Strangler

He was demented like my father but unlike my father, always wore a pair of black leather gloves.  It was too warm indoors for his hands to be cold, yet he seemed to be gloved twenty-four hours a day. I called him the Beacon Pointe Strangler. Everyone at Beacon Pointe was odd because they all had dementia or Alzheimer’s.  But this man was the only one who made me nervous.  He kept his arms stiff and straight at his sides, gloved fingers stretched wide apart. Oh…and he always wore a lanyard looped around his neck.  Nothing attached to it.  Just a lanyard. He rarely talked, but typically stood and stared at people. One morning, I was visiting with my dad while he ate breakfast.  I sensed someone close behind me and turned to find the Strangler, mere inches...

Insomnia

I’m so tired I can’t hold my eyes open, but I lie in bed awake.  Hour after hour.  Bubby is purring next to me, under the blanket.  I can’t relax completely because I know that if I move, he’ll scratch me. George is snoring on the other side of the bed and I’m jealous.  Any time, anywhere, he’s out like a light. So unfair. I shift my body ever so carefully.  Phew.  Did it without a scratch. In the morning I have to remember to take Prince to Paw Pals to board for the night so he won’t bark his head off while George and I go out for the evening.  Crazy dog. I wonder what news Jen wants to break to us this weekend.  God, please help her to feel better.  Pregnancy is hard. Why won’t she tell me her news now?  Are they...