Shadows

I’m fascinated by shadows. Sometimes shadows are more interesting that the solid object that creates them. These shadows in an Italian church caught my eye, as shadows often do.

I live in a land of strong shadows in the Southwest, where the light is powerful and clear and the shadows are often strong and distinct. Today we are having a cloudy day and there are no shadows. A rare event here. I always thought I didn’t like cloudy days because I missed the light. But today, I’ve decided I miss the shadows. Shadows provide . . .

The roses

She rounded the corner to Louise’s house. The roses around the corner house were stunning. She stopped the car, even though she was already late picking up Louise.

She rolled down the window in hopes of smelling the array of roses stretching from one side of the large yard to another. Red, yellow, pink, a melony orange, white: the colors spread like a rainbow across her view.

She took a deep breath and suddenly felt calmer and . . .

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I never

“I never said that!” I said in shocked denial.

My four kids exchanged looks. The youngest, Sammy, always the spokesperson, answered, “Mom, we all heard you say it. You said it.”

“You guys are making this up. You’re just trying to pull a fast one on me.”

“Mom,” Sammy said, “you did say it. And you meant it.”

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I know somebody

The people you know go everywhere, right? Nobody is restricted to a geographical area these days. So when something happens half way around the world—an earthquake, a cyclone—we are struck immediately by the thought, I know somebody who’s there. I thought that we kept track of distant disasters because we had instant communication, but that’s not it. It’s because we know somebody.

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What are you doing?

Janelle wasn’t doing anything wrong. Well, OK, so she’d ditched school, but she was just sitting on a bench beside the river. Not bothering anyone. And this fat cop with sweat dripping down his face comes up and says, “What are you doing?”

Janelle wasn’t scared of cops, although she’d tangled with them a few times. She answered grudginly, “Nothin’.”

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It’s perfect

“It’s perfect,” he said, and made a ceremony of carrying it to the refrigerator to mount it in a place of honor.

He smiled at 4 year-old Ethan, who had followed him into the kitchen to watch the ceremony of putting the latest art work on the frig. It was solid black scribble Ethan declared “doggie.”

He took down the solid black scribble from yesterday, the one Ethan named “tree,” and carried it to the art box where he saved all of Ethan’s drawings. Ethan followed him to the box, crutches thumping gently on the hard wood floor.

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Backup

A direct order from his Captain to stay away from the landing on Canal Street was the last thing Tom heard before leaving the precinct tonight. But he was putting on black clothes and a black hooded sweatshirt, preparing to head for the landing anyway. He looked over his backup weapons. Tonight, he’d carry an untraceable one under his arm. He secured a second untraceable one at his ankle and put a knife on his other ankle.

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Extreme Makeover

It seems we’ve managed to give the planet an extreme makeover. The weather is nuts–tornadoes at unheard of times, cyclones destroying lives, forest fires fanned beyond control, bees nowhere to be found, and now we learn that flowers are 90% less fragrant than they used to be. The line about being fruitful and multiplying should have come with a caveat: but not too much. Or maybe it . . .

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The last time

“I’m trying to think,” he said. He leaned back in the battered wooden rocking chair that occupied his front porch, settling in to tell me a story. “When was the last time I saw that noisy dad-gum cougar up in the hills?”

He fiddled with his pipe and struck a big kitchen match. “Must have been ’bout five years ago, at least. I was up on Old Baldy hunting deer and I heard him yowling and growling. Caught a glimpse of him up in those rocks where he had his den. Gray haired as I am, that old cat. Looked like my granddaddy.”

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Honey

Each spring brings a wave of honey consumption into my life. Local honey. Not because I love the sweet taste, although it is good. Not because I need to add calories to my diet; I clearly don’t. No, it’s about spring allergies. Local honey helps bring the sneezing, sniffling, itching throat and burning eyes under control. Another measure I’ve reluctantly learned to take in the battle against the runny nose is to wash out my sinuses with salt water. Ew. I like the non-drug, old timey remidies because . . .

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