my surprise when I wake up from a dream at four this morning with Nanny speaking urgently to me: “It’s behind the backyard at 525 Cramston. Go!” Continue reading
“What do you think it is?” my brother Jack asks. He’s in the middle of a 4-mile run even though he’s 68, his knees ache, and he biked 20 miles the day before with friends a decade younger.
I shrug, then take his question seriously. After all, I drove seven hours to visit my brother and his wife, and after perfunctory hellos, Jack takes off for a run and I begin a three-mile walk. Jack and I bump into each other a mile from his home; he pants while he asks the question. Continue reading
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