Ordinary Life

​ I’m not one for crowds or extreme shopping but today kicked off a big bag clearance event, nonetheless.  I am one for stories- and art…and understanding things.  Because of that, and a memory with giant decorative skylights running the length of it, I find myself surrounded by little - and not so little - mountains of remembrances everywhere: ticket stubs, “thoughtstrings” (journal entries and random writings) bills I hope I’ve got on autopay and anything that resembles a card.  I’ve got magazines and stickers and lots of visual graphic art. There are programs from events, sermon notes and homework from various continuing ed.  I am treading a sea of souvenirs from the joys of simply living.  But af ter this month, I’ll have less of them. I’ve already filled one trash bag today. I’m making room for all new inventory.  I’m about to tackle the greeting cards. I’ve got all types- spanning several decades.  If you’ve ever sent me a card, this is my offic...

I entered NYCMidnight's Flash Fiction contest again this year.  At this point, it's more of a tradition than attempt to win, which is a good thing considering I came in 14th out of 15 top entries. (not too far to fall completely off the chart)  I was assigned to Group 71: Political Satire We were assigned a smoke filled room for our setting and an umbrella for our prop. It took me until the 11th hour to find an idea I even wanted to build on (story of my actual non-fiction life, too) With our current political climate so rife with strife, I couldn't find anything that felt neutral or safe to skewer a little.  I ran with the idea of personifying 'Just A. Bill' (you know, the one who lives on Capitol Hill)  Back in June, one Sunday after church,  I  started writing around 3 PM  and finished the same evening just ahead of the midnight deadline by a smidge. With some time lost, no doubt, to bathroom breaks, coffee refills, the closing of Pa...

:: laughter ::  "Mom, come here and look at this one."  We were killing time in TJ Maxx, waiting on Fisher to get off from work. She held up a red mug as I took my receipt and joined her at the end of aisle cap. "I saw this one and had to laugh" she said as she read aloud, 'Home is where Dad is.'  Really? Is that where it is? 'cause I don't think so. Isn't that just too funny, mom? "  I smiled at her.  What do you say to that? Surely not what I was thinking: "This is what comedians are made of- laughing at the hard stuff " We had almost reached the car when she picked the conversation back up mid-sentence.     "...and I just think about everyone, you know, who doesn't have a dad in their life... having to see that...and you know, like, Father's Day and stuff..."  Then, with the resiliency of childhood, she was on to sweeter things,  pulling a sleeve of just purchased pistachio macarons from her bag to shar...