Monday, April 30, 2012


He twitched an ear, listening for the familiar rumble of the old pickup.  His nose pressed to the window as people came to the house.

Every click of car door, every tap of heel brought him to his feet.

He acknowledged each new face politely, then returned to his post.

Voices from the other room.

"Mary, I'm so sorry."

"Mary, can I do anything?"

Another car door, another face, a word for him.

"Hey Duke, how you doing boy?" He accepted the pat with a perfunctory tail wag.

He quickly returned to the window, watching, listening. Waiting for his friend.


I tried something new,  I took a shot at the 100 word song with Lance.  This week's track is 

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

Friday, April 27, 2012

Her Heart

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-HoodFor this week, the prompt is the word “core” and 450 words to explore any meaning of the word in a work of creative non-fiction/memoir or fiction.

 She stands under the steaming water, her thoughts integrating this latest bit of medical information with all that has come before. 

Fifteen years ago, she stood by him through the cancer treatments. The chemo-induced puking. The hair loss. Finally the surgery that removed enough bowel to ensure a lifetime colostomy.

Ten years ago, she fretted by his side as he apologized for the heart attack. Two years later, she cried as they fought to keep him alive through the second.  

 She helped him track the cocktails of medication that finally triggered his genetic predilection for diabetes.   

The diabetes that has finally taken a toll on his kidneys. That has introduced words like "dialysis" and "high potassium levels". 

 She begins to accept his mortality.  Accepts that sooner than she imagined, she will be alone.  That there will be stresses.  Mental, physical, and even financial.

 But the heart of her weeps already,  dreading the loss of her partner. Her lover.   

Friday, April 20, 2012


Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
The prompt:  It’s time for a change in outward appearance, be it a character, yourself, or someone in your life. In 500 words or less, write about a makeover of your choice (hair, clothes, makeup, facial hair for the menfolk), fictional or memoir/creative non-fiction. Let’s think about how physical appearance changes can affect the inner landscape.

She remembers sitting in the old kitchen chair.  A shiny, plastic apron tied behind her neck. Daddy has his scissors, the ones left from when he used to have a beauty shop.

Snip, snip. Bits of hair fall to the floor. She is getting a pixie cut before starting kindergarten. Her hair is kept this way for a few more years.

After third grade she lets it grow. It grows long, straight, and fine.

The body perm in early high school gives it some life. She uses a curling iron every morning to make the face framing bangs do something. Even if that something requires a can of hairspray, and perhaps resembles a slinky. The back is still long, if a wee bit wavy.

By her senior year, she sprays and back combs those bangs into "big" hair in the front. Nothing can convince the long hair down her back to do more than hang there.

Later, in her twenties' comes the tight curly perm that lasts three or four months. She has it re-permed regularly for several years.

And has it frosted. Gets the ends trimmed. Lets the bangs go.

By thirty, she has a daughter. Her own mother tells her it's time to cut her hair. "You're too old to wear it that long."  She laughs and lets it grow.

She is still ignoring her mother's opinion after she turns forty. Though she returns to the bangs, to hide the new lines on her forehead.

The fifties arrive with gray. It frames her face. She accepts its presence. Brushes it into the light browns that still fall to her mid-back.

At fifty-five, the gray rebels. It has body. It refuses to blend quietly.

She looks at her reflection. Her mother isn't there anymore to tell her it's time to cut her hair. 

She knows.

She sits in the vinyl chair, the apron tied behind her neck. "Cut it, just above the shoulders. And keep the bangs." She says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's time"

Friday, April 6, 2012

The Shopping Trip

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
The prompt: Introduce a romantic interest or opportunity and see what happens.

Part of Jonah's story is here

     Jonah took Katie’s advice and walked two doors north to the dollar store. The interior was bright. The light was welcome as the aisles were narrow and shelves packed with all sorts of items. There was pet food on one side of an aisle, vitamins and common over the counter medicines on the other.

    He picked up a new toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, deodorant, and after searching several shelves, found the underwear he’d thought of earlier that week. He also put a couple of new t-shirts into his basket. 

    He made his way to the cash register. The young woman behind the counter had short brown hair, and brown eyes behind black rimmed glasses. Her jeans were just tight enough without being trashy, she wore a fuzzy green sweater over her black t-shirt.

     She smiled as he set his basket on the counter. “Hi! You must be Katie’s new dish boy, uh guy.” She blushed and looked at his purchases, ringing them and bagging them. “I’m Shelly Harrison,” she said.

     “Harrison like in the hardware?” Jonah asked.

     “Yep, Uncle Randy has the hardware. I got the junk store. After Aunt May died, I came to see if I could help out. I used to spend a lot of time here when I was a kid. And I had just got laid off my job. So it was mutually beneficial.”

     “Well, you’ve got some useful junk here, and I hear your prices are the best in town.”

     Shelly blushed again, “Katie must’ve sent you, then. She spends a lot of time in here. She says Marshall’s is over priced.”

     Jonah grinned, “that’s about the same thing she told me. And I think the grocery store probably doesn't carry underwear.” She blushed again.

     “I’m sorry, I’m being a smart ass.” It had been a long time since he’d carried on a conversation with anyone close to his own age. “I swear it’s a defense mechanism, I’m working with some real characters at the Kitchen.”

     Shelly laughed at that, “Not to mention the crazy customers. Don’t get me wrong, they're my customers too, and I love ‘em. But, yeah, character is a good description,”

     “So you stay in town or do you commute from the big city?”

     “Oh, I stay with Uncle Randy. He’s got a big place outside of town. He’s not much for talk, but he treats me well.”  She finished his order and collected his money. “You're staying at Missy McKay’s, right?” he nodded. “It’s a small town. And most new comers end up with Missy, for a while anyway.”

     Jonah saw one of the other shoppers heading for the register, “It was nice to meet you, Shelly Harrison, I’d better go now. Or the characters will have something to talk about.” He winked and Shelly blushed one more time as he left.