New Vessels

“Follow me, please.” The after shave soaked man in the suit gestured toward a door. “This room is where you pick a vessel for the remains. We have some beautiful new vessels that will look stunning on a shelf in your home, if you wish to keep the remains near.” He stepped toward a case. “And here you see vessels appropriate for storage in our mausoleum.” He smiled. “Would you like a few minutes to look around?”

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Hot Pursuit

The cat vaulted from the back of the couch into the venetian blinds. He leapt across the room toward the glass doors, then he tried a few high jumps in the middle of the kitchen. The kitchen counter, the kitchen sink, atop the fridge, then down and back to the window behind the couch. Such hot pursuit could only mean a fly had wandered into the house.

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A Terrible Photo

The young woman who took my photo at the DVM politely offered to retake it to try to get a better photo. I looked at my face as the camera sees it. “Thanks, but it’s really hopeless. There’s no such thing as a good picture of me any more.”

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Carolina in the Morning

“I guess it was that tux I wore to MC cousin George’s retirement party that attracted Carolina’s attention. She went into my party to dance with me and took me to her party to dance with her – just two single women who needed someone to dance with. I was surprised (and delighted) when, before I could even ask her out on a date, she invited me to her room to share a bottle of purloined wine. Although we never got round to opening the wine, I stayed until morning.”

“Do you still have the tux, grannie? Did you look really good in it?”

“It was a rented tux. But your Nana, now she looked amazing. She had on a shiny blue dress with a slit up the side. Whew, that was some dress.”

“Ah, grannie, it was love at first sight.”

“Yes. Yes it was.”

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Hashtags

“What are hashtags, anyway? I don’t really get them.”

“They are a way to organize the onslaught. If you have a hashtag, you can find people who are talking about just that one thing. You don’t have to read everything.”

“Oh, so if I’m watching “The Gilmore Girls” and I talk about it using that hashtag, I can have a conversation about the show with other people.”

“Exactly. You got it.”

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Good morning

A log cabin behind her, the forest before her, she said, “Good morning,” to the world around her. The piney scent of the air, the chill against her skin, the warm mug in her hands, and the knowledge that she was alone and no one knew where she was made it more than a good morning. “It’s a great day!” she shouted to the trees.

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The Written Word

I used to be enamored with the beauty of the written word. As I’ve grown older I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of clear meaning. The beauty of a well-told story no matter how beautiful the writing. I think it has to do with my attention span growing shorter.

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Strike

He held a knife to her stomach. Suddenly she knew she wanted it – that 3 month old inside her she couldn’t decide what to do about. She clutched a broken beer bottle and held it to his throat, ready to strike. They stared into each others eyes, daring, testing, judging.

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The Pitch

Over and over throughout the day, she rode the ski lift with potential investors. She made her pitch each time, to someone with money dressed in ski boots and a down jacket. As the day went by, her pitch grew better, more practiced. Over lunch, she found a taker.

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Arithmetic

The run up to the nominating conventions for the presidential candidates is all arithmetic. Delegates must add up to the proper numbers or the nomination isn’t there. Enthusiastic voters, popular votes, none  of that matters if the arithmetic isn’t there. American electoral rules are strange, indeed.

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