Anne didn’t know what led her to the bus stop that Monday morning. Habit, more or less. The start of a new work week which would never be. Not like before, anyway. Her hose was torn, and she couldn’t replace them. The rest of her ensemble was semi-fresh, even though the electricity had shut offContinue reading “Life Renewed Again on A Bus”
It’s been a week now since “Our Father Who Art in Chino Valley” left behind a legacy of love, humor and integrity. I’m still numb from losing him, but feel my hero’s spirit is smiling down upon this heartbroken soul. My love for him poured out as I wrote his eulogy. It was vital toContinue reading “15 Percent Was Just Enough to Say Farewell”
“There are places I remember All my life, though some have changed Some forever, not for better Some have gone, and some remain All these places have their meanings With lovers and friends I still can recall Some are dead and some are living In my life, I’ve loved them all…” In My LifeContinue reading “Migratory Fondness”
Testing each step, I found the carpet in the living room and made for the fireplace. It was so dark I could barely see the outlines of furniture. “Ouch!” I whispered as a toe found Mom’s steel ashtray. “Oomph!” as my tummy ran into Dad’s music stand. Finally, I made contact with the hearth. One, two, three stockings I felt. Excitedly, I grasped mine. It was full of unseen wonders. Curious to know what all lay inside, I stuck to the mission, feeling around until a likely suspect came to my grasp. It had to be chocolate, I just knew it.
Dear Ma, Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of the day you left this plane. Just as you preferred, no tears, no debilitating Irish black funk. Whenever you came to mind, many times, I remembered this picture of you and Dad. And that, dear Ma, helped me to smile, instead of pouring out the remaining grief.Continue reading “Dear Ma”
Today, for the first time, I held in my hands, a book with my published story in it. A tribute to my mother, it’s a lasting memorial to the first person to believe in me. It was a tender yet bittersweet moment, since Ma passed almost a decade ago. She constantly badgered me to write,Continue reading “Success Story”
His eyes don’t focus as they once did, but the twinkle in them remains bright. Cochlear nerve damage from piloting a small plane for hundreds of hours has silenced the magic of his classical guitar and velvet tenor voice, yet his laugh is strong. Not even the loss of his beloved wife of 52 years has dampenedContinue reading “Dad, My Pilot Hero”
Back when television consisted of four or five channels, with midday programming limited to soaps, we depended on an active imagination to avoid idleness. My dad loved to hear me say “I’m bored”. It gave him a break, because he sentenced me to hard labor if I dared whine “there’s nothing to do!”. There was no recourse; if I said it, he had an instant cure for boredom: a long list of chores. Thanks to Dad, I learned to pursue creative endeavours and invent adventures.
It sounds rather chilling a name, but if you know me, it fits. My wife calls me The Vapist. Considering where I was a year ago, I kinda like this moniker. We were planning a trip in our new car. Travelling around Oregon for three days, pampering ourselves and stepping into new adventures, we wereContinue reading “The Vapist vs. The Smoker”