Clowning Around [FICTION]

I fumble around in the dark, trying to locate my phone. My voluminous pants don’t have pockets. I find a pair of suspenders, snapping them curiously as my hands continue to seek some semblance of my normal attire. A beam of light shines down on me and I blink back tears.

“You okay?” A deep voice rumbles though the darkness.

Before I dare to answer, I let my eyes adjust enough to get a good look at the asker. A short man with an incredibly broad chest for his height looks down at my prostrate form with concerned eyes. He holds a flashlight in one hand and a bucket of water in the other.

“I don’t know.”

“Still clowning around?” He grins.

This reminds me of the difficulty I had finding pants pockets. I glance down to find myself garbed in oversized blue pants and a garish yellow shirt bedecked in pink stars. I reach toward my face, feeling a thick coating of grease paint. I pull my hand back to find it smeared with white and red. I hesitate before reaching up with my other hand to to snatch a wig from my head. I stare at the fuzzy, red head-covering in my hand and wonder how I came to be dressed as a clown in the middle of a circus ring.

“Wait a second, you aren’t Martha. Who are you?” The man asks, training his flashlight beam on the blond curls now tumbling past my shoulders.

“Who is Martha?” I ask, trying to place the name.

“The clown whose face and outfit you stole.” He advances on me with the bucket of water and flashlight.

“I am sure I didn’t steal anything. I seriously don’t remember how I ended up here.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but a loud hiccup coming from the pool at the base of the high dive draws our attention. To my relief, he sets down the bucket of water and holds the flashlight firmly in both hands as he turns it toward the sound. I slowly clamber to my feet and follow. He glances over his shoulder suspiciously, so I back off, keeping close enough to get a good look at everything caught in the beam of the flashlight. When it falls on the pool, I begin to remember the previous evening.

A dress I recognize as my own barely covers the robust form of a brunette, who struggles to rise to a seated position as the light shines on her. 

“I’m ready for my close up.” She burbles drunkenly as she finally rights herself.

“Martha. Are you okay?” The short man glares at me and steps forward to offer her a steady arm.

Martha takes it with a giggle and then notices me standing in the shadows. “Harry, I am so glad you met my new friend Diane. We had a ball last night.”

“Did you?” He turns to look at me, his gaze softening a little. “Diane, could you hold this flashlight, so I can help Martha out of the pool?”


She giggles as he bends down a little to lift her into his arms. He cradles her against his chest for a moment and then sets her gently onto her feet. She stands shakily, resting a hand on his head to hold herself steady. He doesn’t seem to mind as he rests his head affectionately against her hip briefly after she steadies herself.

“So which one of you ladies wants to tell me what happened here last night?” He asks as he takes in the further signs of mayhem littering the center ring, from tufts of white fluff to what appears to be a trail of candies leading toward the main entrance.

I look at Martha, but she just waves her hand at me. “Jokes, I have, but answers about last night are still fuzzy. You?”

“I am starting to remember a few things.” I admit.

“Then let’s find a place to sit for a few minutes, so you can fill me in on what brought about all the extra work for me this morning.” Harry leads us to the front row of the bleachers and helps Martha get comfortable. She leans heavily on him, grinning at me as I piece together memories as they slowly return.

“Apparently, we met last night in a karaoke bar. Apparently, my virgin margaritas weren’t virgin because things are a little hazy…”

Martha interrupts to inform us. “I was drinking virgin daiquiris.” She follows this up with a burp directly in Harry’s face.

His face contorts as he turns away. “I think both of you got more than you bargained for.”

“I can’t be drunk,” Martha slurs. “I have to walk the tightrope.” Her eyes light on me again. “And your clown suit looks just like mine.”

“This is your clown suit. Apparently, we swapped outfits sometime during the night.”

Her eyes open wide. “And then we sang ‘I Got You Babe’ and you were Sonny.”

“I have a vague recollection of that. And then they kicked us out of the bar because it was closing time.”

“And we rode home in the clown car?”

“I think it was an uber. Someone loved your version of Cher and offered us a ride.”

“Or they love how I fill out your dress.” She laughs until she snorts.

Harry frowns at this.

Martha remains oblivious. ‘We’re best friends for life now, aren’t we, Diane?”

“I hope so,” I respond, “because I have a feeling I am going to remember some things that I need you to swear not to ever speak of.”

“Yay, besties.” She throws herself into my arms and that’s when we realize the flower is still loaded…

~~I once aspired to be a clown. Does that surprise you? I might still have it in me…~~

Flu Shot Problems [FICTION]

My yearly physical wraps up with that awkward moment when the nurse comes back in and strongly suggests that a woman my age should take advantage of the opportunity to get a flu shot. The doctor never asks himself. He knows I find reasons to say “no” to getting a shot. He values his time too highly to let me waste it with my explanations, no matter how valid.

“So how about it?” She smiles sweetly and holds out a release for me to sign.

I offer a slow sigh, not reaching for the paper as I formulate the correct confluence of words to get me out of this sticky situation. “You will never believe this, the last time I got a flu shot, it turned me into a banshee.”

“Pardon me?” The clipboard slowly lowers as her eyes run along my face, assessing my sanity with every micro movement of her eyes.

“A banshee is a screaming woman who announces the imminent death of a member of the family. And the last time I got a flu shot, that is what I became to my family, a banshee, a harbinger of death. I guess it is my Irish blood. It doesn’t respond well to science. It prefers the mysticism of the old country, so instead of protecting me, it made me know terrible events were coming.”

She lifts the clipboard again, flipping past the release to peer at something in my medical history. Apparently, she doesn’t find what she is looking for because she goes back to listening to my story with incredulous eyes and defensive posture. In fact, she holds the clipboard up like a shield, fending off the inanity of my words. 

“For about a week, the only sound I could make was high-pitched wail. If I opened my mouth more than a straw required to offer liquid sustenance, the sound escaped. Three family members expired at family dinner that Sunday, just because I tried to take a few bites of pie that I didn’t run through a blender first.” I can see her getting annoyed with my story, so I decide to wrap it up for her before she poked me with a needle just to make the words stop.

“I don’t have a lot of family left and I would hate to change the course of their fates, bringing them to an early end just so I could avoid a few chills and pains.” I finish. “And that’s why I can’t get a flu shot today.”

She nods her head and tucks the clipboard under her arm. “A simple no would have been fine, dear.”

“Hmm.” I remark to myself as she closes the door behind her. “That’s a first.”

I hurry up and pull my coat on, grabbing my paperwork before making a quick retreat. After a story like that, I don’t completely trust that she didn’t rush off to find someone to haul me away to the nearest insane asylum.

~~I wrote this way before the vaccine controversy. Do not assume that I feel one way or another about the vaccine. Be an adult. Make your own decision. And please be respectful of everyone else’s right to do the same.~~

Dog Food [FICTION]

“Where is it? Where is it?” My anxiety rises with each repetition, but I repeat this mantra with increasing desperation as I look under and in everything.

At last, I sit down on the floor and accept the fact that I have misplaced my English essay. I thought I left it on the kitchen counter, but when I came downstairs this morning, it was nowhere to be found. As I am pondering the age old solution of childhood, summoning my mother to find it for me, Fido comes over to rest his head in my lap. As I gently pet his head, I realize something protrudes from each side of his mouth.

“What do you have there, buddy?” I ask, reaching for it.

My hand closes on a wad of wet paper. Fido opens his mouth to release his prize. I gasp as I recognize the sodden mass as my English paper, hand-written as per the teacher’s unconventional request, and now unreadable compliments of the drool monster begging for more affection in my lap.

“Sorry, buddy, I have to go find my last rough draft of this masterpiece,” I offer him one more pat on the head before racing up the stairs. 

A quick dig through my trashcan reveals nine of the ten pages of my previous draft. I sigh and return downstairs with both unacceptable submissions. I grab a large plastic bag to put my finished draft in, complete with Fido’s attempt to edit. 

I seek out my English teacher before school. She sits with her stocking feet up on her desk and a thick novel in hand. I shudder as I realize she is reading “Don Quixote”, which she informed us was her favorite book on the first day of school. She assured us that anyone who had read it would guess this fact from the donkeys and windmills strewn about her room like disturbing Easter eggs. I hesitate on the threshold.

“I know you are there, Miss Finer. Do you need something?” She slowly lowers the book, peering at me over the top of the book as she pushes her glasses up on her nose.

“I need to talk to you about my essay…”

“You had two weeks to finish it.” She closes the book and sets it down on her desk, so I can clearly see her frown.

“Well, Mrs. Abernathy, my dog got ahold of…”

“You are going to tell me your dog ate your homework?” She sneers. “Surely, you can do better than that.”

Irritated by her disbelief in my story, I pull the plastic bag with the sodden mess that I am sure was a coherent A+ paper out of my bag and hold it out to her. “Well, if you want me to lie to you, I can. So here is my alternate ending, I was so excited about this paper that I couldn’t stop reading it and rereading it. I was reading it in the bathroom and it slipped into the toilet.” I held out the bag to her.

She shied away from it in disgust.

“I brought my rough draft, but I lost a page somehow,”

She peers at me suspiciously. “That explanation was even worse than the first one. Good thing I am not grading that.” She holds out her hand.

I hand her the loose pages and the plastic bag. She peeks at the former quickly before opening the other for a closer inspection of the contents. She closes it quickly.

“Your dog needs a milk bone. I will look at what you have here and try to be kind…” She shakes her head at the bag of drool, paper, and ink. “…considering.”

~~~Hope you are all enjoying back to school time, whatever that looks like for you. I know my children will eventually regret that we do not own a dog for exactly this reason. Maybe they can say their uncle ate their homework? He might. You never know...~~~

Future Problems Now [FICTION]

I take a deep breath, savoring every nuance of aroma that speaks of fall and the county fair. My mouth waters as the scents of candied apples, cotton candy, and deep-fried dreams mingle in the crisp air. I turn my head from side to side, trying to see everything at once. As Artie pulls me toward one of the tents, I focus on our direction. I let out as derisive snort as I read the name attached to the tent: “Oracles Den.”

“Really? You want to know our future?” I laugh.

“Don’t you?” He looks slightly offended that I am not falling all over myself with joy to have a charlatan take a wild guess at what my future holds.

Artie lifts the flap for me and I step into a sweetly perfumed circle filled with vibrant colors, sparkling sequins, and a haze induced by incense. A tiny woman with silvery grey hair and dark, penetrating eyes smiles up at us from a cushion.

“You wish to know your future. You wish to know your dreams. You wish to know they shall become one.” She waves a tiny hand toward two round cushions in a dark orange fabric that sit just inside the door. “Please sit. I will tell what you need to know.”

I struggle to hold my face neutral to avoid offending the believers in the tent with me. She glances at Artie as we sit before focusing those eyes on me.

“You don’t believe I can see your future, child?” The grin widens as she places her hands in the middle of the table and slowly raises them, revealing a crystal ball. “Let us see what your future holds.”

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply of the murky air. She waves her hands over the magic ball. Words pour from her mouth, an almost imperceptible song in a language I do not know. Soon the crystal ball goes from clear to murky. Then images appear. I lean forward to peer at them as they come into crisp focus. A young woman in her early twenties smiles back at me from within the arms of a broad-shouldered man 

“That looks like you,” Artie smiles, “I bet those are my shoulders.”

The image scrolls, revealing the face of the man wrapping me in his arms. He has the same blue eyes as Artie, but rich dark curls spill down his cheeks and the right one dimples as he smiles back at me.

“I’ve never seen that man before.” I say, unable to take my eyes off of the unfamiliar face.

I look at Artie to gage his reaction, surprised to see how pale he is as he mutters. “That looks like my cousin Chip?”

“Seriously, aren’t we supposed to meet him here?”

“Not anymore,” Artie mumbles.


“What?” I jump up from the cushion. “Because of some digital image she conjured up somehow.”

The woman laughs and I turn to see that the crystal has returned to a clear ball again. The woman grins at me, pointing at me with one of her surprisingly long fingers with an even longer nail stretching out toward me.

“I did conjure up an image, but it is not digital, it is yet to come.” She turns her freakish finger and dark eyes to Artie. “And you can not stop the future from happening. Trying to do so will bring it to pass sooner and with a lot more heartache for you.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I reach for Artie’s hand.

He doesn’t take it. Instead, he grudgingly puts a few tens in the open palm of the fortune teller. I shake my head and step outside right into the arms of the younger version of the man from the crystal ball. He laughs as he places a hand on each shoulder to keep me from falling to the ground. And that is how Artie finds us, me gazing into Chip’s face mystified while he smiles down at me in a pleasantly surprised kind of way.

~~Ah. The romance of pumpkin spice season. I know many of my friends are so excited to drink and eat their way through hundreds of servings of pumpkin spice before peppermint season starts. Since I made a delightful amount of apple butter yesterday, I have to wonder where apple season is in all this.~~

The End of Summer [FICTION]

I never thought I would understand the song my mother kept singing to me. When I first told her about meeting James at the pool, she started humming about summer lovin’ and I walked away from her. She would start humming it every time I brought him up, so I stopped though she would quiz me from time to time and then start humming.

Being twelve is hard enough when everything inside you seems to break itself down to reform from innocent child to a woman with wisdom and responsibility and grown up concerns. I didn’t need her mocking me, particularly since this was the first time I had fallen in love. And I fell so hard. 

James and I spent every spare moment together. We went back to the pool, where we first met. We swung side by side in the park. We even rode our bikes to our favorite ice cream place and picked two different flavors to share. As the summer dragged into fall, I knew our relationship would change. I just figured we would need to adjust to not being together every waking minute of every day. 

The the last day of summer arrived. I ignored my mother’s questions at breakfast. Eventually she gave up and moved on to worrying about my baby brother’s future. I swallowed the last bite of pancake and waited impatiently for James to arrive. Usually, he knocked on the door within minutes of that last bite, but that morning the minutes stretched into an hour. Restless, I kept changing my position. I started on the couch and then moved to the chair on the front porch. I eventually returned to the couch. As I opened the door to perch on the porch again, James almost rapped on my face.

“Hello.” I said awkwardly, stepping back.

“Sorry I’m late.” He replied, giving me a sheepish expression.

“No problem. Just didn’t want to miss our last full day together.”

“About that,” He took my hands. “Let’s have a seat.” He led me out to the porch, letting go of my hands as I slowly lowered myself into one of the chairs.

I waited for him to speak with my hands folded in my lap, but he just watched me with sad eyes. 

He finally sat across from me and reached for my hands again, “I should have told you this weeks ago…” His voice broke as he gazed into my eyes so intently I felt like he hoped I would know what he wanted to say.

“Told me what?”

“My parents decided to move. Well, I guess my dad’s job decided.” His grip on my hand tightened. “The moving truck is at my house now…”

“You’re moving, but we were going to….”

“I know. I know. My parents told me I’ll get over it.”

“You mean over me?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, his shoulders slouching. “I told them they were wrong, but…”

“We’re just kids,” I muttered.

“So we have to say good-bye.” He rose from his chair and pulled me up with him, hugging me so tight I struggled to breathe.

“But I don’t want to…”

“Me either.”

We stood like that, holding onto to those last seconds of summer and first love until a loud honk pulled us out of each others arms.

“James, come on.” His mother called out the car window.

“I’ll miss you forever.” James raced down the  stairs to hop in the back seat.

He waved until the car turned the corner and so did I. Then I sank to the top step and let the tears flow.

~~~Ah, the end of summer. I hope you squeeze in as many ice cream sundaes and pool parties as you can (or already did if school already started for you). My oldest can’t wait for school to start. Apparently, I am no fun, which means I am succeeding as a parent. My youngest burst into tears about the thought of leaving me for school. Good thing she only has a couple of hours a few days a week, so she might forgive me.~~~

Doing Good [FICTION]

Sometimes I let my friends convince me to be a better person. We always end up somewhere I wouldn’t choose to be. This time, I find myself in the dusty basement of a stale-smelling church, surrounded by boxes and bags of yard sale rejects.The pastor assigned me to sort the chafe from the wheat by type while making the final decision to toss anything that even the craziest bargain shopper won’t pay a penny for. My solution to this last piece of advice was to label a box with a handwritten sign declaring EVERYTHING MUST GO: ONE PENNY. I will let the purchaser decide if I mean for the entire box or each piece. I have tossed a few almost destroyed books into the box thus far and a shoe with no mate. I add another unsalvageable volume, placing it with exaggerated care.

I move on to the next item in the pile. I murmur appreciatively at what great shape the small, leather suitcase is in. It only has a couple of scratches on the outside. I hold my breath as I open it and peek inside. I slowly take in a breath, relieved that no noxious fumes assail me. I have already had a couple of unpleasant odors that I instantly vanquished into the trash can this morning. I check all of the pockets, finding nothing until my fingers connect with a folded sheet of paper tucked into the skinny pocket on the outside.

Curious, I unfold it and begin reading the contents.

“February 20, 2021

“Dear world,

“It is with a sad heart that I write this, but you don’t care. You never did. You never will. The blip that was me will go unmourned. I doubt even my family or friends will notice that I winked out of existence. If they do, I’m sorry I am gone, but had you wanted me to stay, you would have let me know. So in accordance with all the melodrama expected of a last missive, I say goodbye cruel world and all those who didn’t get me or want to.

“No longer yours,

“Niall Early”

“Niall,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. “I swore I talked to him a week ago.”

I scroll through my texts which assure me that Niall responded to some banefully dull text I sent last week. The reassurance only goes so far though. I start to send a text and reconsider. This is the sort of issue people need to discuss in person. I tuck the letter into my pocket and finish my shift.

As soon as the pastor releases me from the day’s duties, I shake his hand and head over to Niall’s house. It looks as well-kept as ever, possibly more so. I tiptoe along the pristine stone path, envying the lush green lawn and perfectly arranged flowerbeds on either side. I ring the bell and wait.

“Coming. Coming. Keep your pants on or take them off if you’re a pretty girl,” Niall’s deep voice greets me from the other side of the door.

I blush despite the fact that I know my pants are staying where they are. The door swings open and I find myself looking into the grinning faces of Niall Early, looking well and happy. He perks up when his eyes rest on me. 

‘Well, hello, Susie Sunshine. Did you get too much sun? Those cheeks are are very red today.”

I bristle at the childhood nickname, but remembering the content of the letter, I manage to calm my anger. I ignore him as he says a few more suggestive things. I wait for an opening and slide the note from my pocket. He looks at it curiously but fails to find words to ask about it. 

“So I was volunteering at the church today and I found something in a piece of luggage…” I start, slowly unfolding the note, so he can get a good look at it.

He reaches for it and then realizes what it must be and drops his hand like I just offered him a ball of fire. “Oh. Yeah. That was just a joke.”

I watch his face, which doesn’t echo his words. “If you say so. You can keep that then.”

He takes the paper, folding it up and sliding it into his pocket. “Thanks. I won’t need it.”

“I hope not.” I reply, letting a pause linger between us in the hopes that he will speak if he needs to get something off of his mind.

He holds my gaze, trying to keep his lewd smile firmly in place, but it slips. “Okay. I had a rough February, Susie, but clearly I am fine. I totally forgot about that letter and clearly I didn’t follow through with anything.”

“But you did feel that way…” I struggle to find the correct words.

“You keep trying to help me with this and I might think you care,” his male bravado gives way to defensiveness.

“Nope. Not at all. I drove over here after a long day volunteering just to see your pretty face.” I opt for the lower road, the one he prefers.

His lips tilt upward just a little as he opens the door. “You make a good point. You can come inside if you want.” As I step over the threshold, I can feel his eyes scanning my form. “You can leave your pants on if you want…”

I hesitate, glancing back at my nice, safe car, but I step deeper into the house, which proves as pristine as his lawn. “You don’t happen to have a gardener and a maid, do you?”

“I wish. Sadly, that is all me. Come to the kitchen. I can get you a glass of ice water.”

“Sounds good.” I follow him.

As I get situated with my ice water, he starts to unburden himself. “My girlfriend broke up with me in February. Apparently, I have done a good job playing the playboy. My friends tried to take me out to the club to find a new woman. My parents dismissed my sadness and told me there was no reason for me to be sad. I mean there are other girls in the sea.” He takes a sip of ice water, watching my reaction as he continues. “So they stopped talking to me entirely. It was kind of a dark time.”

I nod my head, but no words come to me that wouldn’t sound insulting or uncaring. I follow his example and take a long, slow sip of icy water.

He grins at me. “You don’t need to worry, Susie Sunshine, I don’t have a girlfriend to lose, unless you want to volunteer, and my family has already begun contacting me about the holidays. I won’t entertain any foolish thoughts.”

“If you can stop calling me Susie Sunshine, you can call if you need to talk. I promise I will listen.”

“So that is a yes to being my girlfriend?”

“No. Just a friend who is a girl.”

He ponders this for a minute. “Sounds like a fair trade, Susie…” He pauses as he looks down at his phone, struggling not to add on the extra word.

I laugh, wondering what I have gotten myself into as he starts talking again. This time innuendo laces every word, but he keeps his hands to himself, so maybe I can convince him to stop playing the Lothario with me.

~~Hope you find the chance to do good today and that it is taken in the right light.~~

Irresistible Finds [FICTION]

I can’t resist a yard sale. I am not sure if my mother passed it via the same genes that gave me dark hair and even darker eyes or if she trained it into me with many summer Saturdays spent picking through other people’s castoffs. Either way, I find myself enjoying another mild Saturday morning as I wait for the owner of the house with the yard sale sign to come out and pull the sheets off of todays’ trash and treasure. A formidable, older woman eyes me suspiciously as she gets out of her car, sizing up the competition and finding me unthreatening. Her shoulders lower slightly and she pays no more attention to me as she focuses on the sheets. I can see her assessing the size and potential nature of each shape.

Soon the homeowner opens her door and lets out a stifled exclamation to find two potential purchasers already waiting on her lawn. “Just a minute. It isn’t quite 7 yet.” She calls out quite loudly.

I soon realize why when two teenage boys peek out the door with a hulking man close on their heels. The boys part like the seas and the man steps out onto the porch, pulling a heavy wooden chair closer to the stairs as he sits down and trains his eyes on myself and the old woman. I smile at him and lean back against my car, waiting patiently.

“No worries. Take your time.” I offer the woman a friendly wave.

The old woman scowls at me and goes back to eyeing the tables. Her eyes widen a little as the homeowner unveils the hidden shapes. As the last sheet comes off, she steps toward the stairs. She makes it to the bottom stair before the hard look on the man’s face brings her to a stop.

“Hold up now. Mother didn’t say she was ready for you to start pawing through everything.”

Mother? I take a closer look at the homeowner who I assumed was the man’s wife and realize that she is much older than I had first thought. 

“Come on up, dear.” The woman waves me forward, holding up her hand to the other woman. “Not you. Just the polite one.”

Her son nods in agreement. I step past the older woman, ignoring the rude words she mutters under her breath.

“Take your time, dear.” Mother pats my shoulder as I walk past.

I glance at her and see that she is giving a warning glare to the older woman. I walk slowly down the row of tables, glancing at the items carefully arranged before me. Nothing catches my eye until I reach the last table. A wooden box rests against the wall of the house. I peek inside and see a folded blanket.

The woman steps forward to see what has caught my eye. “Oh, that wasn’t supposed to be out here to be sold.” She glances over her shoulder at her son.

He shrugs and rises from his chair, shaking his head as the anxious shopper steps forward for a better look. “You heard mother. You have to wait.” He narrows his eyes as she glares at him. “Or you can go be rude to someone else.”

The woman huffs and puffs but maintains her spot at the bottom of the stairs. She cranes her neck to peer at the blanket. The homeowner pulls it out and unfolds it so I can get a better look. 

Pinwheels of assorted colors nest among strips of white and cream. At the center of each pinwheel, a flower had been carefully embroidered. “I love you” has been quilted into each edge of each pinwheel.

‘Wow. That’s beautiful!” I sigh as I take it in.

“I know. My mother made it for me.” She presses it to her cheek.

“I’ll give you fifty dollars.” The man jumps as the woman basically screams her offer in his ear and then falls down even though he doesn’t touch her.

He reaches down to help her up.

She brushes his hand away and stands up, “That’s assault.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

“No one even touched you.” I declare at the same moment.

“He did. He knocked me to the ground and he has been threatening me since I got here.” She eyes the quilt greedily.

As understanding of her play hits him, the son looks to his mother questioningly. “Should we inform this lady who she is trying to con, mother?”

She folds the quilt lovingly and holds it close to her chest. “What do you mean dear. People don’t remember who Willie Blue is anymore.”

The name strikes a chord, but until the other woman’s face fades to three shades lighter than when I first set eyes on her, I can’t dredge up the memory. I whistle. The son giggles.

“That’s right. I used to be the number one district attorney in this town and gave it up to be a respected judge. And if you count heads around here, there are four witnesses here that will not perjure themselves so you can steal from an old woman. This young lady already told you what she saw, would you like to hear what the boys saw.”

The teenagers look up from their cell phones at her words. One of them holds his out.

“I love to hear you talk about great gram’s quilt,” he says, “I was recording it.”

The other woman scowls at us and stomps off of the porch, clearly uninjured. Then she turns to me, “I’m sorry I can’t sell you my quilt, dear, but would you like to hear more about it.”

I nod my head and follow her over to the where a rocking chair sits on the porch. She settles in and begins to speak in a soft voice infused with love and longing. “When I was little, we didn’t have a television set, so when my mother sat down to make this quilt for me, I watched her. She let me choose the fabrics. She let me watch her sew each triangle with so much love that it made my hear ache to see it…”

~~Sorry I didn’t think ahead and plan a terrifying post for Friday the 13th. I hope this small offering brightens your day anyway. A quilt is a beautiful gift. I hope my daughters know how much love I sewed into each square or hexagon I pieced together as I waited to see their beautiful faces. At the very list, they shouldn’t be cold.~~