I don’t like pot pie. Well, deep inside I do, since my blood is English – way back to my great-great grandparents. So sure, I like pot pie the same way I like rose gardens and floral wallpaper and hot tea with milk.
But I used to never eat pot pie because, to be honest, it’s fattening; all flour and butter in the crust; butter and flour in the gravy; and then a speck of chicken in there. With maybe a pea or two. Continue reading
“I think we need to return,” he whispered in her ear. An ear he knew so well, shell-shaped and as pink as a wish.
“No!” she protested. “We’re safe here. Let’s just roam.”
His smile, small and protective, told her everything she needed to know.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay the way things are,” he assured her. Continue reading
I hate department stores. I don’t use the word “hate” lightly. The empty vastness of material nothingness; the bright lights spotlighting our greed; the vapid noise of elevator music and high-pitched meaningless laughter.
Thus, when my daughter suggests I go with her and my 11-year-old granddaughter for a girls’ day of shopping, I respond immediately:
“Of course. I’d love to.”
I’m home making dinner and my cell phone rings.
I check the number and groan. Phone scammers now send calls using the same area code and first three digits of a nearby town. In my case, each call says “Groton.”
No one in Groton is on my address list.
I ignore the call and sauté the onions before the phone rings again. And three minutes later, again.
Just about ready to throw the phone in the drawer and lock it up, I notice that the “scammer” has left a voice mail message. Weird. Scammers never leave a “calling card,” so to speak. Continue reading