All six writers received the invitation on the same day and immediately called each other: “Are you going? Will you bring your ingredient?”
As instructed, not one writer told the other what she was requested to bring.
On Halloween night, a round iron pot sat in the center of the library conference table where the writers met once a week. Joellen splashed in two quarts of Diet Coke. Danielle measured and added a tablespoon of vinegar. Continue reading
I consider taking a walk, but then I remember I need my crutches.
Not that I need the crutches. My leg is fine now. The break was clean; the cast inconvenient but a nice attention getter; the crutches cumbersome and ugly.
I would have liked to have thrown the tall rigid walking implements into the trash. Or at least recycled them for some other poor soul to use.
But, sagely, I left my un-needed crutches standing in the foyer, by the front door.
For just this kind of day. . . Continue reading