Dance

The couch was comfortable. The blankets made it cozy. The music playing was her favorite song.

“Have you ever danced naked?” she asked.

“No. Am I about to start?”

“Yes,” she answered. She stood up and held out her hand. Maggie took it and stood with her. She pulled Maggie close and guided her around the room. When goosebumps and the chill won over romance, she led her back to the warmth of the couch.

“I’m too old to dance naked,” she sighed as they snuggled under the blankets.

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Grasshopper

We called her Grasshopper because she outpaced us by two. She’d get where we were going, look around, come back to fetch us and go again with the slowpokes. She’d rush off on side trips to see things we’d miss and rejoin us down the path a few minutes later. I was convinced she had twice as much fun as anyone else.

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Yowzaa!

He says it – yowzaa! – all the time. At the end of every sentence. I’m telling you that word, which isn’t really even a word, is driving me bonkers. If he says it one more time I’m going to stuff his mouth full of dirty sweat socks. I’m going to bash him in the face with a cast iron skillet (wait, I don’t have a cast iron skillet). I can’t take it any more!

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Counting Blessings

It’s hard to count blessings these days. The feeling of doom pervades the air. The political situation, the dying environment, the horrors of income inequality. Everything feels like suffering, not like something to remember to be grateful for. The only way to maintain a degree of sanity seems to be to disconnect from the outside world and go for a walk in the sunshine.

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Fresh Air

She opened every door, every window. She turned on the fans. She waved magazines in the air near the smoke detector. No amount of fresh air could deter the thing from its screamed warnings. She was glad it worked, right up until the moment she killed it with a broom handle so she could have quiet again.

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It’s Coming

Inch by inch, it’s growing. It’s coming my way. I keep expecting the force of gravity to pull it down, bend it. But no, it’s heading for me. Me! The very spot where I now type is its aim, its direction. What shall I do? Evacuate? Move? Fight back?

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Treatment

I had this idea for a story. It was about a child with psychic abilities. But I couldn’t find the right treatment, you know? Like, should there be adults in the story? What kind of things would the child know or do? It was making me crazy, you know? So I decided . . .

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Too Many

Yeah, that’s right. Fifty words might be too many. Right now we’re running the country using 140 characters or less. Fifty words is a lot. Yeah. Fifty words require complete sentences. Punctuation. It’s a burden but some of us are brave enough to bear it.

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Temporary Thinking Ban

For two years the media supported a temporary thinking ban by repeating lies without disputing them. Many people lost the ability to think during this time. When new leaders came into power later, they succeeded in making the ban permanent by appointing a person to head the country’s education system who knew nothing about teaching people to think. When the few remaining scientists attempted to point out the effect of non-thinking on brain structures, they were silenced and destroyed.

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I Remember

Funny how you remember things. I remember the first time I heard of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the famous Mexican poet. It was during a stay at college. I was in a car with a woman I’d recently met and she mentioned Sor Juana. I’ve remembered and been interested in Sor Juana ever since but I barely remember the woman. Her name was Jane, I think. At the time I was quite smitten with Jane, but it’s Sor Juana I remember.

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