Confound You, Murphy
The past month has been the adventure of a lifetime—one which I hope never to repeat. A move always brings on challenges and stress, things best avoided anywhere near the age of seventy. But when you’ve made the decision to live close to one of your children and have already made one cross-country move to achieve that end, you live with the consequences. Silly me. Murphy’s Law states that if anything can go wrong, it will. I’ve never seen that so fully displayed as I have this past month. I moved from Tennessee to Montana four years ago with no problem—even carrying a cat and litter box along for the ride. Since we no longer have a cat, I expected the move from Montana to West Virginia to be a piece of cake. Plus, I was going back east, back to the Appalachian...
The Screening
The Screening has just been posted on pulsevoices.org. Here’s the link: https://pulsevoices.org/stories/the-screening
Seeing the Sparkle Through Tears
This story has just been published in Turning Ten and Other Stories of Life. Here’s a link, if you’d like to buy a copy: Turning Ten
Beethoven by Thanksgiving
After seventy-one years of using my right arm, it was hard to suddenly be impaired. The doctor called it a torn rotator cuff, this ripping of a tendon from my arm bone. All I knew was that I felt a lot of pain which I tried to limit by not using my arm. That would be my dominant arm, the one bearing the brunt of every pound I lift, the one I depend on to write a note, drive a car, and lift a hot casserole from the oven. So, I had the surgery, the surgeon sewing that tendon back in place. (Who knew you could use needle and thread on a bone?) I’m thankful for the nerve block that lasted the first one and a half days because even with it, the pain was fierce. The ice machine helped, though...
Innocence
Faces devoid of guile, the twin fawns raise their heads and watch as I walk by. Their mother stands near, alert to my presence, but seemingly unconcerned as she resumes grazing. They’re called urban deer, these animals that roam my neighborhood. Many people consider them a nuisance since their tendency to eat flowers and trees negatively impacts landscapes. To me, they’re a gift. The small spotted babies, white tails flipping, are the picture of innocence. They look at me with black, unblinking eyes, unafraid. I minimize my movements to keep from startling, not wanting to frighten them, but at the same time hoping they will fear humans. Hunting season, after all, is just around the corner....
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