The sponge streaked over my kitchen counter removing all loose residue, but failed to budge a droplet of what looked like concrete which had adhered itself to the tiles. I flipped the sponge to its rougher side and took a few more passes over the splotch. No effect. It remained…
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All posts tagged Writing
The Power of the Capital Q
Today at lunch I sat in the sun, my bare toes exposed to the sky, and I breathed in the fresh, fragile scent of cut grass and aging flowers and leaves staving off the seasonal call to loose their holds and tumble to the earth. Near the oleanders, where bunches…
Stymied
Tonight I submitted my entry for a (very) short story contest at NPR.org. It's a contest they've run once before, and I truly enjoyed listening to the finalists read their stories on the air. In brief, the guidelines include a max word count of 600 words and each entry…
An Anniversary
Exactly four years ago, Jonathan and I were wrapping up our eighth month of marriage. We were newlyweds. Our kitchen appliances still had that just-unwrapped, straight-from-the-registry shine. Without enough furniture to fill our three-bedroom rental house, we could do occasional cartwheels in the hallways, sommersaults in the living room. Once,…
Descent
After two very long, action-packed weeks, each brimming with holiday happenings and visits with friends and traditions and travel, I desperately needed to wind down. I began with a trip to the barn for a riding lesson. The moment I approached Vick, the strong-willed, strawberry gelding who was my mount…
Silence
It's amazing what I cannot think of when my head is filled with the noise of the modern world. Names and places and dates and descriptions which would come so easily to me on an ordinary day, cannot be coaxed or conjured between sirens and loud voices... they cower in…
Bei Mir Bist Du Schön
I'm thirsty for creation. Sit in the dark. Wait until the house is silent and then, with all the shades down and the door double-bolted, back into a corner and wait for your Imagination to rise from the shadows. If I follow my own direction, I find Her there, blossoming…
Choleric
On days like this one, the River of Constant Thought that cuts a reliable, refreshing swathe through the heavy jungles of my brain... shuts off. I can't remember things. I can't think of a better word for "things" than "things." And it irritates me. Thus begins the derision of my…