The Hurt House

  It belonged to me, partly, for a short time.  The image above, of it reduced to a smoldering heap, atop its cinder block foundation, should make me sad, but doesn't.  Although I sympathize with its current settlers, displaced and robbed of their belongings, I'm glad it's gone.  If I'd been notified while it was a blaze, I…

2:21

"Might as well have a cup of coffee" I concede, slothing to the kitchen.  Nestling into the recliner, I swaddle with a homemade crocheted blanket, and take a moment to give thanks for the hands that crafted it, wondering if she too was courting the night when she made it.  My infatuation for the stillness of these wee…

Bully’s Little Girl

Displaced from a second failed marriage, I slinked back to my parents' home, with two sons, taking a front row seat to Tony's distress and ultimate decease on New Year's Eve night of that year.  The holidays tiptoed in the background, outshone by his demise. Contrary to previous anticipations, I didn't revel in the spectacle.…

Gardening 101

Spending the summers rambling under the feet of my precious maternal grandparents, I relished the crash courses in Gardening 101.   Whether tending to their mammoth vegetable garden or planting flowers in the yard, we grandchildren were required to assist, in pulling weeds if nothing else.  Curiously intrigued by their ability to make anything grow, I…

Ashes and Medallions

They sat on my dining room table for months; tucked inside cardboard boxes, Mama and Eric’s ashes filled two plastic bags, secured by silver medallions etched with numbers. Toiling through my grief, I struggled to accept the concept that their lives lay there in boxes. If ashes were all that remained of their existences, I…