“I promise it will never happen again.” He stared at me, looking for some measure of forgiveness in my eyes. “I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it for real this time.”
I turned and walked away. I stood at the big window for a while, overlooking the pines and the valley below. Then I went back to the guest room.
“Pack your stuff. You’re leaving.”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “for real this time.”
The driverless electric car was at the curb. I climbed in and headed for work. My phone rang. It was my daughter scolding me (scolding ME) for selling my gas powered car. I answered, “Yes, and my decision to do that means the big polluters have one less customer. So I’m saving the earth for YOU!” She sputtered, “But . . . ”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “yes, and.”
A thunderstorm approached, throwing light into the bedroom. Enough tossing and turning, she thought. She climbed out of bed. She warmed a cup of milk in the microwave and sat in the living room to drink it and watch the lightening. While the wind swirled and thunder cracked right overhead, she could see a full moon rising over the mountains to the east. When the storm passed and the milk was drunk, she went back to bed and fell asleep instantly.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “moonrise.”
I give myself an eyesight test each day. I look for the cable car gliding up or down the mountain. Today the mountain is behind the clouds. Dark and thick, those clouds, full of rain and fog. When I can’t complete my routine of seeing the cable car, I get a little nervous. I have to return to the window again and again, hoping for a break in the clouds so . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “behind the clouds.”
She sat down in the theater seat next to me. I felt her looking at me. Then she said, “You’re Cindy Dawson,” and stuck her hand my way for a handshake. I looked at her. I had no idea who she was, but I extended my hand as well. “I’m from Hamilton, too,” she said.
What were the odds of two English women from Hamilton sitting down side by side in a New York theater? “Do I know you?” I asked. She . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “handshake.”
A scraping noise. A quiet car driving away. The clock said 3 AM. She peered out the window. The garden hose lay near the street, splayed on the sidewalk like a giant snake. Someone was stealing the hose? Or trying to? She dialed 911.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “3 AM.”
So here’s the thing. It’s May. The merry month of May. The grass is greener, the flowers scent the air, the light hangs about later in the day, and all those aches and pains the cold weather brought on have faded. What I don’t get is why haven’t my spirits improved. Why does everything still look so bleak? Spring has sprung, but my winter blues are still around.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “It’s May” or on some topic suggested by the photo.
I love the spam that really knows me – gets me. You know, the ones with subject lines like “soar in your private jet” or “meet beautiful Asian women” or “male enhancement drugs.” They are so perfect and fitting that I love getting them. And you know I’m going to open and respond to every one of them because, well, they are especially for me.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “soar in your private jet.”
Things I saw on a recent road trip: hundreds of geese – some with chicks, magpies, meadowlarks, fresh snow, eroded red sandstone in astounding shapes, green fields with ample water, mountain valleys and farms, a small college in a small town where the only goal is to produce great educators, potato storage sheds, newborn calves, small town cafes with excellent food, an old car roundup, athletes on bikes, and many many rivers. It’s nice to be reminded I live in a beautiful country.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “chicks” or on some topic suggested by the photo.
The history lesson of my life begins with typewriters. The kind with keys you pushed down about an inch and only had one font. Then electric typewriters came along with more sensitive keys that you barely touched. The keys on my laptop are not something you pound. But it’s the keyboard on a phone or a tablet that astounds. Tiny letters – still arranged like a qwerty keyboard – defy the fingers and create a brand of humor that is a manifestation of auto correct.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the keyboard.”